Chapter Fourteen: A Dark Hour
Haldir stopped dead as he felt an unfamiliar hand on his shoulder. He turned quickly to see Ainan staring down at him with nearly palpable dislike- bordering on hatred. The intensity of his gaze shook the younger elf and the grip on his shoulder was tight. Haldir flashed a sharp look at the elf. Ainan caught it and immediately looked surprised at himself, releasing the elf and stepping away lightly.
"I am remiss, commander," he said, bowing his head apologetically, his fair face falling into an inscrutable mask. "I merely wish to inform you that the border guards have reported that the snow has far encroached our borders as of late. You and your small company could not hope to win through the drifts. Certainly not when there are dangerous creatures about: wolves and spiders…"
"Brigands," Haldir put in helpfully, his slight smile distinctly cool. Noticing his look, a dark smile lifted the corners of Ainan's lips.
"Indeed."
Haldir was the first to break the tense silence that had fallen.
"We cannot leave until we have found the fourth member of our party, my lord," Haldir replied stiffly, his eyes cold as marble as he remembered the elf's condemning words.
"Ah, yes. I shall send someone to aid you in your search promptly," the other elf answered smoothly, his impassive eyes betraying nothing. Bowing his head in self-dismissal to the queen's brother, Haldir turned away and walked briskly towards the door, passing quickly into the cool night air beyond. The encounter had slightly unsettled him- especially the look in Ainan's eyes.
Something had gone wrong. He could feel it.
"My lord Haldir!" a voice hailed him. "Sir!" The elf turned at the sound of his name to see one of the young sentries, Rinniad he thought, running towards him, clutching the stitch in his chest. Haldir frowned at the ashen pallor of the elf's face and reached out a hand to steady him.
"What is it, Rinniad? What's wrong?" The elven guard batted aside the Lórien elf's helping hand and seized his wrist instead.
"Come quickly!"
The urgency and blind terror in the elf's voice frightened Haldir and he quickened his gait to match the frenetic pace of the other elf as they all but ran down the corridor and down the long flights of stone stairs that led into the bowels of the fortress.
"What is it?" Haldir asked again, a growing knot forming in the pit of his stomach but the guard merely shook his head and continued to bound down the stairs like a startled deer. He led the Lórien captain through cavernous halls and dank hallways where moisture dripped steadily from the walls and the smell of mould and damp filled his nostrils.
A crowd of soldiers had gathered around a group of more than four score of such barrels. Haldir's eyes narrowed in the dim light as he espied the sage green fletching of arrows. The barrels were not empty after all but seemed to be filled with weapons of all kinds: fine steel swords in black wood scabbards, bows unstrung and packed tightly together, thousands of steel tipped arrows that gleamed as they were drawn out and examined. They were all wet too as though they had been taken from the river itself.
Pieces of wood crunched and shifted under the two elves' boots as they approached the group with the insignia of the royal crest on their left shoulders. Rinniad approached one whose embroidered green leaf proclaimed him as the Captain of the Royal Guards.
Haldir caught a few whispered words as the guard captain questioned an elf who appeared to be the head butler- he looked white and shaken.
"It's my job to make sure the wine is ready for table… when I opened it…"
"He is the captain… from Lórien," Rinniad interrupted, explaining quickly to Tirien as he tried to catch his breath. The elf's eyes flickered to Haldir and the Lórien elf felt pierced by that sorrowful gaze.
"We have something that belongs to you," he said gravely, leading the elves to a dark corner. Haldir felt a deepening uneasiness clutch at his heart. The feeling only increased as the whispers around him grew louder and Rinniad dropped back uneasily. He finally stepped up to a lone barrel that stood apart from the others. Tirien nodded solemnly to it. Feeling sick, Haldir walked up to it, peered in and felt as though his heart had stopped beating.
Cálivien lay folded within the cramped, airtight space. His wrists were tied together and wedged between his knees. But that was not the worst part: his eyes were open, staring… lifeless. The great wound in his chest where a sword had been clearly plunged was congealed with thick blood, which stiffened the elf's shredded tunic. He had been dead for days and the stench was nearly overpowering.
Other, smaller wounds lacerated the elf's back and shoulders and his limbs were hideously contorted in the tight space. Small animals that lived in the cellars had found him as well during the time he had been missing. Cálivien had obviously suffered greatly before surrendering his spirit to Mandos' Halls.
"How-" Haldir cleared his parched throat and tried again as he attempted to wrench his gaze away from the horrific sight but found himself unable to. "How could this have happened?" Rinniad simply shook his head, bewilderingly running his fingers through his hair. He looked sick.
"That's just it, my Lord. No orc has been seen inside these borders for more than a hundred and fifty years- and never in the palace itself. But clearly the blade was of orcish origin." Haldir could not bear to see that empty look in his friend's eyes anymore and motioned to the two elves beside him.
"Will you get him out? Please." Obligingly, the elves reached in, carefully sliced the ropes that bound the elf inside the barrel and attempted to lift him out. But his body was stiff with rigor mortis and it became too difficult to wrest him from the barrel. Finally, Tirien hacked the wood to pieces so they could lift him out more easily without dishonoring him.
Haldir helped them lower the elf gently to the ground. As he looked into his friend's lifeless eyes, he wondered briefly. Did they not say that the killer's image could be seen reflected in a victim's eyes? But he could see nothing. Cálivien's green eyes were empty, devoid of the life that had been captured behind them. His face was frozen in a horrible mask of terror and Haldir realized with a sinking feeling that several of the planks of the barrel were dented and scarred.
Cálivien had still been alive when he'd been forced into that barrel.
Haldir frowned and leaned a little closer, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve against the stench of decay. A great deal of blood matted the elf's hair on the side of his face and Haldir, with shaking fingers, edged the unkempt strands aside a few inches. When he saw what had been done, he groaned and leaned back, closing his eyes to keep the bile from rising out of his throat.
The killer had taken the elf's ear.
Trailing his fingers over the slain elf's eyes, Haldir stood and straightened to see Ancadal and Rameil beside him, their faces as stricken as his own, he imagined.
"What happened?" Rameil asked incredulously, his eyes wide, pleading Haldir not to tell him what he already knew.
"Cálivien is dead," Haldir said softly, his voice surprisingly steadier than he felt. He cleared his throat. "Slain… by orcs so it seems."
But that did not sound quite right. There was something unsettling about the entire affair. Those cuts were too precise- too quick. The elven palace was too well guarded, inside and out. There was no way any orc could have slipped inside. And how had he been shoved in that barrel? Something was amiss Haldir glanced down at the lifeless body at his feet. What happened to you, my friend? Solemnly, Rameil removed his cloak and draped it over the still body, hiding the horrific wounds from sight.
"I am sorry for your loss," Tirien said, his eyes cast to the shrouded figure at their feet. "We shall care for him…"
"No," Haldir said firmly. "We shall. It is our duty." The mention of duty stirred the two elves beside him and both Ancadal and Rameil bent and lifted their fallen comrade, bearing him away towards the dank stairs. Tirien halted them with a word.
"If you do not mind taking the back stairs…" he stumbled over his words, slightly embarrassed. "The last thing we wish is a panic." The two elves nodded though their hearts twisted. Their friend deserved better than this! Skulking up the back stairs like some wretched criminal or a scullery servant!
Haldir turned away from the shocked and horrified gazes of the guards and closed his eyes, opening them immediately as the sight of his mangled friend flashed before his eyes.
What were they going to do now?
Rinniad looked white and shaken as he plopped into an armchair beside his two friends. His chest heaved slightly and his eyes were wide with horror. Both of his friends looked at him, their fair faces troubled.
"What happened, Rinniad?" Lóthmir asked.
"We found weapons in some of the barrels. After Telas was attacked, Captain Tirien said he'd found a passage of sorts in the back of the little room they found him in- it led to this little storage chamber where all these barrels were piled up. There were weapons inside- swords, arrows, like there was going to be a war or something," he trailed off, his brow furrowed thoughtfully.
Legolas said nothing. He knew who those weapons belonged to but he did not know their purpose. Why would his uncle have weapons in the cellars?
"That's not all," Rinniad said softly, his eyes haunted. Lóthmir frowned at him.
"Well, out with it, mellon. You look as though you've seen a ghost!"
The other elf swallowed hard against a suddenly dry throat before speaking again.
"One of the Lothlórien elves was found- slain in the cellars not long ago," he said shakily. "They murdered him." Legolas leapt to his feet.
"Who?"
"Who's 'they'?" Lóthmir asked simultaneously, his expression one of apprehension and fear. But Legolas gripped his friend's arms hard.
"Rinniad, who was it? Who did they find?" he asked urgently, his eyes wide, pleading. It couldn't be Haldir! Please, not Haldir! Rinniad looked up into his friend's white face.
"I- I don't know. I don't know his name." He looked away, ashamedly. "I-I got sick after they found him- it was horrible, Legolas!"
The prince sank numbly into his chair, his eyes huge in the flickering torchlight in Lóthmir's room where they had decided to meet. Legolas' heart thumped frenetically in his chest and he abruptly jumped up.
"Legolas?"
His two friends leapt up after him and followed him out into the corridor.
Legolas hadn't the slightest idea of where he was going but he knew he had to find Haldir.
Haldir could not have been the one to have fallen! He couldn't!
Legolas, with his friends trailing after him, searched the hallway frantically, searching for a familiar flash of silvery hair or grey. The only livery he could see was that of the Mirkwood guard.
The King's guards were still searching the palace for any signs of orcs or other things but the prince hadn't heard a word from his mother or anyone else. Even his uncle was occupied with other matters which filled Legolas with relief. His wrist still hurt. But that did nothing to ease his anxiety now.
He looked up suddenly as he caught sight of a grey glimmer in the doorway which led down steeply spiraled stairs to the cellars. Two elves were carrying a makeshift bier with difficulty as though it were heavy.
Neither of them which Legolas recognized.
With a terrible feeling in the pit of his stomach, Legolas licked dry lips and stepped forward. Rinniad stopped behind him, looking very white but Legolas did not turn. The two elves stopped as they spotted the prince and bobbed into as elegant a bow as they could so laden. Legolas shook his head firmly, his eyes fastened on the grey cloth draped over something lumpy underneath.
"How may we be of service to you, young prince?" the raven-haired elf asked, his face composed while the other looked as though he would fall to pieces if Legolas so much as glanced at him. His gaze was riveted on the grey cloak.
"Tell- tell me who lies beneath that?" Legolas asked softly, almost afraid to ask, afraid to hear the answer. Surprisingly, it was the other, younger elf who answered, his voice shaking with raw emotion.
"He- he was our commander- Cálivien."
Legolas staggered back, nearly falling, his heart thrumming with overwhelming relief and guilt. Haldir was still alive… but another had died because of him. It was all his fault! Legolas thought back to when he had been searching for his father. That must have been it. Ainan had seen him talking to Cálivien and thought that… what? What did Ainan think Legolas had told the guard? He wondered for a moment. His uncle was cruel, yes. But would he resort to murder? Especially another elf?
Yes. To keep his secret safe, he would, Legolas felt suddenly sure. His friend's voice broke through the turmoil of his thoughts as the two Lórien elves moved off with their burden.
"Legolas, are you all right?" Lóthmir asked, concern in his gaze. "What's wrong?" But the elven prince shook his head as he mentally sighed with relief.
"Nothing."
He could not help but feel selfishly happy that his friend was yet alive and had not been the one to fall to his uncle's hands. For he knew his uncle had murdered that elf- who else could or would have?
"They should never have come here," Rinniad said softly, pulling the prince from his thoughts as he watched the two Lórien elves disappear around the corner. Legolas shot a look up at his friend which Riinad returned with a level stare.
"You heard your uncle, Legolas! You can't trust them- they're outsiders. For all you know they could be tra-"
"That's enough!" Legolas protested. Rinniad looked up at him in shock. The young prince's eyes flashed with cobalt fire.
"You don't them- any of them! Do not speak evil of them until you know them."
"Legolas knows of them," Lóthmir said quietly. "You've been in their company have you not, mellon?" he asked, his tone merely questioning. Legolas nodded tersely.
"How do you know they haven't anything to do with your father's absence?" Rinniad shot back.
"Well," Legolas paused. He couldn't explain that. He wasn't even sure himself. If the Lady Haldir served was indeed a Kinslayer… Legolas shook his head, refusing to believe his uncle's lies.
"They would not betray my father," he insisted at last. "They wouldn't slay their own."
But even he could not prevent the tremor of uncertainty that ran through his voice.
Rinniad merely shook his head, his brow furrowed with deep mistrust as he walked away. Lóthmir shook his own head in bemusement as he turned to his friend.
"Do you really believe your own words, mellon nin (my friend)?" Legolas sighed deeply as he sat down on the uppermost step leading towards the cellars. He shivered slightly and looked back up at friend.
"I don't know anything anymore, Lóthmir." My life is falling down around me. Legolas felt his friend's hand descend on his shoulder as Lóthmir knelt beside him, looking deep into his face with vivid green eyes.
"You know, mellon, that I'm here for you."
Legolas smiled slightly.
"Iston. (I know.) Hannon le, mellon nin (Thank you, my friend.)" Lóthmir clapped him on the shoulder in response.
"Get some rest, Legolas- you look exhausted."
The prince nodded absently as his friend walked away to his own rest. But, this made him feel more alone than ever. He didn't dare tell his friend about anything that he was feeling right now. He had no idea how far his uncle would go if the elf prince ever told anyone about what Ainan did to him. Fear chilled him and Legolas shivered miserably. There was no one he could turn to.
Legolas absently touched his bandaged wrist which was beginning to throb again- it hadn't stopped but it grew more painful as the day wore on. The young elf pricked up his ears and tensed as the slight fall of footsteps reached his ears, coming up the cellar stairs. He scrambled to his feet but relaxed slightly as he saw Haldir's face.
Legolas thought the older elf looked tired and pale. Tried. He opened his mouth to speak to him but Haldir saw him first. The Lórien elf's brow furrowed slightly as he took in the sling bound about the young elf's shoulder. Despite his own deep sense of loss, he was concerned.
"I meant to ask you what happened?" he asked. Legolas glanced at his arm.
"Oh, I-I fell off my horse." Haldir blinked.
"You were riding in the middle of winter?"
"Yes," Legolas answered shortly, looking away. Haldir's eyes narrowed suddenly
as he caught sight of a small mark half-hidden below the younger elf's collar. He stepped forward, reaching for it. Startled, Legolas jumped backwards, tugging his collar up with his free hand up quickly, praying that the older elf hadn't seen it.
Haldir raised an eyebrow.
"Are you all right? Did you bruise yourself as well?"
Legolas shook his head, his eyes wide.
"No! Just- just leave it alone please." Fear spiked through him and, wishing for an escape, he turned his back on the elf and walked swiftly towards the safety of the garden to gather his thoughts. The prince paused, without looking up at the older elf, and thrust something into his hand.
"This is yours. Sorry I forgot about it," he mumbled before quickly crossing the hall at a run.
Haldir half-reached out to stop him but the prince was already gone. He glanced down at the knife in his hand and shook his head grimly.
Legolas glanced back nervously. He could not help but feel frightened. Telas had already been attacked. Cálivien had been slain, the younger elf couldn't believe it still! What would stop Ainan from going after the Lórien elf should Haldir get in his way?
Night fell upon a silent palace. The Lórien elves had retired early, stricken with grief and mourning for their friend. This horrid tragedy on the heels of the torture and mutilation of Thranduil's councilor was almost more than the elven people could bear.
The whispers grew.
"What should we do with them, my lord?"
"Those Lórien traitors must have brought more of their kind with them then we knew. Be careful, my friend" Ainan cautioned quietly. "They are cunning these Galadhrim. They seek to usurp us, undermine our authority- we must show them who is master here." His tone took on a businesslike air. "Destroy those arms you find. But leave those other three elves be for the time being. Let them think they are safe and unsuspected. Then we will strike."
"Yes, sir!" the royal guard captain bowed stiffly. He did not hear the lie in the other's voice. But, he knew it was a lie. The only reason he followed this mad coup was for the sake of his wife and young son. He was so afraid of what would happen to them if he did not obey this false King. He turned to leave.
"Tirien," Ainan commanded casually. The elven guard paused at the door, his heartbeat quickening with apprehension.
"Yes, my lord?"
"I feel the need to refresh my archery skills. Would you kindly hold that apple up for me?" Trembling, the guard did as he was bid. He held it up at arm's length.
"Closer."
Tirien was shaking now. The apple quivered in his hand as he moved it closer to his face. Ainan took his aim, staring directly down the arrow shaft at Tirien. The guard swallowed the lump in his throat.
The bowstring sang.
The guard squeezed his eyes shut tight, expecting to feel pain. He felt a slight tug at his hand and jerked in surprise, opening his eyes.
The apple lay in scattered pieces around him and on his shoulder and wrist. The arrow hung several feet behind him embedded in the wall. Slowly, Ainan lowered his bow, his face grim and a dangerous smile playing on his lips.
"The next time you hesitate to obey me," Ainan said coldly. "You will be the apple."
He grinned at the terrified look on the guard's face as he hastily bowed and fled the room. So, they thought they could outwit him did they? The discovery of his arms and supplies had only set him back. Other weapons had already been delivered into the waiting hands of those vengeful ones who wished death upon the wrongful King of Mirkwood.
Time to tie up the loose ends and carefully withdraw.
There was still much work to do ere the time came for them to truly begin.
Smiling wickedly, Ainan slipped into the shadows and down the empty, quiet passage of the palace. Down he traveled until even the cellars had receded into darkness.
With only a torch to light his way, the elf passed swiftly down the hidden tunnel which only he and his most trusted of associates knew of. This part of the palace wasn't even used anymore. So close to the river was it that the walls had weakened and, in some places, crumbled or flooded.
In short, it was perfect.
Finding a solid, and newly fitted oak door embedded in the soft sandstone, he drew a ring of keys from his belt and unlocked the door which swung open noiselessly, the torchlight flooding into the narrow room, illuminating the pale hair of a figure who lay upon the damp stones. Chains attached the figure's limbs to the walls. Evidence of his struggles was obvious from his chafed, abraded and bleeding wrists. Blood poured sluggishly from a hastily bound wound in the prisoner's shoulder.
Ainan stared down at the tousled, bloodied head slumped between proud shoulders and laid a long-fingered hand upon it, shuddering in satisfaction as he felt the tremble in the manacled limbs.
"Nearly mine, muindor. Nearly mine."
