I suppose I should just give up on a typical, once a week update. There was an eight person waiting list for the internetwhen I tried to get on the computer the last several chances I've gotten.
Thanks to all who read/reviewed, and I promise I'll do my best to update more regularly!
Does anyone know how the 'reply' button on the reviews works? (I could probably find some message, but I'm tired and have to get up in a few hours for work.)
Iluvenis: Okay. Legolas didn't recognize her. Elleri didn't recognize her. No one recognized her, until Elleri was hurt. Thranduil knew who she was, recognized her, by the sword she'd carried to meet with him, which she didn't carry after that, for that reason. As for the bonds... well, you'll just have to wait and keep reading.
Eyes of sky: Probably. Did I screw it up? I'm too tired to look now, but some day I'll fix it.
madrone: I'm working on that, actually, up until recently I was working on it all day.
Raider-K: Thank you, welcome back.
LJP: I doubt he'd consider it sweet or cute, but it works. ;)
Chapter 20 New tactics
Enough of the elves in Legolas's patrol had been in the great hall for dinner the previous evening that her presence between Glorfindel and Elleri had been noted. Her name had been passed around, and they greeted her a bit defiantly when she joined them.
"Sorry," she murmured softly, looking at the faint hints of light breaking upon the stones around them.
He inclined his head, acknowledging her and her apology. "He warned me."
She inclined her head curtly, and glanced back as Glorfindel and the messenger who had fetched him back to Imladris before dawn exited the mountain. They returned a few comments in that twisted tongue no other could understand before the Imladris elves headed off through the wood.
Legolas waited until Glorfindel was gone to lead the way onto the field they would be using for spars until mid-morning. She watched him go, saw his shoulders tense slightly when he heard no one moving to follow.
She lifted a brow as they stared at her, most with arms crossed over their chests.
"Lady Silrinil," one murmured.
She inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement. "Torien," she replied.
Ferien, who had come more to watch and just be there, tilted his head. "You really are a lady?"
She quirked a brow, and nodded, stepping between them to follow Legolas.
"Then… Why be here?"
"I was raised in Mirkwood, as well you know, having heard that name."
"Well…"
"So you played with the Captain when younger?"
She snorted with laughter. "No," she chuckled. "I played with Elleri. Legolas was far too ancient to join our games. I rather suspect he thought us too childish to enjoy."
"Why leave?"
"Because I wished to," she muttered shortly, casting a hard look at the speaker, indicating that that subject was certainly off limits.
"Why'd you come back?" Ferien hazarded.
"Mirkwood is the only true home I have on these shores, no matter how far I roam." She glanced around once, looking for any sign of more questions. Then she tossed off her cloak and drew her sword, bowing her head slightly to Legolas, who inclined his head after checking her eyes.
"Everyone will be partnered up with a new sparring partner," Legolas murmured softly, then proceeded to separate them out.
"And Ashes?"
"Silrinil and I will be sparring," he replied, voice still quiet. "Any other questions?"
"Has a lady joined the service before?"
"No."
After the flat reply, questions were quieted. The partnered elves separated out, leaving Silrinil standing before Legolas. They both looked sadly at the dwindled pairs, three sparring, one pair industriously criticizing the others. Legolas called to them, then inclined his head towards the weaponry, telling them without words to make themselves useful however they could, since Ferien could not yet spar.
With his back to the male elves under his command, he closed his eyes, head bowing as he noted too keenly the lack of noise where before there had been plenty.
"When is the service?"
"Day before yesterday," he replied softly.
"What?"
He sighed. "You needed the rest as much as he did, Linir."
She was silent for a moment, but did not deny his statement. "Will you show me to them?"
After a moment, he nodded slightly. "After this, or after dinner, if you like."
She hesitated for a long moment. In the light of day there would be no denying the truth of their loss… which was, perhaps, why the service for those who knew the departed tended to be held at night. That, and the love of the elves for the stars, of course. "After this."
He nodded, then took a bracing breath and shrugged off his weariness, drawing his blades. When he had to hide a grin, she rolled her eyes.
"You could have asked, you know."
"I suppose," he drawled.
She laughed softly and threw herself into the spar with the same wild abandon with which she always fought.
It was far different fighting her than it was just to watch her fight—much more so than it was with anyone else he'd encountered. By merely watching, you didn't get the sense of energy that flowed out from her, the feeling that you could know her, if you only figured out what move came next.
Having watched her spar enough to know she would go to the end, and consider it not worth the effort if a draw was called, he didn't hold back as he would have with anyone else.
He was gratified when she drew a long dagger to help defend against him, having wondered at his own abilities—she had never failed to draw a second blade against Glorfindel.
"You've been watching," she growled softly, dark eyes sparkling as she twisted easily away.
"When given the chance, I always study my opponent," he managed, trying to rip her dagger away.
She snorted, and on the next attack to the dagger let it go, the metal scraping over the dirt covered stone with stuttering sounds.
Thinking he had the upper hand, he was shocked when his blades were still being countered—by a blade in each hand. He gaped for an instant, then recalled himself in time to avoid being disarmed, ducking down as a wild blow nearly glanced his cheek.
A sharp move caught her unawares, for an instant, and he managed to relieve her of the dagger she'd drawn before she struck back, catching him with the same move she had defeated Glorfindel with on the first match between them that Legolas had seen.
He remembered the rest quickly enough to leap back, weapons ready. He groaned when she drew out another dagger. "Valar, Linir! That must be cheating!"
She laughed softly and shook her head. "I would have fought to hold my blades if I didn't have more."
"How many more?" he grumbled, flipping back before dropping into a roll. He was on his feet in time to strike offensively, in time to see the secretive smile she wore in response to his complaint. "Valar," he muttered, knowing he wasn't going to like the answer.
Four daggers later he finally seemed to have her down to her sword.
"You never drew more than one dagger on Glorfindel," he murmured in her ear, having pinned her back to his chest. He jerked his head out of the way, avoiding that attack of hers, and dropped her to the ground.
She rolled and was on her feet before he could finish her off. "He generally spars to learn, Legolas. You are fighting to win."
"Because you do."
"Ah," she mused, tilting her head to the side for an instant. "Perhaps—" she struck. "Because—" she twisted. "I learned in a situation where—" another strike. "To lose is to be in the control of another." She wrenched one of his daggers away.
He scowled at the dagger in her hand. "Do I want to know where you hide all of those?"
"I picked that one up," she murmured with a faint smile.
He growled softly and drew his sword.
She smirked and settled back, waiting with a calm enough pose but wary eyes.
Several minutes and much shifting of blades later, he had her weaponless, pinned to his chest once more. He had decided, as Glorfindel previously had, that her back to his chest, legs spread just enough she couldn't unbalance him, was the safest way to hold onto her. He kept his head back, then, as she jerked, and then did something the Imladris lord would most likely never have considered. He swooped down, pinning her neck in his teeth—holding her still without hurting her.
She froze, muscles tensing against him before ever so slowly relaxing. "That's different," she mused, shifting carefully. "I yield," she sighed a minute later, unwilling to test his hold on her nape.
"Hmph," he snorted, the exhalation moving her hair slightly. He lifted his head and slowly released her hands, watching the faint red marks on her neck fade away.
She chuckled softly. "The match is over," she murmured softly, glancing back at him.
He nodded an agreement, and then noticed—for the first time—that they were being watched. He glanced up, and realized their match had gone well past the anticipated time. "Elowar," he murmured softly, inclining his head.
"New tactics?" he suggested, before handing Legolas one of his long daggers.
"Learn something new everyday," Legolas replied blandly, sheathing the dagger upon his back. Silrinil handed him the other, and he passed her back her sword before glancing around for his own. A minute later they had their own weapons properly placed to return to the hall. "How long were we being watched?" he asked quietly.
"Your patrol from just before I drew my first dagger… Elowar's from a bit before you drew your sword." She laughed softly at his grumble, and reached up to tie the hair that had worked its way loose back at her nape.
He caught her hand, having noted the red upon it. "To the healers first, Linir."
"I have what is needed in my room, Legolas."
He frowned at her. "Can you take care of it on your own?"
"If I couldn't, I would have bled to death long ago," she responded softly.
"Hmm," he murmured faintly, walking with her. "I'll—"
"Come inside and let me deal with the wound I inflicted upon you," she interrupted softly.
He blinked. "Wound?" he repeated blankly.
She snorted. "Yes. The bloody gash?"
With a frown he glanced down at himself, seeing no blood welling up from the small holes she'd cut in his shirt or leggings. Cool fingers on his cheek drew his attention up once more, his eyes nearly crossing to see the blood she pulled back with. "I guess I didn't duck in time," he mused. "I didn't notice."
"Battle-energy," she mused.
He smiled faintly, and glanced in the mirror. The blood had dripped down almost to his chin, but had been unable to continue on. "Well. We must have looked a sight."
She laughed and moved to a tattered pack which was leaning against a painted tree, digging through it until she returned with several pieces of plain white cloth and a few small jars. She picked up the bowl by the door, emptying it of fruit before filling it with her supplies, and moved into the bathing room. "Well?" she asked softly.
He followed slowly, and found her bathing room was much like the one he shared with Elleri, only smaller and with less of a gilded edge… which he found he quite preferred. Silrinil had filled the bowl with water, and started to turn to him with a damp cloth, but he caught her hand and turned it, taking the cloth to her own wound first. It was long, but it wasn't very deep, and hadn't bled overmuch, but he would prefer having it tended first.
Once clean, she spread a paste of some origin unknown to him over it, and allowed him to tie one of the bandages around it. She emptied the water bowl and got new, as the water had cooled, and motioned for him to sit.
He couldn't remember anyone other than the healers tending his wounds—save for field dressings—ever before. Minor ones, like this one most likely was, he would wash in a nearby outshoot of the natural springs within the mountain, and then ignore.
She pressed the warm cloth to his cheek, but didn't move it. After a few moments she removed the cloth and rewet it, wringing it out to replace it, a little higher up.
When she pressed against the wound itself, he felt the pain of it for the first time, and winced slightly. Dark eyes flickered to him, but she didn't say anything, simply lifted the cloth and then drew it gently down along his cheek to his chin. After leaving the cloth in the bowl, she dipped a finger in the paste, and dabbed it lightly on the wound, the move so soft he didn't feel any pain for the touch.
In fact, he no longer felt any pain. "What…"
"It numbs the flesh," she answered quietly, before lifting the cloth again. "It wasn't deep—it shouldn't scar."
"And your own?"
She shook her head. "Not with this," she murmured, inclining her head at the jar she had used.
"What is the difference between them?"
She smiled faintly and closed the jars tightly. "They do much the same thing… but the one I used on your wound stems the bleeding a bit more rapidly—good for injuries that can't easily be bandaged."
"Small, superficial ones."
She nodded. "Yes."
He looked back at her bandaged arm. He noted a few lines, and drew his fingers along them. "You learned by failure how to make those, didn't you?"
"Yes. I knew a little before I left, of course, but the plants the healers use here don't grow everywhere."
"Nor, most likely, do the plants you use."
"No," she agreed with a faint smile. "In fact, I doubt many know of the main ones—as they grow only in cold, dark and damp places."
With the faintest shrug he stood up, and followed her back into her room. She put the things away in her old travel pack, then began removing her weapons, one at a time, making him remember their task. He left her room, stripping himself of his weapons, leaving them just inside his door.
She was waiting when he stepped back into the corridor, and together they made their way down to the tombs. Since the ground more than two inches below the surface tended to be solid rock until one was deep within the forest, Mirkwood elves were not buried, and certainly they were not burned. So deep within the mountain's roots they wound their steps, walking together in solemn stillness as the torches sprang to life to guide their path.
At twilight, the room they entered would be bathed silver, thanks to the endless reflection of starlight from so many silver mirrors placed carefully within the rock and walls. Now, with the sun directly pouring into the far distant channel, the room was ablaze, and far less soothing. The endless lines of fallen could be seen, small rooms hewn off the main corridor, each either filled or hoping not to be, each for a family or group of families, a patrol there, a group here.
They said nothing until they were before the place filled so recently, and even those few words of prayer were cut off from the rest of the dead by the shuttered stillness of the hewn room that had received them.
The harsh light showed the truest reality of their loss—eleven stones filled with elves who had not two weeks ago been jesting merrily with them as they started the long wind into the forest.
By silent agreement they turned together to leave, but they did not turn to exit the catacombs. Instead they continued down the hall, until they passed into another wing of the dead. There were far fewer remains left here, and no visitors or mourners set foot within unless they were of blood. On the right, the kings and queens that had been before, along with the rare prince who had been killed in service. On the left, the most trusted advisor of the current king, and his wife, as they had had no set place here. Walking in on the right, their view of the left side of the room blocked by a large metal and jewel tree, they came to the Queen first.
Fingers squeezed his own as he let himself dwell on his mother for a moment, as he remembered her dark gold hair and sky-bright eyes. Morsallien had been too young to know how much like their mother she looked. Verine, like Legolas, had the darker sapphire eyes of their father, which Legolas felt something of a pity.
They moved on around the tree, coming first to Silrinil's mother. She reached out, lightly tracing the features painted upon the small alter before her stone. Now he tightened his hold on her fingers, making her smile faintly before she led him on. Her eyes darkened slightly when they were before her father's resting place, and she reached out to touch the slab of dark stone covering him after stepping up lightly onto the short step leading to his final resting place.
Legolas watched her eyes close in memory, and found his own breath was coming in unevenly, thinking how terribly unfair her life had been. He stepped up behind her, wrapping his arms around her, resting his chin on her shoulder. She whispered a few soft words in that blasted tongue he didn't understand, then leaned back into his hold, her eyes drifting closed.
They stayed like that for a fair time, thinking about their losses. Eventually they stirred, drifting out of the tombs with fingers entwined… though neither could say when it had happened or who initiated it… again.