Well this one just popped up unexpectedly, didn't it? A surprise for you, my faithful readers, and a little snack for my new ones. The OCs are mine, so no stealing! Though why you would want to is beyond me. Joram, Tissla, and Toram are one-timers; Aldamîr is my head healer in Mirkwood, so you will probably see him around often; Beryl is the Captain of the Guard, also in several of my fics; and Isilendiel is, of course, the Queen, as seen in "Blood and Flowers." Legolas is a still a child.
The chapters are long, but there are only two, and I couldn't bear to separate them any further. This fic was something…new. I hope it's never been done before, and I hope you like it.
Thirty Days
The year 1050, a shadow over Greenwood begins to appear…"Toram, get down from there before you fall!" the young woman called to her son attempting to climb the large oak tree beside the road. Even walking through most of the day as the small family was, the seven-year old boy still had energy to spare.
"Ah, let him be, Tissla," the boy's father laughed. "Perhaps he will actually sleep the whole night tonight."
"And if he falls and breaks his leg, what then, Joram? We have not the knowledge or the supplies to mend it," Tissla countered.
"Your mother is right, son. Come down now," Joram called. The small boy easily complied, shinnying down the tree and quickly displaying an odd-shaped branch he had found, before scurrying off after a squirrel.
After a few more minutes of walking, Toram was called back and a shaded place was found beside the road where they could rest and eat. A small loaf of bread and flask of water were taken from the family's old mare, which carried all of their remaining possessions.
Conditions in the small Human settlement that had lived in had not been good. The two was still recovering from a fire the year previously in which it had lost nearly a third of its inhabitants. Work was bad, pay was low, and food was scarce. After selling most of their possessions, Joram and his family had decided to make the north trip to Lake Town, which was reported to be thriving. None of the other families were willing to leave their homes or risk the journey with them.
The borders of Greenwood the Great were well within sight; every so often a stray tree, an extension of the forest, perhaps, would grace the roadside with much-desired shade. Yet the travelers did not venture into the woods, having heard the stories of weary wanderers entering them, never to be seen again.
Besides that, they were aware of the nearing Elven territory. The Wood-Elves were not known for their friendliness to other races, and were rather renowned for their fierce skills in battle. But all Elves were held in awe and not a little fear by Humans, seeing them as magical, dangerous, and otherworldly.
The family soon rose after their simple meal and continued on their road again, Joram leading the old grey mare. The man was not tall, but had a broad, sturdy build that suggested great strength. He had been a blacksmith before the fire, the most respected in the village, but in recent times had taken whatever odd jobs possible to help make ends meet. He had dark hair and dark eyes, but gentle features betraying his humorous countenance.
His wife, Tissla, was slender and a few inches shorter than he, with light brown hair and grey eyes. Their son Toram was a fair mix of both of them, with brown eyes and hair the color of his mother's.
Young Toram quickly skipped ahead of his parents, briefly examining every rock and hole along the way. His parents laughed at his antics, more than glad that he had remained unaffected by the move thus far.
The three continued well on into the afternoon, until Joram noticed the dark clouds gathering on the near horizon, heralds of the bad storm to come. After briefly discussing it with Tissla, he decided that the safest place to wait out the storm would be under the trees of Greenwood.
Calling Toram to them, they hastened toward the dark eave. The wind was quickly picking up in force and the first fat drops of rain were beginning to fall just as they reached the tree line. The three continued on into the woods until the dark sky could hardly be seen above them. Few were the drops that penetrated that dense canopy.
Settling on the soft grass against a large tree and tying the horse to a low-hanging branch, the three Humans sat to wait out the storm. It was surprisingly quiet, but the storm could be heard raging beyond their safe refuge, and they were glad of it.
After only half an hour of sitting quietly with no sign of the storm lightening up, Toram rose and proceeded to thoroughly explore their immediate surrounds. After finding nothing of great interest there, the boy declared that he was going to go seek buried treasure.
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Tissla quickly countered. "Woods can be very dangerous places, and we don't know what's out there."
"I'm sure he'll be just fine, Tiss," Joram replied. "We're near enough to the edge of the forest, and all is quiet. Nothing will happen to him."
Tissla gave an exasperated sigh. "Fine, but stay within sight of us, or you'll sit with us until the storm passes."
Toram whooped excitedly, and scampered off. There was no sign of any animals or even flowers and all parts of the forest looked the same as the next. Not to be so easily dissuaded, Toram continued on, careful to keep in sight the tree his parents rested against.
After a few short minutes of easily ambling and the occasional pause to admire some twisted tree or other, something caught the young boy's eye. Almost straight ahead gleamed a pale shaft of sunlight, shining down into what looked to be a thicket of some sort, surrounded by tall hedges.
Pondering the presence of light piercing through the trees, for the storm was still to be heard as strong as ever, the boy bounded forward, but just as suddenly came to a halt. He glanced back. The tree his parents rested against was just within sight, and he knew that if he continued on, it would be lost from his sight.
But his interest already piqued, Toram quickly decided to go on. He would soon return; he just wanted to see what the light was.
He reached the thick hedge and eagerly pushed his way through. He came out on the other side to a small clearing, gently illuminated by the natural sunlight. Immediately, he was struck with a sense of peace and serenity, but also something else, something quiet and almost sad.
On the opposite side of the clearing stood a massive oak tree, with many interlacing branches—perfect for climbing if one could reach the lowest branches.
At the base of the great tree was a small mound of freshly turned earth, no more than two feet across and four long. The shaft of sunlight fell directly on the small, surrounded by small white flowers.
The clearing was utterly silent except for the sound of his own breathing and steps as he slowly walked forward. As he neared, something on the tree caught his eye, and he closely examined it, careful not to step on the fresh dirt or flowers.
Many curves and lines adorned the tree's bark, in some semblance of words, he thought. Toram stared at the carvings for a while, then down at the dirt, and a new thought sprang into his mind. Perhaps this was his buried treasure!
Getting down on his knees, he laid his hands on the dirt, something telling him not to touch it. But it was obvious that something had been done to it, and quite recently, and Toram knew he would never be able to rest until he knew what.
Gently sinking his fingers into the dirt, he was surprised at how soft it was and how easily it was removed. He soon had a hole a half-foot deep, and excitedly kept digging, laying the removed dirt to the side.
By the time the hole was two feet deep, he was lying on his stomach and stretching down to continue. Soon after, his fingers brushed against something hard, and he tapped and pounded until he was sure. He eagerly brushed away the dirt to reveal a dark, smooth wood. He stared at it for a long moment before giving a loud cry of joy and springing up, running back the way he had come.
Joram and Tissla jumped up at the sudden loud shout. "Toram," they breathed in horror at the same moment. They ran in the direction they thought it had come from, to come face to face with their son a few moments later as he ran towards them.
"What is it? What happened?"
"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"
Their worry turned to confusion, though, as they noticed the huge smile and light of excitement on Toram's face. They did not have to wait long for an explanation.
"I found it!" he exclaimed. "I found buried treasure!"
He grabbed their hands and quickly led them back to the clearing. Pulled through the hedge, Joram and Tissla hit with the sense of serenity permeating the small clearing, disturbed though it was by the boy's excitement.
Toram rapidly started his tale, pointing out each thing as he said it. "First I saw the light so I came in here, and I saw the tree, and the weird carvings on it, and the fresh dirt, so I decided to dig in it, and I found something wooden!"
The two took in everything, Joram stepping closer to examine the carvings on the tree. "They look to be some sort of letters perhaps, but I have never seen the like of them before."
Tissla glanced uneasily about them. "Perhaps we should go…" There was something very wrong about this place.
Joram gently took Tissla by the shoulders, looking her steadily in the eye. "Tiss, this could be our lucky break. There could actually be something here. Do you want to pass that up? Do you wish to remain poor for the rest of our lives?"
Tissla lowered her eyes and Joram turned to the hole his son had dug. For many minutes, Joram and Toram labored away, enlarging the hole until most of the fresh dirt was removed.
The hole revealed a dark wooden box, about four feet long and less than two feet across. "Tiss," Joram requested, kneeling at one end of the hole. "Help me lift it."
Tissla obeyed, kneeling at the other end and reaching down to grasp the box. On the count of three, the two lifted the box, finding it only about a foot deep and surprisingly—and perhaps disappointingly—light. Toram was bouncing in excitement as they set it down next to the hole.
Brushing off a light layer of dirt revealed more of the strange lettering, inlaid in gold, at the head of the box. Tissla ran a hand over it as Joram pried at the lid. It was nailed tightly shut, but after much tugging and effort, he had managed to displace enough of the nails to get it open.
Tissla and Joram's eyes met again, one hand resting on the lid, ready to remove it. This could very well be the changing point in their lives. "Open it! Open it! Open it!" Toram cried excitedly.
Joram slowly lifted the lid, and what was then revealed to them elicited a small scream from Tissla and heavy gasps from the other two. Joram quickly grabbed his son and turned his head, not wishing him to see.
In the box lay a young boy, looking scarcely older than Toram. His hands were folded over his chest, and his bright golden hair fanned out beneath his head. His skin was as white as snow, and a calm look was upon his beautiful, serene features.
He was clad in a shining silver tunic and leggings of the same color. A small silver circlet adorned his brow, and beside was placed a small silver harp. Elegantly pointed ears could be seen through his hair. He was very obviously dead.
The three Humans immediately stepped back, both in shock and awe. "An Elf…" Tissla murmured, not really knowing what else to say. None of them had ever actually seen an Elf before, but had heard descriptions of them, and the fair being before them was undoubtedly one.
They stood that way, perfectly still for what seemed an eternity, as if expecting something to happen. Toram slowly moved forward with outstretched hand, and ever so gently touched the young Elf's cheek. "He's so cold," he whispered.
Snapping into action, as if awoken from a trance, Joram quickly grabbed his son's hand, pulling it away from the Elf. "Do not touch—" he started to say, but was interrupted.
Tissla gave another scream as a pale hand suddenly shot up, latching onto Joram's wrist. White eyelids flew open to reveal vacant grey eyes, focusing on nothing.
Joram also gave a startled cry, easily pulling away from the weak grip and quickly moving well out of reach, pulling Toram with him.
The Elf child's arm fell limply back to his side, his head tossing back and forth and slowly, before he suddenly went still again. His eyes remained open.
The three Humans looked on with eyes wide open, Tissla with one hand to her heart, Joram holding his wrist where the Elf child had caught it, and Toram tightly gripping his father's trousers. After several moments of absolute stillness, hardly daring to breathe, Tissla looked up to Joram then quickly back to the Elf. "Is he…what happened?"
"I do not know," Joram responded, cautiously walking forward. He lightly kicked the side of the box, but this elicited no reaction from the being inside. Not even a sign of breathing could be detected.
"I think he's…dead," Joram concluded after a moment.
"That's what we thought before he grabbed you, and obviously what someone else thought, too," Tissla was quick to point out. She did not quite know what to think of the entire situation.
"Perhaps it is the custom of the Elven folk to bury the living for some reason?" The idea was ludicrous, and Joram knew it. But at the moment he could think of nothing else.
Toram walked forward to peer down at the fair being. "He's hardly older than me, isn't he? Why do you think he died?"
Joram merely shrugged and Tissla was about to say something when the Elf's head turned to the other side and all three Humans jumped backwards. A slight whisper, more of a sigh, indiscernible to their ears passed his lips before he went still again.
"He is most definitely not dead, Joram," Tissla said.
"What do we do now?" Toram asked.
Joram stood still for a long minute, pondering the situation. "Well, we cannot leave him out here alone…"
"His own folk did," Tissla interrupted.
"We do not know the whole story. Anything could have happened." Joram paused again. "I suppose we shall take him with us back to our little camp. We can think of something else there. Tiss, help me with this."
Tissla reluctantly took up one end of the box, lifting it with her husband. "Toram, get the lid, and try not to drag it," Joram said.
The three let the little clearing, walking slowly so as not to jostle their light burden. None of them noticed the storm had passed.
…………
Darkness. For so long there had been darkness. There used to be light piercing through once in a while, but that had stopped long ago. Now his world was only darkness.
He could not remember what had happened. For a long while, he had been able to sense his ada and naneth with him, but now they too were gone. He was along in the darkness.
Why was he in the dark? Surely there was something besides this, something before this, but he could not remember.
Suddenly a grey light appeared through the gloom and slowly grew. At first he shied away from the light, so used as he was to the dark. But as he adjusted to the new presence, he struggled to reach it, knowing that answers and peace lay within. But still the light evaded his touch.
Suddenly, he felt something touch his cheek, gently wiping away the tear that had fallen there unbidden. The touch withdrew, and he blindly reached out, grasping for anything he could hold onto. But his hand met only empty air, and he let it fall back limply to his side.
He collapsed back, helpless tears flooding his eyes and over spilling in little rivulets. He did not know how long he lay there, letting his thoughts dwell on nothing, before he thought he thought he heard something. Quickly perking up, he remained perfectly still, straining his ears for the slightest sound.
The sound came again, louder this time. He suddenly realized it was a voice, forming words through the darkness. "Legolas, come back to us," the voice said. "Come back to the light."
Legolas…that name…It was his! Someone was calling to him. He had not been forgotten. And that voice…he knew that voice. He had always known that voice, since the beginning of time.
"Naneth!" he called, his voice a hoarse whisper from disuse. "I am here! Naneth!" he called as loudly as he could.
But there was no response, and, having no strength remaining, he collapsed back into the darkness.
…………
Joram and his little family had set up camp back by the large tree they had rested against earlier, pitching their small tent they slept in, and lighting a little fire. They had set the Elf, still lying in the box (or coffin, they now realized) across the fire from the tent, though their eyes rarely left it.
The same thoughts were running through Joram's head as were Tissla's—What to do now? They could not very well leave him alone in the forest as he was. He was obviously very unwell and something very wrong had happened to cause him to be buried alive—unless it was a custom, as Joram had suggested.
They could not stay in the forest with him forever, though. Their supplies were running low enough as it was. Yet they certainly could not continue on to Lake Town and bring him with them. An Elf living among Humans? The idea was almost as ridiculous was the Elves burying their living as a custom. And besides that, they had no idea what was even wrong with him, much less how to help him.
Perhaps they should not even get involved. It was really no business of theirs what the Elves did with their own folk. The two Humans quickly discarded that idea, though. The Elf child was another living being, after all, and so young and innocent. If they left him out here alone he would surely die.
It seemed there was only one logical choice. They would take the young Elf with them, and continue on through Greenwood to find the Elf kingdom, and hope for the best.
Toram, however, was troubled by no such thoughts. Being of a youthful and naturally inquisitive nature, he felt only curiosity toward the new, strange being. But his parents had forbidden him to go near the Elf, unsure of what would happen. So he had to be content with watching from a distance.
Night soon fell, bringing with the issue of what to do with the Elf while they were sleeping. Tissla suggested that they secure the lid back over the box, but Joram responded that he would surely suffocate. Although, as Tissla pointed out, he had not suffocated before they had found him, and that had even been under feet of dirt.
This thought only deepened the mystery surrounding the Elf child. How had he survived being buried alive, and how long had it been? Surely it could not have been too long, for besides the physical demands of air and water, the dirt was still fresh and recently moved, and the carving on the tree fresh and not weathered. It had surely been no more than four days.
Finally Joram decided to set the lid over the box, although at an angle so there a large crack for air near the Elf's head. The lid, although very light, would surely prove an obstacle for the Elf in his weakened state. They would hear him if he regained consciousness and attempted to move.
They extinguished the fire and crawled into the tent, soon resting in a light, undisturbed sleep.
…………
He did not know whether his eyes were opened or closed; all was equally dark. Long he lay there, unable to move. Slowly, a grey slit of light appeared above him, hardly discernible, yet a sharp contrast to the darkness surrounding him.
He forced himself to move and raised his hand to touch the light, but could not. His hand met something hard, but he could not tell what it was. Raising his other hand and pushing with all his might, he felt the thing give way slightly.
But he could push no longer, weary beyond recollection. So tired…he had been tired for so long. He could hardly remember a time when he had not been tired.
His strength spent, the light again began to fade, swallowed by the darkness, as his eyes slowly drifted shut. Just before he could be totally taken again by the darkness, that light voice came again to his fading ears, sounding altogether urgent and sad at the same time. "Legolas, do not give in. You are so close. Please come back to us."
"Naneth?" His eyes hot open and a tiny slit of the grey light remained.
"Please, Legolas, please come back to us. I need you…"
"Naneth! I am trying…!" He brought his knees up this time and pushed against the heavy object. He had to get back…he had to escape this darkness…he had to get back to his mother. She needed him…
The heavy object was suddenly pulled away and the grey light flooded his sense, sending stabs of pain deep within his mind. "Naneth!" he cried out hoarsely.
…………
The three Humans were jolted awake just at dawn by a small voice crying out. Quickly crawling out of the tent, they rushed to the wooden box and Joram quickly removed the lid.
The Elf's eyes were opened wide and when the lid was removed he cried out in a tongue unfamiliar to them, before making an odd sort of choking noise. His clouded grey eyes rolled in the back of his head and his entire body began to twitch. It was gentle at first, but rapidly escalated in only a few seconds to a full-blown seizure.
"Do something, Joram!" Tissla cried, grabbing her son around the chest to prevent him from going any closer.
"What do you want me to do?" Joram responded, nearly panicking.
"I don't know!" Tissla shouted back. "Just do something! He'll hurt himself!"
Joram quickly stepped to the head of the box and grabbed the Elf child's shoulders, hauling him to an upright position.
The Elf continued to jerk violently, slamming his head back to meet with the Man behind him. Joram stumbled back slightly from the force of the blow as the air was knocked from him, but maintained his grip on the Elf.
"Joram!" Tissla suddenly cried out in horror. Joram looked down to see blood leaking steadily from the Elf's mouth as he coughed and choked.
"Tiss! A cloth!" he demanded. The woman ran to the tent and returned in a flash with a blanket. Joram took it and pried the seizing Elf's mouth open, pressing in a corner of the material.
Tissla grabbed Toram again, who had been watching everything with wide, frightened eyes, and pressed his face to her shoulder.
Less than a minute later, the Elf's fit slowly dulled to a slight trembling, and Joram removed the blanket. The corner was saturated in blood. He wiped away the blood on the Elf's face and gently opened his mouth again, grimacing at the sight presented. The Elf's tongue had several deep gashes in it, and, although covered in blood, Joram could tell that not all of them were fresh.
Joram held the Elf against him for several more minutes until the child's tremblings finally ceased altogether. The fair being's eyes slowly cracked open before he suddenly started coughing, struggling with the thick blood in his mouth and throat. Joram leaned him forward and gently patted his back as he expelled the blood, until he at last quieted and leaned back wearily.
The Elf's eyes closed for a moment, as if gathering his bearings, before opening to reveal not dull grey, but startlingly clear silver orbs. He cast a quick glance around him and cracked open his mouth, murmuring something they did not understand, though it clearly pained him.
After a moment when nobody made a move, he looked again more carefully at the three beings around him, his sharp gaze seeming to penetrate them. The two elder Humans could clearly see the pain and confusion in his eyes, but also the helplessness and fear.
He slowly opened his mouth again, and this time they were surprised to hear something they could understand come from his lips. "Water?" he rasped.
Tissla sprang up and retrieved a flask of water from the horse nearby and handed it to Joram, who held it to the Elf's lips.
The child eagerly drank, though the moment the liquid touched his tongue, he gave a pained cry and spat it back out, mixed with blood. He leaned forward, pain covering his fair features, clutching his side.
A few long moments passed before Joram gently pulled the Elf back with no resistance. He had lost consciousness again.
The three Humans remained still and silent for a long moment, as if absorbing all that had just happened. Finally Tissla took a deep breath and gently pushed Toram away with a hand at his back. "Go get something ready to eat, please."
She walked over and knelt before Joram, who still held the Elf before him. "His shirt is soiled," she said softly, gesturing to the Elf's bloodied front.
Joram nodded as his wife slowly undid the clasps on the front of the silver tunic. She gently removed it with her husband's help to reveal a white sleeveless shirt underneath.
She carefully folded the clothing and set it aside as she noticed a slight bulge around the Elf's middle, formerly hidden by the tunic. She gently lifted the shirt to find a clean white bandage underneath, wrapped all the way around him.
Casting a quick glance at Joram, who nodded in acceptance, she found the end of the bandage and began to unwind it. At last it fell away, and she gasped in dismay at the sight revealed.
A large, ugly wound, red and thickly adorned with black around the edges, marred the Elf's snowy white skin at his side. It was jagged and appeared to have been quite deep and very painful.
"Who could have done this?" Joram asked in horror and disgust for the person who would do such a thing to an innocent.
"No child should have to suffer thus," Tissla responded, equally dismayed.
"It cannot be more than a week or two old," Joram said, studying the ugly wound.
"Perhaps that is why he was buried. They knew he would not survive," Tissla pondered.
"The mysteries surrounding this child ever deepen," Joram sighed. "I only hope we may find answers, and before it is too late."
"What can we do with him on the journey?" Tissla asked, rewrapping the bandage around the Elf. "We cannot very well keep him in that…box."
"No, I suppose not." Joram paused and helped her tie off the bandage. "We shall have to leave it here then, and carry him. If we find the Elves, they can come back and get it."
"But what if he…dies…along the way?" Tissla inquired.
Joram looked up sharply. "Let us hope it does not come to that."
Just then Toram returned with a few pieces of bread and fruit and handed them to his parents. The small family ate in silence, all watching the Elf, still leaning against Joram's broad chest.
When they were preparing to leave, Tissla took a cloth and carefully the small silver harp in it, previously forgotten, and safely stowed it away in one of the saddle bags. She did the same for the bloody tunic and delicate circlet, which had come loose during the Elf's fit.
When all was ready, the box set under the large tree with the lid placed securely on top, the three Humans and horse set off on their new road. Joram held the feather-light Elf child in his arms, surprised but thankful for the nearly non-existent weight for the long journey ahead.
They walked slowly for several hours, feeling the urgency in the situation but unable to match it. The forest of Greenwood seemed to have a calming effect on them the further they went on, so much so that they eventually felt that they would be content to simply lie down and never move again.
They soon stopped to rest, and Joram gently set his precious burden against a large fir tree. From what he had heard about Elves, he knew that they had a strong connection with Nature, and hopefully reasoned that perhaps the tree could help revive the child
After all, they still needed answers to some very puzzling questions. Why was the child buried alive? Or perhaps he was not buried alive, after all. Perhaps he really had been dead but had come back to life.
Joram's eyes widened at the thought. If he had known much about Elves, he would have quickly discarded the idea, but, having the limited knowledge as most oft superstitious humans did, he could not totally put it past them.
And where had the Elf received such a horrible injury? He was obviously much too young to be a warrior, and Joram did not think Greenwood so desperate as to send out its children to war.
But Joram especially found himself wondering who exactly the mysterious Elven child was. The matter was obviously not as important as getting him home, or why he was even buried, but Joram could not help thinking about it.
He wondered if perhaps he was the child of a great Elven lord, judging but the silver circlet that had adorned his brow. Or perhaps it merely customary for the Fair Folk to bury their dead so.
Joram felt his fingers inexplicably drawn to the beautiful, innocent face, and gently touched the fair cheek. He quickly pulled his hand back, though, when he felt the Elf stir beneath his touch and give a soft moan.
…………
Legolas was again pulled from his dark world by a gentle voice calling his name. He quickly sat up, looking franticly around. He could have sword he heard…
That voice came again, and this he was sure of it. "Ada!" he cried out in a mixture of joy and panic. "Ada, where are you? I cannot see in the dark!"
A gentle touch came on his face, and he could almost feel his father's smile. "Legolas, come back to the Light. Come back to us…"
Almost as if a hand was guiding him, Legolas began to walk through the darkness, focusing on sensing his father and listening for his voice.
…………
Joram gasped and fell backwards when the Elf's eyes suddenly flew open and caught him in their gaze. Tissla and Toram were behind him in a flash, staring cautiously with wide eyes at the fair being before them.
The Elf, seeing himself surrounded and outnumbered, pressed himself further back against the tree with a cry of "Ada!"
Joram, understanding this sign of fear, slowly scooted backwards so as not to frighten him more, and motioned for his wife and child to do the same.
The Elf narrowed his silver eyes at the three Humans, before they suddenly widened in open fear. "Edain!" he cried, and gave a gasp, his hand flying to his side with a grimace of pain.
Tissla quickly went to the horse and fetched the flask of water, slowly and cautiously offering it to the Elf.
His silver gaze flicked from her face to the flask, then back to her, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. Tissla shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny, and pushed forward the flask.
The Elf slowly accepted it, taking a small sip. Obviously deeming it safe, he drank more, wincing as the smooth water ran over his injured tongue.
He carefully set the flask aside when he was finished with it, and again inspected the Humans before him. The woman looked wary of him, but she had kind eyes and he could tell that behind them was a pure heart.
The man was large and looked quite strong, but he also had a kind face. Of course, he had thought as much of the other Man—no, he would not allow his thoughts to go there. His wound throbbed painfully as if in remembrance. No, he could not trust this Man.
His eyes lightened, however, when they came to rest on the Human child. The boy's face was an open mask of curiosity, which the Elf found amusing. The child was still young enough to be innocent, and although the Elf could not trust the other Humans, he found no reason to fear the child.
Toram, seeing the Elf gazing at him, stepped forward and held out his hand. "Hello, I'm Toram," he introduced himself. "This is my father and mother. You're an Elf, right? I've never seen an Elf before."
The fair being looked at Toram to the hand he held out in puzzlement, trying to understand what all those words meant. Slowly he retrieved the water bottle from where it lay at his side and pressed it into the child's outstretched hand.
Joram chuckled quietly. "I do not think he knows what you are saying, son." He turned to the Elf and laid a hand on his own chest. "Joram," he stated simply, then held out his hand.
The Elf flinched back from it, and for a long moment, no one moved or said anything. "L-Legolas," he finally murmured after a while.
Joram smiled at this little achievement. At least they had a name for the child. Now for the main question that had been plaguing their minds since they had found him. "Why were you…um…buried?"
The Elf's face remained blank, so Joram decided to try again, using expressive hand gestures. "Why…you…buried?" He took a handful of dirt and sprinkled it over his own hand. The Elf's face now turned to one of confusion.
"Perhaps he does not know he was buried," Tissla suggested. "If you were dead, would you know?"
"That makes sense, except that he is obviously not dead," Joram pointed out.
Legolas started blinking tiredly, his little strength nearly depleted.
"Rest, Legolas," Tissla murmured. "We shall let no harm befall you."
The Elf soon drifted off, his eyes half-lidded.
"Why doesn't he close his eyes?" Toram asked, peering closely at the odd creature.
"I do not know," Joram replied. "Now leave him be. He needs to sleep."
"His side still pains him, as does his tongue," Tissla said softly. "Is there nothing we can do?"
"I know of nothing," Joram replied. "The wound in his side is long closed, and I have nothing to help his tongue. He shall have to heal on his own."
A moment of silence passed between them before Tissla broke it with her soft murmur of "Legolas." She repeated the name again, rolling over the letters of the foreign word, as if getting a feel for it. "A beautiful name, and somehow suiting for him. I wonder what it means."
"And I wonder how old he is!" Toram piped up. "When do I get to play with him?"
Joram laughed slightly. "He needs to sleep right now, son, but I'm sure that there will be plenty of time to play with him along the road before we find his own folk."
Toram seemed somewhat appeased by this prospect, and was effectively quieted for some time about the matter.
The forest was now growing dim in the fading light, and Joram deemed it safer to stay where they were than to continue on in the dark.
The lit no fire, protected as they were in the thick forest from the elements. The Elf still had not moved at all by the time the Humans were ready to sleep, and they left him where he was, leaning against the tree. Tissla laid a blanket over the small body, tucking the small edges firmly around him.
She found herself wondering about the Elf's own mother. She was probably grieving at that moment, believing her young son to be dead, lying cold in his grave. Or perhaps the Elf no longer had a mother. Tissla's own mother had died when Tissla was still little, and in a way, she had never really gotten over it.
Tissla suddenly felt a great swell of pity and motherly love for Legolas—abandoned by his own people, left to die, alone and buried while he still breathed. She determined right then to make the most valiant effort to show love to young Elf, and comfort and help him whenever he needed it.
That resolved, Tissla crawled into the tent and slept soundly.
Morning dawned through the thick eaves to find that the Elf still had not moved at all during the night.
The three Humans made quick work of packing up their little camp and were soon on their way again, in the same order as the day before.
About noon, the Elf in Joram's arms began to stir awake again. Opening his eyes and suddenly realizing he was in the grasp of the strong Man, Legolas fought and squirmed earnestly until Joram had no choice but to drop the Elf for fear of hurting him.
Legolas immediately backed up to a tree, keeping the Humans well where he could plainly see them. His eyes were wide, and he looked much like a trapped animal cornered in the hunter's sights.
He risked a quick glance at his surroundings; he did not recognize this part of the forest. Where were these Humans taking him?
Legolas glanced up at the tree he was crouched against. There was a limb hanging low enough where he could reach it if he jumped…
Joram, seeing the disoriented and frightened look in the Elf's eyes, slowly raised his hands palms outward and took a step forward. At that moment, Legolas gave a mighty leap and caught hold of a branch far above his head and expertly pulled himself up, rapidly disappearing from sight below.
The three Humans gaped in astonishment for a moment before Joram quickly strode to the tree and began searching for a way that he might ascend.
"What are you doing?" Tissla exclaimed.
"Going after him," Joram replied simply.
"That was so amazing! Did you see that? How he just jumped up and WHOOSH!" Toram exclaimed, waving his arms dramatically.
"He is not well," Joram continued, ignoring his son. "He could easily fall and kill himself."
"Do you think he can teach me to climb like that!" Toram asked, his face beaming with excitement.
"He is an Elf! He was probably born in a tree!" Tissla countered her husband.
"Well, I cannot simply leave him up there!" So saying, Toram leapt up and grasped onto the rough bark, shinnying up until he reached the lowest branch and pulling himself up.
He soon spotted the fair Elf leaning against the trunk, his knees brought up to his chest and both hands clutching his side. His eyes were clenched tightly shut and his breathing was hard and labored.
Joram slowly edged forward, keeping a tight hold on the branch he half-sat, half-lay on. He carefully stretched forth his hand, but as soon as he made contact with Legolas's skin, the Elf's eyes flew open, and with a cry of surprise, he launched himself to the side, away from the Human.
Joram surged forward as the Elf fell, brushing his fingers, but unable to do further. A second before he would have hit the ground, Legolas caught onto a think limb with one hand, but the pain from his strained wound became so great that he loosed his hand and fell to the ground a moment later.
Landing in a crouch, he collapsed onto his side, gasping as pain threatened to overtake him. He suddenly went still, and Tissla held her son back as Joram quickly descended from the tree.
He carefully turned the limp Elf onto his back to find his eyes closed, but no sign of outward injury. Lifting the white undershirt and pushing the bandage down out of the way revealed the old wound, swollen and angry.
"We must find his kin, quickly," Joram murmured, quickly scooping the child into his arms. The Elf's head lolled unnaturally against the man's chest, his body completely limp. "I fear what may happen if we do not."
At that moment the Elf suddenly twitched violently, nearly falling out of Joram's arms. "Not again," the Man breathed, quickly kneeling down and holding Legolas steadily in front of him.
The fit quickly escalated in violence till it was much worse than the previous one, and it was all Joram could do to keep the Elf from harming himself. Tissla quickly fetched the blanket they had used before and handed it to her husband. But the Elf's jaws were tightly clenched shut, and Joram could not pry them open.
But it did not appear that Legolas was causing himself any more harm, so Joram merely knelt there and held him as still as possible, arms firmly pinned to his sides, until the fit had passed after many minutes. Tissla and Toram could only watch on in silence.
Finally the Elf fell still again, and Joram hurriedly picked him up. Legolas trembled in his arms, so he had Tissla take a cloak from the baggage and wrap it around the Elf, covering him completely. They went on, more determined than ever.
It was late afternoon and the small company was ready to stop for another much-desired rest. Legolas had not moved in the slightest since his fit earlier that day.
A booming voice suddenly rang out from the trees, startling the three Humans and nearly making Joram lose his hold on the Elf in his arms. "In the name of the King, what outsiders dare tread his realm of Greenwood the Great?"
"Elves," Tissla breathed in a mixture of relief and fear.
"Please," Joram cried out loudly. "We seek your help. It is urgent…"
Five Elves jumped down out of the trees to land squarely in front of the Humans, four flanking one in front, bows ready with arrows already fitted to the strings.
"State your name and purpose in these woods, Human," the one in front commanded, his eyes hard. All had golden hair and silver-grey eyes, and were dressed in dark greens and browns, exceptional for blending into their surroundings.
"I am Joram, son of Gorma, and these are my wife and child. We seek the aid of you and your kin in a most urgent matter." He stepped forward, and the concealing cloak fell away from the form in his arms.
A collective gasp rose from the assembled warriors, along with several exclamations of shock in their own language. The leader, so far unarmed, had his bow drawn and pointed straight at Joram in an instant.
His eyes were cold and unforgiving, but he spoke with a heat that made the Humans before him shudder. "How dare you disturb his eternal rest. I should slay you where you stand."
Joram's eyes widened in fear. This was not how it was supposed to happen! "No! That is not it at all! We—"
"You shall pay for this, Human," the Elf interrupted him. "You shall surely be—"
He was cut off as Legolas suddenly stirred, as if woken from his daze by the familiar Elven voice. "Beryl?" he mumbled.
The Elf in question drew back, his eyes widening in shock as he lowered his bow. "What devilry is this?"
"None," Joram stated softly. "He lives still."
"But…how? He was—I saw—they buried—he was dead!" the Elf stuttered, overcome by shock and confusion.
"Beryl?" the scratchy voice called again, slightly louder.
Beryl quickly but gently snatched Legolas from Joram's arms, turning to his soldiers. "Bring the Humans," he commanded, running off into the trees. He shortly arrived in a large clearing where several horses were kept, and quickly picked out his own, mounting it and setting Legolas in front of him and pushing his horse into a gallop.
As soon as Beryl and Legolas had gone, four more Elves dropped down from the trees around them, and before the three Humans knew what was happening, their hands were securely bound before them with strong silvery rope.
"Wait!" Joram cried, pulling at his unbreakable bonds. "What are—"
Strong hands descended on his shoulders and he realized he was in no position to argue. Darkness suddenly closed in on him as a thick cloth was bound over his eyes, and from the two gasps of surprise he could tell that the same had been done to his wife and child.
The three were spun about several times until they had lost all sense of direction, and were kept steady only by the firm hands on their shoulders.
"Mother?" Toram's small voice questioned fearfully.
"Shh, child. It's all right. Everything is going to be fine," Tissla's calm voice reassured, but Joram knew better. She was also close to panicking.
"Go," a voice commanded, and they were pushed forward.
…………
After over a quarter of an hour of hard galloping, Beryl pulled his horse to a stop in the courtyard of the palace. Legolas moaned slightly at the sudden lack of movement, and Beryl quickly dismounted, gently pulling Legolas into his arms and running inside.
"Where is the king?" he shouted to no one in particular.
"I-in the throne room," a nearby servant answered. "Why are you—" But Beryl was already gone, running down the corridor, his precious burden clutched close to his chest.
As he approached, the great wooden doors were pulled open for him, and he burst in upon the scene before him.
Thranduil sat silently upon his great carved throne as he had for the past two days, his mighty shoulders bowed. No crown adorned his head, and his fair hair fell limply about his pale face. The two smaller thrones on either side of him sat cold and empty.
"My lord!" Beryl cried, hurrying forward.
"What is it, Captain?" Thranduil responded dully, not bothering to look up.
"My lord!" Beryl repeated, not really knowing what else to say.
Thranduil glanced up at his captain, his eyes widening at the familiar form in the other's arms. "What…what is the meaning of this?"
"My lord, he lives still!"
Thranduil sat back in surprise. "I-impossible!"
"It is true, sire," Beryl replied, holding Legolas forward. "Please, take him."
For a moment, the king sat there unmoving, until Legolas's silver eyes cracked open, focusing on the figure above him. "Ada?"
Fresh tears welled up in Thranduil's eyes as he took his son, holding him tightly to his chest. "Oh, my son, my son!" he cried. "I believed you were dead! I was there when you took your last breath! You were so still! So still and so cold…" The tears poured freely down the king's face, and Legolas closed his eyes, content to simply remain in his father's arms forever.
Legolas shuddered and his eyes slipped closed, his tight on his father loosening considerably. Thranduil looked up at Beryl with fear in his eyes. "What is happening?"
"My lord," the Captain replied slowly, hesitantly, "today is but the twenty-seventh day…"
"No!" Thranduil exclaimed. He looked down at his pale son, shaking him slightly in disbelief. "No! My son, my son! This cannot be! I only just got you back! I cannot lose you…not again."
"Sir, there is yet hope," Beryl spoke again. "He has survived thus far…" 'But that is what we all thought last time,' he added mentally.
Thranduil quickly stood, not bothering with a reply, and started running to the Healing Wing of the palace, his son held securely in his arms.
Beryl quickly followed him, throwing open the Healing Ward's doors when they got there. All the healers gaped openly when they saw whom the king carried.
Thranduil laid his son on one of the many beds, reluctantly letting go of him. "Why are you just standing there! Do something for him!" he snapped at the paralyzed healers.
They sprang into action, buzzing all around the prince's bed, edging the king and his captain back.
"Shall I send for the Queen, my lord?" Beryl suddenly realized. Thranduil was silent for a long moment, simply watching the halers and his son. "My lord?"
"No," he finally replied. "If he were to…if something were to happen to him…again…It would destroy her to lose him again so soon after having regained him."
"Sire?" Beryl replied, aghast.
Thranduil sighed and closed his eyes, covering his face with one hand. "No, of course. You are right. She deserves to know…to have her son back…for however short a time it may be. Please, fetch her immediately."
Beryl hastened out of the room and Thranduil continued to watch in silence as the healers worked.
They had removed the prince's shirt and unwrapped the old bandage. They washed the wound and applied fresh bandages, but there was not much more they could do, just as before.
Within minutes, a fair maiden with a sheet-white face but dark circles under her weary eyes, came bursting into the room. She first caught hold of Thranduil's arm and he reached out to steady her as her eyes settled on the figure on the bed.
Quickly, she sprang forward and without hesitation cast her arms over her still son. The healers stood back, heads bowed in respect for the queen as she wept in pure relief and joy.
Thranduil knelt beside her and wrapped a comforting arm around her. After several minutes, she finally looked up into the still face of her son and lovingly stroked his pale check. Then she looked to Thranduil, happiness again on her face for the first time in a long while. "How came this miracle to be?"
But instead of answering, the king turned to Beryl, who stood in the doorway. "My lord, my patrol came across three Humans in the woods, a few hours' walk from here. It was they who had the Prince. I left my patrol to bring them in while I rode ahead with the Prince."
"Have these Humans brought to my study immediately when they arrive," Thranduil ordered.
Beryl bowed and had turned to go, but turned back. "May I just say, your majesties, that I am very grateful the Prince has been returned to us."
The queen just smiled, looking at the pale face of her son, lovingly stroking it.
End of chapter. Only one left! That one will actually have a bit of excitement in it, as it deals with how Legolas was injured, etc. Will be up as soon as possible!