Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1

Chapter 13: Ancient Lesson

When Legolas emerged into the early sunlight, he shied away from it like a mole leaving its burrow. He was leaning on Moraelin, his tall body slumped toward her. He pressed his lips together, his face serious, and said, "Take me across the stream, will you?"

Moraelin frowned curiously, but steered him there. It proved a unique sort of struggle for a small, injured half-dwarf to lug a large injured elf through a thaw-swollen stream. As they nearly slipped on the slick stones for the hundredth time, Moraelin dragged him to shore. They went only a few yards further before he stopped her.

Legolas dropped to one knee with care. He placed a hand over his heart and whispered words of mourning for his fallen mount. Moraelin stepped back respectfully, but could not help but be touched by the display. She stared down at his blond head, which was bowed in sadness, and listened to the deep hum of his voice as he recited the ancient language of the Eldar.

When he finished, Moraelin went to help him back to his feet. As she pulled him up by his hand, his knees buckled and he fell heavily against her. Moraelin caught him, wrapping her arm around him and bracing her feet. Her breath hitched for a moment as his solid body pressed into hers, but it turned into a gasp of pain as her injured arm was wrenched backward by his weight.

"Moraelin, I'm sorry," Legolas said in alarm as a grimace of pain washed over her face. He tried to draw back, take the pressure off of her arm, but only managed to rock dangerously back on his heels, his legs and head still not cooperating with his desire to stay upright.

Moraelin cursed, pulling him to her again. "Stand still you foolish elf or we'll both end up on the ground."

Legolas looked down at her, seeing the unease in her dark gaze at his closeness. He, on the other hand, was rather enjoying himself. He had nearly forgotten how good it felt to hold Moraelin. He could not resist the lazy grin that spread across his face. He was reminded of the countless hours they had spent practicing for the Swan Feather Dance. He remembered how it felt to catch her in his arms after she executed a flip, her movements so fluid it seemed she was underwater, she could float as gracefully through the sky as one of the feathers on her dress. His pleasant recollection was interrupted by Moraelin's sigh.

She was staring across the stream with an apprehensive expression. "Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to get this over with."

"What are you talking about?" Legolas asked.

Moraelin inclined her head, and he followed her gaze. There was Rock, grazing peacefully. He looked up, sensing he was being spoken of, eyeing them with cold suspicion. Moraelin called him over, and he hesitated, as if knowing something unpleasant was planned for him.

"What is wrong with the two of you?" Legolas asked, sensing some unspoken communication was passing between them.

Another sigh from Moraelin, this one so deep it seemed to have been dredged up from down near her feet. "Legolas, Rock has never borne another rider."

"Never?"

"No. That's one of the reasons Aldruid hates him so much. The great and powerful Ranger thought he could ride any horse and meant to show me even my horse could be taught to bear another. I tried to warn him. . ."

"What happened to him?" Legolas asked in a slow, dark voice. He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"You know, it was the strangest thing, I'd never seen anyone thrown so high by a horse. I think if he'd been a little closer to the stable he would have ended up on the roof. Once we got his hip back into socket, it was fine, but he says the arm he broke still bothers him when rain is coming."

"Dislocated hip and broken arm?" Legolas said with a chuckle, "I guess it could have been worse."

"Well, he does still have a twitch sometimes. He hit his head pretty hard when he landed."

"A twitch?" Legolas asked, his blue eyes widening.

"That was a joke, Legolas. Calm down." She grinned. She helped Legolas to sit on the grass and went to Rock.

"So, he didn't actually throw Aldruid?" Legolas said with relief.

"Oh no, the rest is true. I just threw in the part about the twitch to see the look on your face."

Legolas sent her an acidic smile, "Thanks. Kick me while I'm down. That's fine, just fine."

Moraelin laughed as she approached her horse. She placed her hand on the side of his neck, looking very closely into one eye. She cooed softly, scratching him under his mane and he seemed to relax slightly.

"You know this is important, don't you?" she whispered, "You could be a hero if you just do me this one tiny favor. He isn't going to hurt you, I promise. I know you only trust me, but I'm telling you that you can trust him too."

Legolas fell back on the grass, contemplating for a moment that he might still be in a fevered dream. He could swear he had seen the horse nod in understanding at something she had said. Blast it all, he was starting to *believe* that horse could understand her. He was nearly waiting for Rock to answer back! This was truly the strangest quest he had ever undertaken. And he'd traveled with hobbits.

When she led the horse to him, they stared each other down for a moment. Then, Legolas rose to his full height, wavering a little on his feet.

"You keep glaring at him like that and we won't get very far." Moraelin mumbled into Legolas's ear.

Legolas pursed his lips, "He's a horse. He has no idea what I'm thinking."

"He's a very special horse," Moraelin replied defensively.

"We'll see." Legolas snapped. He lifted one foot to the stirrup, feeling Moraelin's hand on his back to steady him. He found just enough strength to hoist himself up and drop heavily into the saddle. He reeled for a moment, his head spinning. But, as the horizon righted itself, he felt the animal dance nervously.

Moraelin gripped the reins, her voice commanding, "Hey! Hey, we had a deal!"

The horse snorted in anger, but stilled. His eyes were slightly wild, but he appeared to be prepared to bear Legolas.

Moraelin raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That went better than I expected."

Legolas scowled. Nausea was washing over him in waves and making him irritable. He was not well enough to travel, they both knew that. But, he knew that Moraelin was keeping a tally in her head just as he was of how many days Talendil had been held in the mines. Add to that several days it would still take them to discuss strategy with the High Council and proceed to the mines and what resulted was a daunting length of time. Elves of Silvan blood like Talendil could not survive locked away from sunshine and open air. Talendil was strong, exceptionally so, but he was still an elf. He had his limits.

Moraelin took Rock's reins and began leading him through the canyon, continuing their painfully slow progress. The sun rose high in the sky, enough that the warming sunlight fell between the tall walls and onto Moraelin's back. For miles, Legolas dozed in the saddle, hunched over the neck of his surprisingly docile mount. Moraelin glanced back at him often, studying the pale perfection of his face as it bobbed lightly with the swaying of the horse. Then she would sigh and plod on.

When Legolas spoke up, Moraelin jumped, so surprised after the silence, "You know, I've been thinking a lot about what you said. What we fought about before."

Moraelin said nothing, just tightened her fist around the reins.

"I see now that you're right, that elves have been selfish. But, things are very different now than they were when we were children. The darkening of the wood, the Battle at Dol Guldur has changed the attitudes of many. We fought alongside mortal men and renewed ties with the Galadrim. We found that, to survive, we had to cast our old grudges aside."

"You say 'we' as if you include yourself. You were never spiteful like that. You were always better than them."

"No," Legolas said quietly, "I have made mistakes too. Though Gimli is one of my closest friends now, when we first met I fell into that same pattern. . . I started sounding like my father."

Moraelin laughed. "Well, we definitely don't want that."

Legolas smiled reluctantly. "I just want you to know that it is a very different place than you might remember. A better place."

"That remains to be seen," she murmured, effectively ending the conversation. After a few more yards, Moraelin said, "We are nearing the end of the canyon. Then we will cross the river valley and enter the forest. I don't know about you, but I will be very glad to leave this blasted corridor of death behind. . ."

Moraelin's voice faded away as she stopped, looking ahead with narrowed eyes.

"What is it?" Legolas asked, struggling to sit up straighter. Then, he saw them, the lurching forms of orcs on either side of the canyon, positioned along the high cliffs. It was an ambush.

"This is all your fault," Moraelin mumbled as she struggled to untie her sling, "You smell like elf. You're drawing them in from miles around."

"It would appear," Legolas growled. He twisted around in the saddle and saw orcs stalking easily down the canyon walls behind them. When he turned back, he saw a frustrated Moraelin cutting the cloth around her arm with her dagger. She stepped back, pulling Legolas's bow and quiver from where she had lashed them to her saddlebags.

"Moraelin, what are you doing? Mora, don't—"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she groaned through tightly clenched teeth. The pain nearly drove her to her knees as she lifted the bow in her injured arm and nocked one of Legolas's arrows.

"Higher," he instructed, "Aim higher or you'll be too short."

She obeyed and sent an arrow whistling from the bow. None was more surprised than Moraelin to see an orc drop to the rocky floor of the canyon, dead before he landed. More confidently, she sent two more quick arrows cutting through the tense air to the orcs stationed on the other side of the ravine, shooting both cleanly through the chest. The remaining orc ducked low, dodging her arrow. He scrambled toward a screen of boulders.

"Let me—"Legolas said.

"No," Moraelin barked back, and one last arrow arced up and away, slicing through golden sunlight to reach its mark. The orc dropped from the cliff with a howl, an arrow lodged through his back and jutting from his chest. The mouth of the canyon seemed clear, but more orcs could be heard behind them, closing in on them rapidly.

Moraelin bent double, clutching at her shoulder for an agonized moment. When she straightened, her face pale, she met Legolas's eyes. "Legolas, there's something I need you to do for me."

"What? What can I do?" he asked frantically.

"I need you to grab the saddlehorn. Have you got it?"

Unthinkingly, Legolas obeyed.

"Good," Moraelin said. She slapped Rock's rump loudly with a sharp yell. The horse thundered away, toward the safety of the forest.

"No!" Legolas bellowed, trying to halt the galloping horse. But, Rock ignored him. Clearly, the horse was under strict orders. Legolas grunted in frustration and relented, hoping only to stay atop the animal as it flew headlong out of the canyon.

Moraelin watched them for a moment, whispering, "Good boy, Rocky. You keep him safe."

Her left arm had fallen limp at her side again, so she dropped the now useless bow and drew her sword. She turned, breathing deeply the pine- scented air. She heard the ugly screams of her opponents, the pounding of their feet as they neared her. But, it all sounded faint and indistinct. As her father had taught her so many years before, her world compressed, quieted, until all that existed was the beating of her heart, the rocky soil beneath her feet, and the next move of the orc before her. When she put herself into this sort of trance, things became so clear to her. The orc twisted his foot, showing her which way to expect the next blow. His yellow eyes flicked to the side, his grip shifted. She knew what he meant to do almost before he did.

Moraelin blinked, the foggy whiteness dropping away to reveal a painful jumble of colors and smells. Around her lay corpses, ten or eleven of them. She bore little memory of killing them, only a soreness in her sword arm and a small nick on her hip that slowly leaked blood. It was at times such as these, when she fought by some elemental instinct, that she felt the most powerful, but afterwards, she felt frightened. She feared what her father had taught her, that she could kill with such single-minded focus.

Her eyelids fluttered as she looked up into the blinding sun and lifted her arms slowly. Orc blood dripped down her sword hilt and onto her fingertips, still warm. She did not know whether to whisper to the Valar for thanks or for forgiveness. So, she said nothing, just stood like a carven statue, letting the memory of battle drop away.

But, it would not leave her. It clung to her like some stain on her soul, an impurity she would never wash away. Forgiveness. She knew then that she should ask the Valar to forgive her. Because, be it memories of her capture, vengeance for her father, or just a deep-rooted hatred of orcs carried by both elves and dwarves that drove her to it, she enjoyed killing orcs. Sometimes, as she fought, she felt a laugh form in her chest, a sickening giddiness she could barely contain. Though they were cruel, twisted beings, Moraelin still felt disgusted that she should revel in their pain. Feeling dirty and ashamed, Moraelin picked up Rocky and Legolas's trail and trudged after them.