Chapter Eight:
2463 Third Age, Girithron (December). Lasgalen: Greenwood the Great
A chilling scream ripped through the night, echoing again and again down the Palace halls. The King and Queen sped through the pitch black to their ward's chambers.
Thanduil flung the door open upon a nightmare. Anaríel knelt on her bed screaming, her hands held out before her in supplication, her eyes wide and staring caught in the madness of her vision.
The King and Queen rushed to her side but could not calm the elleth. Thranduil stood by helplessly while Líawen clambered unto the bed.
"Blood, so much blood," Anaríel moaned. "Oh Le'las—oh meleth nín—so much blood! So much--," With another cry Anaríel's eyes rolled up in her head and she collapsed into the Queen's arms.
"Thalad, Dorthos—help me get him on his feet." Legolas gritted between clenched teeth. "Rise, Aldaer! By the Valar—rise; we are almost there! Hold on just a little longer, do you hear me?"
The ellon took a few lurching steps before collapsing again to his knees dragging Legolas down with him.
"Leave me mellon nín, I will catch up later. I just need to rest."
"Aldaer!" Legolas hauled his friend to his feet once more, half dragging him along the path. "I command you not as your friend but as your Prince; to your feet warrior of Lasgalen! You shall keep moving. It is the spider's poison at work. You must fight—to rest is to die so you will fight—fight you hear me! Your wife and newborn son expect nothing less and your Prince demands the same!"
"Legolas! See you keep up. No one must fall behind," The captain called, "only a few more miles."
Thalad dropped back and draped the fallen Elf's other arm across his shoulder. "Let me help Ernil nín."
Wordlessly Legolas nodded his thanks, his own leg throbbing from its arrow wound. Silently they trudged behind the remnants of the scouting party.
A fortnight prior seventeen had set out to investigate reports of Wainriders harassing the villages of the Woodmen on the eastern borders of the forest. Now just nine returned. Seven fell aiding the Woodmen's villages, two the day before to spiders.
Legolas shivered with revulsion. He still could hardly believe the horror of the monstrous creatures. For years there had been rumours of giant arachnids—spawn of Ungoliant; but they had been isolated sightings and far to the south near Amon Lanc. The warriors in their flight had come upon a nest not but eleven leagues from home.
Gasping at a stitch in his side, Legolas plodded on, as desperate as the others to reach the palace; not just for the sake of his wounded comrades or his own injuries, but also out of need to report all he had seen to his father.
Something needed to be done about the Wainriders. Legolas' stomach clenched at the thought of the destruction his party had come upon. Seven slain; seven young warriors of Lasgalen who would never again dance under the stars; the other two and the wounded Aldaer more horrible in a way than the others. Death was yet a new concept to the Prince, and one he prayed fervently to never grow callous toward; there was no valor in it—merely senseless waste, needless loss and a brutality that sickened him to the core.
Legolas glanced down at his friend whose legs had all but given out. With grim resolve he caught Thalad's eye and they picked up their pace, stumbling at last from under the boughs and into the wide glade that stood before the palace gates. Runners had been sent ahead and a hew and cry went up. Although the hour was well past mid-night, the stone doors swung open and Elves of the King's household issued forth.
Ancalimón, the chief Healer rushed forward relieving Legolas of his burden. "I will take Aldaer from here, Ernil nín. Do not worry for him, he shall recover."
Legolas nodded his thanks and limped over the bridge.
"Have that leg seen to, Ernil nín." The Healer called after him. Legolas waved him off, disappearing into the palace, he would have his leg looked at only after he gave his report to the King.
As he made for the royal family's private apartments, a chill scream rent the air. Pain and weariness fell from him as he threw himself down the darkened corridors towards the source of the sound. His blood ran cold when he realized the cries emanated from Anaríel's rooms.
"So much--!"
Legolas burst through the door in time to see Anaríel collapse into his mother's arms. The King whirled to find his battered, bloodstained son barely holding himself up against the doorframe.
"Legolas," Thranduil's eyes took in the Prince's condition. "You are wounded! Why are you not with Ancalimón? That is an arrow wound if ever I saw one and in sore need of tending."
"What goes on here?" Legolas launched himself across the room to the bedside.
Líawen glanced at her son, her eyes widening, "Ion nín, your leg--?"
"It is nothing Naneth." He paused reaching out to lay a trembling hand on Anaríel's head.
"But, the blood?" the Queen gasped greatly alarmed by the sight of her son's blood soaked leg.
"Mostly that of others," Legolas replied bending the truth to the breaking point. Without asking leave, he took the elleth from his mother and sank onto the bed cradling her gently as he leaned wearily against the headboard. "Will someone please tell me what has happened?"
Líawen quickly told Legolas of Anaríel's ever more frequent battles against the visions; culminating in that evening's episode.
"What was it she saw that could frighten her so?"
"Blood," Thranduil replied, "she kept going on about blood'."
Legolas stiffened, "Could it be possible? Could she have seen the skirmish against the Wainriders?" Quickly he told Thranduil all that had befallen.
"Nine lost?" Thranduil dropped his head into his hands. "Ill news that is ion nín, ill news."
"Something must be done Adar. A delegate must meet with the village leaders. Those people were all but defenseless against the Easterlings—it was slaughter, pure and simple. If we had not arrived, the village closest to our borders would have fallen utterly. For hundreds of years we have traded and lived alongside the Woodmen. We cannot ignore their plight."
"Nor shall we ion nín." Thranduil sank back into the chair he had set before the bed next to the one he had placed for Líawen. "Since you have witnessed the raids first hand, I am of a mind to assign you to the delegate."
"It would be an honour to represent the realm."
"Good, now what is this you say about giant spiders, and but eleven leagues from our front door? I like this news no better. Over the past few centuries fell creatures—orcs, wargs, crebain, and who knows what else-- have been steadily creeping into the forest but my reports stated they were only in the south near Amon Lanc. We have had peace for four and a half centuries since Mithrandir drove the Necromancer from that tower he raised on that once fair hill. I wish I had news of this last year when Mithrandir was here. His wisdom would be welcome now."
Legolas stilled as Anaríel began to stir against him. "Easy galad nen," he crooned, "all is well, no harm shall come to you. It was but a bad dream."
Anaríel's brow furrowed as her eyes dropped to her hands lying limp in her lap. She moaned holding them up, "Blood! There is so much blood!"
"Arí? Nay, there is no blood elu nín. Your hands are clean." Peering closely at the elleth's face, he could see her eyes were still unfocused; she did not hear him. She was still lost in her nightmare world.
"Nay," she moaned, tears falling upon her cheeks. She began to shake uncontrollably. Legolas shot his parents a frightened look as he tightened his arms and rocked her gently.
"Tell me Arí, tell me what you see."
"Blood—tis everywhere; soaking everything, the ground, the—ai—lost, all lost!"
"I can stand this no longer!" the Queen choked, tears flowing down her cheeks. "There must be something we can do until we can deliver her to Galadriel."
"Galadriel!" Legolas gasped. "What has Galadriel to do with this?"
The King and Queen exchanged a look that caused the ellon's heart to trip.
"Ion nín," Thranduil began, gesturing towards the stricken elleth. "You see how she suffers, and she grows worse by the day. No one knows why and nothing seems to allay these—these—attacks. We have tried everything; you know that. Whilst you have been gone this fortnight past, she has seemed to reach a crisis point. She barely eats, she barely sleeps; she is Fading ion nín."
Legolas gasped in horror. "But, that cannot be! She is young—so very young."
"Galadriel said this day would come." Líawen said softly, her voice flat, weighted with a sorrow she could not bear. "I have blinded myself. If there is blame to lay, be it upon my head. I witnessed the very same decline in Nimrodel; stood by as mute witness as she fell first into despair, then into madness, then into—nothing until at last Amroth assented and took her off to set sail from Belfalas. I will not let that happen to Lalaith—I swear it!"
Thranduil reached out but Líawen shook him off. "No, hear me! When I took Anaríel, Galadriel would have prevented me. She tried to tell me but I would not listen. She told me ill would befall Anaríel if she were taken from Lórien; that her place was in the Golden Wood—her home. Galadriel knows—oh aye that Noldorin sorceress has known all along. Very well, Anaríel shall return to Lórien and by the Valar Galadriel will save her from this nightmare!"
Legolas' arms tightened involuntarily around the elleth. Bowing his head he laid his cheek against her thick hair, the thought of Anaríel leaving Lasgalen was the final, fatal blow. He wanted to throw his head back and howl unbridled his pain and loss to the winds, as his father's wolves were wont. How could he bear it? How could he bear losing she who had become more necessary than the air he breathed, more precious to him than life itself?
Anaríel sat in the Queen's solar, her embroidery lying forgotten in her lap. Moodily she stared out the window. It was snowing again, which normally would be cause for gay spirits as Yule was swiftly coming. She should be out in the woods with her friends gathering pine bows and holly for the Great Hall. The least she could do was pay a visit on Orofíriel to see how Aldaer faired. Yet try as she might she could not summon the energy to rise from her chair by the hearth.
Never in her young Elven life had she felt such weariness, it was a thing more of the soul than of the body, and that was what frightened her so. It was as if her very fëa was being sapped by the effort the visions wrung from her.
She had awoken that morning to find herself in her own bed but in Legolas' arms.
Shaken, she had allowed herself to take comfort in the uncommon occasion, indulging herself in the rare closeness afforded by the strong arms wrapped about her.
She could have lain there forever. She felt as if shipwrecked—Legolas the piece of driftwood to which she clung with all her might. She knew in that instant, she could never let him go, for in him lay her very survival—her salvation.
She did not know how long she lay there, her head resting above the reassuring beat of his heart. A beat so near identical to the rhythm of her own it was strangely comforting. Legolas' face was relaxed in sleep, his eyes a peaceful twilight grey, lost in Elven dreams.
How precious a face, she thought with a pang. How perfect and beautiful to her, outshining any she had ever known. As a child, she had worshipped him, though she would have admitted it to none. In his presence, she had felt awkward and plain, always struggling to keep up with her shining Prince—just to share the tiniest bit of his brilliance.
He had become her world, her purpose for living—and she had used him poorly these months past, spurning him and turning the shrew because he failed to return her affections—as if she had a right to demand such from him.
Yet here he was, again proving himself her staunchest protector, her dearest friend. That Legolas would fight any evil, any foe for her, she had not the slightest doubt, yet against her visions, her shining Prince was powerless.
A chill wracked her as bits and pieces of the vision came back. Startled, she looked down at her hands. They were clean as they should be, yet in her mind's eye, they had been red and dripping with gore.
"There you are tithen pen. I have been looking for you."
Anaríel started, and turned her head. Legolas stood in the doorway. Her breath caught, she felt very small and ashamed, and not at all proud of the way she had treated her dearest friend these past months.
"May I join you? I have brought you some mulled wine. Do not tell Adar—it is the Dorwinion."
Anaríel smiled, "Oh aye, please sit with me. I would love the company. How is your leg?"
"A bit stiff but mending nicely Ancalimón says." Legolas set down his mugs as he pulled another chair over. As he settled himself, he surreptitiously studied the elleth as she reached for her wine. Her cheeks were sunken, her eyes overly bright with unshed tears. He wondered if his mother had broken the news to her yet.
"Arí, how is it with you? How have you been—truly?"
A dozen trivialities came to mind, but instead Anaríel squared her shoulders rejecting them for the stark truth. "Terrible."
Glancing up Legolas saw the elleth lose her battle against her tears. As she cried, "Oh Le'las!" he pulled her from her chair, gathering her into his lap in a gesture that came as naturally as breathing.
"Easy, easy; surely it is not as bad as all that."
"But it is," she hiccupped, "I am so sorry. I have been so awful to you, I was just—just being—so stupid. Please forgive me."
Legolas lay his cheek against her hair and breathed in the intoxicating scent that was hers alone. How could he live without her always near? How would he bear her being so far away?
"There is nothing to forgive elu nín."
Anaríel pulled back and looked up at the ellon, his eyes too were bright with tears. Reaching up she stroked his furrowed brow. "I have hurt you. For that I cannot forgive myself."
Legolas took her hand, turning it over he placed a kiss in its warm palm. "You have done nothing, think no more of it."
Cupping her hand as if holding a precious jewel she fell into the depths of Legolas' storm grey eyes. Time stilled as she willingly gave herself up to those amazing eyes, like the King's stories of tempest-wracked seas. Breath caught, eyes drifted shut as the two drew slowly, inexorably closer, drawn by a force as inevitable as fate.
"Ahem," A voice at the door coughed discreetly. "Lady Anaríel, the Queen would speak with you."
Two dazed pairs of eyes flew open at the softly spoken words.
"Forgive the intrusion Ernil nín, Híril nín; but the Queen awaits."
Biting her lip Anaríel scrambled to her feet and scurried out the door, not trusting herself to glance back at Legolas.
"Forgive me truly Ernil nín, I would have delayed my errand if only I--."
Legolas raised a hand wearily. "That will be all Orleg, surely Galion has need of you elsewhere."
"Very good Hír nín."
Legolas watched the servant take his leave. What by the Valar was he doing? What had he been thinking? He had come within a hairsbreadth of kissing Anaríel, and she about to leave for Lórien for who knew how long. "What manner of orc am I?" He said to the empty room. "I deserve to be dragged out to the archery range and shot."
"How long has she been in there?"
"Oh Thran," Líawen, crossed the hallway when she saw her husband. She had been standing outside her ward's shut door for a full ten minutes and still could not bring herself to knock. Taking Thranduil's arm, she led him into an alcove.
"She has been in there for hours. It is growing late. She has missed both lunch and dinner. Nor has she touched the trays brought to her according to Beleth. At least she has finally stopped crying."
"She has worn herself out like as not. You do not think she feels we want her gone—that we deem her a problem well rid of, do you?"
"No. I do not think so. She understands we only want to help her. In fact, if anything, she feels responsible for making us worry. She blames herself for being a disruption. No, there is something else I think."
Thranduil cocked one brow in silent question.
Líawen sighed, "If I knew, do you not think I would tell you? I had hoped you would know what I do not."
Thranduil shook his head ruefully. "Alas, I am as in the dark as you. Come, the elleth is in no condition to go without food. Let us speak with her, perhaps together we can fathom what is going in Lalaith's mind."
As Thranduil raised his fist to knock the sound of voices soft but distinct, came through the door. Thranduil laid his ear against the wood the better to hear. "Legolas!" he whispered. "He is in there with her; I thought no one was within."
"No one was with her." Líawen returned, pressing her own ear to the door. "I have been here for over ten minutes, and I relieved Beleth who has been here since I broke the news. No one came through this door."
"Since when have doors ever stopped those two?"
Líawen peered imperiously at her husband. "That ellon takes after his father."
Thranduil was about to retort when Líawen firmly took him by the arm, drawing him from the door. "Come; let us leave them in peace. Legolas was always better at prying Lalaith's secrets from her than we ever were."
"Do you think we should leave them alone in there together?" Thranduil asked giving his wife a meaningful look.
"Líawen smiled. "Why yes, I believe it may be just the thing."
Legolas paced the small walled in garden in front of Anaríel's bedchamber window. He had taken up his station in the old beech soon after he heard news of the stricken elleth's flight from his mother's apartments. That was hours ago. Night drew thick about the garden and a light snow had started to fall again. Hungry, cramped and stiff from cold, his wounded leg sore from lack of activity Legolas gave up his vigil in the beech and paced in front of the window trying to screw up his nerve. All was quiet within, the tears having finally spent themselves an hour or so ago.
'Perhaps she sleeps. I should leave her be then—she has had so little rest of late.'
"Legolas?"
The ellon halted mid step and turned; Anaríel stood in the window looking pale and wan, and strangely ethereal in the moonlight.
"Come inside Le'las; you must be chilled to the bone. It is freezing, and you have been out there in that tree for hours. Your poor leg, Ancalimón will have your hide for wasting his poultices."
Legolas grinned sheepishly. "Do not tell Adar I make such a poor guardsman."
"You make a fine guardsman, the very best, now come in will you." Taking his hand Anaríel helped pull him through the window. Legolas hardly needed the help despite his injured leg as he lithely vaulted the sill, but he did not want to let go the elleth's hand now that he held it in his own.
"It is black as pitch in here, you should light a candle."
"Why bother, light changes nothing, what is—is."
Nonetheless, Legolas lit a candle by the bedstead then turned to Anaríel, resting his hands on her shoulders. "What would you have it be Arí?
Anaríel pushed ineffectually against his strong chest. Tears caught in her throat, as she at last gave up the battle between them. "Do not do this. You know what I would have—you must! I would have—I would have this—us! Do you not know? Do you not feel it? We are one, we always have been; two sides of the same coin. What would you have Le'las; tell me true—what would you have? What do you feel? For Valar's sake, tell me for I can bear this no longer!"
Legolas stood transfixed. Though tears streamed down Anaríel's face, she had never looked stronger, more powerful, more adamant—and more beautiful. He had never met the famed Lady Galadriel but this was how he pictured her. Beauty and adamant so strong no heart—certainly not his—would be proof against it. All would love and worship her, living in joy for just the slightest glance, the slightest touch.
He knew he was lost but he had made up his mind. He had vowed to himself during the long hours of his watch that no matter the cost to his own heart, his own soul—he would do nothing with Anaríel leaving so soon for Lothlórien. He would not be so cruel.
"Tell me Legolas, what do you feel—in here?" Anaríel laid her hand over his heart. It hammered beneath her touch, matching the rhythm of her own beat for beat.
Legolas looked long and deep into her eyes. Despite all, he felt his resolve crumple like paper in fire. Gently he laid his forehead against hers, covering her hand with his own. Brokenly he replied, "You are my heart Arí—my Lady Bright. I would die for you just as I would die without you."
Anaríel shuddered and he pulled her into his arms, the two clenching each other as if nothing in all Arda could pull them apart. After a long while Legolas pressed a kiss to her brow and pulled away to peer into her eyes.
"Is this why you are so upset at the thought of going to Lórien? But why; do you have so little faith in us? We are young, and you will not be gone from Lasgalen so very long; nor is Lórien so far that you will not ever see me."
"You will come to Lórien?"
"Of course, as often as Adar can spare me—nothing will keep me from seeing you."
Anaríel's eyes sparked with joy for a moment but soon dimmed again.
"What Arí, what is it you fear—Lady Galadriel?"
"No, I fear not the Lady nor her Lord."
"Then what; the visions? They will stop, according to Naneth Galadriel knows a way to stop them or at least control them."
"Maybe I do not want them to stop. Maybe I do not want to be—controlled." Nervously she paced the room, coming to a stop by the hearth. "A part of me craves them Le'las." She whispered.
"What do you mean?" Legolas asked, turning her gently. "They are tearing you apart."
"You asked me what I fear Le'las. I am telling you. There is—a power within me. When the visions come with all their horror, a power rises within me. It frightens me."
"Why?"
"Because I think I like it."
meleth nín: my love
elleth/ellyth (pl.): female elf
ellon/ellyn (pl.): male elf
mellon nín: my friend
Ernil nín: my Prince
ion nín: my son
galad nen: bright one
elu nín: my heart
tithen pen: little one
Híril nín: my Lady