Chapter 19
Fleeting Hope
"To the King! To the King!"
Filinor raced through the halls gripping tightly to a strap holding a canteen to a lone horse that had just arrived on the footsteps of Thranduil's palace. Having recognized it as Legolas' horse, he did not hesitate in bringing the creature straight into the halls of Thranduil where normally, no horse traveled.
"Make way! I must reach the King!" he yelled frustratingly as more woodelves poured into the halls rather than out, curious to see why on Middle Earth a horse had been let into their underground abode.
"What strange guest is this?"
"Dark days these are that even the horses must go underground!"
"Welcome Master horse! Welcome to our halls! We may say they are guarded against all intruders, but that is only a technicality, for all are welcome here!"
"Aye! Dwarves, men and wizards have all been allowed in, so why not horses! They are fine creatures indeed!"
"Aye! And they can come and go as they please – why, even our prisoners come and go as they please!"
Filinor scowled at this last remark as he continued to push through the growing crowd of elves. "Really, you have all seen horses before, there is nothing to see here…" he grumbled.
"Ai, Elbereth! Is that not Prince Legolas' steed?"
The halls went deathly quiet at the drop of this line. Filinor straightened and his eyes widened nervously as the attention bestowed upon him and the horse swiftly changed from cheerful amusement to fearful concern. The woodelves now stared at Filinor and the horse as if they were heralds of a great evil.
"Well, now… don't look so grim… It is but a horse, I am sure it is nothing!" Filinor stuttered nervously. When the elves only continued to stare, he sighed and headed towards the throne room. "You worry too much my friends. All will be fine in the end, you'll see…" he muttered.
When he reached the throne room, it was with great relief that he shut the doors behind him, but he quickly groaned inwardly when he remembered the new audience he had traded the old one for. The King will not be happy at this one…. Filinor grimaced at the sound of the King's voice.
"Filinor, the halls have gone as quiet as a tomb! What ill news…"
Thranduil's jaw hung open, but no more words escaped as he took in the horse neighing softly within the shadows of his magnificent birches.
"We found him outside the palace, my King… He seemed quite weary, he must have sprinted much of the way here…" Filinor's voice trailed off as Thranduil slowly approached, wide-eyed and pale as a phantom. Tentatively the King laid a hand upon the horse's muzzle.
"What ill news is this?" he whispered. "My friend! You come without my son – this is an unwelcome sight indeed! What evil have you discovered! What evil have you left my son with!?" he continued in Sindarin.
Filinor bit his lip and stiffened at the fear and grief he heard in his King's voice. "Um… sir, he also brought with him, this…" he awkwardly interrupted the King's murmurings and held out Gandalf's letter.
Thranduil gazed at the parchment as if it would burn his hand if he touched it. "I am not very fond of the letters I receive these days," he muttered.
Filinor hesitated and pulled the letter back. "Would you like me to read it King Thranduil?"
Thranduil frowned and brusquely snatched the letter from Filinor. "Nay Filinor, I will read it myself. Do you think me unable to handle it? It is but a letter after all…"
When Thranduil unfolded the muddied parchment confusion glazed his features immediately. Then, slowly, gradually, like dripping honey, anger replaced his confusion. Filinor shifted nervously and scratched his ear, looking from the horse to the King to his feet, and finally resting his fearful gaze on the King's increasingly livid face, delicately raising an eyebrow as if he were too scared to articulate the actual question of what was in the letter.
Thranduil gaped at the letter which trembled in his hand and looked up again at the horse that neighed awkwardly in the wake of the supernaturally scorched air that unbelievably managed to emanate from the King's searing eyes. He then looked at the letter, which Filinor later claimed began to smoke from the heat radiating from Thranduil's anger, and then again at the poor horse that shifted uncomfortably at once again being the subject of a glare that could quite possibly burn down all of Middle Earth.
("Why I seriously thought we would all spontaneously combust at that moment like one of Mithrandir's firecrackers!" Filinor would later tell Kariler. "I could feel my own blood begin to boil and I was not even all that upset yet! It was not until Thranduil bellowed 'I WILL RIP THE LIMB OFF EVERY ORC IN MIRKWOOD AND FEED THEM TO THE NAZGUL. AND THEN I WILL FEED THE NAZGUL TO SAURON. AND THEN I WILL FEED SAURON TO THE ORCS AND I WILL CUT UP THE ORCS, USE THEIR LIMBS TO BURN DOWN DOL GULDUR AND THEN I WILL FEED THE CHARRED REMAINS TO THE NAZGUL WHO I WILL THEN USE TO BURN DOWN BARAD DUR!' that I put two and two together and figured something must have gone dreadfully wrong with Cièdron and Legolas. Oh, and I do believe he could do it Kariler. I do believe he could burn them all and feed them all to each other and then do it again with different positions on the food chain.")
Bellowing however did not release all of the pent up rage within Thranduil.
"Filinor, Mithrandir requests more elves. He senses a plot against my warriors, my sons, something brewing in Dol Guldur. He could not stay with Cièdron because Legolas had been lost in a fire and he had to go find him…" Thranduil sneered the words as if they were acid on his tongue. "He believes that something much larger than missing warriors is afoot. I believe we have all been duped."
Filinor cocked his head. "How so?"
Thranduil breathed heavily as he tightly gripped the letter in his hand. "I can sense it. I sensed it all along, only I ignored it. I am a fool, Filinor – I am a fool, and my sons will suffer because of it. Ai, we are all fools."
Filinor nodded slowly. "Well, all is not lost yet… I will assemble a band of reinforcements to head to Dol Guldur. They can leave immediately sir. How many do you request?"
Thranduil's eyes narrowed again at the parchment. "Forty," he answered without hesitation.
"And who do you request as a captain?" Filinor continued.
Thranduil's fist crumbled the paper and he rested his iron eyes on Filinor.
"I will be their captain," he declared.
Filinor's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Thranduil as if the elf had just turned into a dwarf. "You… capt.. You will… what?"
"You heard me Filinor. It is my duty as King to see for myself our enemy. I will lead the reinforcements to Dol Guldur."
Filinor staggered. "But sir! King Thranduil…."
"Do not press me Filinor…." Thranduil warned ominously.
"But sir! What if… what if something should happen?! What if we lose you!? What if this is all part of this plan you speak of! A plan to lure out the sons and then the King!"
Thranduil took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, low and steady like a drum.
"There is much more at stake these days than myself. Besides you will not lose me."
Thranduil frowned at Filinor's concerned gaze and placed a hand on the elf's shoulder, a move that somewhat surprised the frazzled elf. "Filinor, you must understand. I am King, but I am also a father. I cannot be a King who sits idly in his palace as evil eats away at his kingdom, nor can I be a father who ignores the pleas of help for his sons."
Filinor nodded slowly, realizing his pleas would only fall on deaf ears. There would be no changing the King's mind now.
"Send word to Lord Elrond, Filinor," Thranduil continued, turning away. "I would that he too be aware of the dark days that have befallen this land."
* * * * * *
A pounding headache pressed against Legolas' skull when he finally awoke. At first just the thought of movement caused his muscles to ache and scream in protest so he lay where he was left, in a small cave on a cold, hard slab of stone. As for how he got there, that was asking too much of his throbbing mind, so he lay there silently and dumbly, gradually working up the strength to begin to figure out his situation.
Aragorn had come to Mirkwood…But since then, much has happened…
Legolas grimaced as suddenly the floodgates opened in his mind and a torrent of memories of everything that had happened since Aragorn came to Mirkwood beat against his already pained head. Suddenly, he wished he could go back to sleep.
But alas, sleep would not find the elf now, so instead he tried to sort through the unhappy memories in order to place where he was now. Cièdron and I were fighting… there was a spider…Mithrandir hit me….
No, that was not right – that had been ages ago - so much had happened since those relatively happy days. Merion…This all began with Merionè…There had been wargs… No a fire… I fell! I had fallen down, there was water... Legolas furrowed his brows and his mind momentarily drifted again to his home and the woodelves' songs floated eerily through his head, as he struggled to remember his fall.
Roll-roll-roll-roll
Roll-roll-rolling down the hole!
Heave ho! Splash plump!
Down they go, down they bump!
Legolas grabbed his forehead with his hand and let out a soft groan. It seemed so long since he last heard those cheerful songs and though he tried to fight their alluring call, he finally could no longer resist the blithe tunes and he allowed himself to fall back into their warm embrace.
Down the swift dark stream you go
Back to lands you once did know! *
As Legolas mouthed these words, a new memory interrupted his silent song. If something happens to Legolas while I am trapped here, you will lose both of us!!
Cièdron's words violently pushed out the hypnotic melody of the Barrel Song, causing Legolas to lurch from the memory. "Cièdron! Ai, what are we doing here?!" he breathed as his eyes snapped open.
But Cièdron was not there. Legolas' heart beat rapidly as he realized no one was there and he jolted up, fretfully scanning his surroundings. "Reanur…" Legolas whispered as his mind quickly began to grasp his most recent memories. He had been betrayed – they had all been betrayed! And Merionè? What of Merionè now? What was it Reanur had said to him of Merionè? Legolas groaned and once again rubbed his temples as if the circular motions of his fingers against his head would somehow organize his tangled thoughts. You must understand Legolas, we all thought we could escape, but there is no such thing. Once you swear an oath to Sauron, no matter how indirectly, you are never released, no matter where you go!
As the words reverberated in his mind, Legolas ceased rubbing his temples and again searched his surroundings, panic creeping into his heart as the web of memories slowly untangled and revealed to him all that had happened.
"Aragorn? Mithrandir?" Legolas finally called softly, hoping that perhaps wherever he now was the wizard and ranger had accompanied him though his instincts told him this was nothing more than a false hope. Wherever he was, he was alone. Legolas sat silently for a few moments, his keen eyes focusing on the shred of light that trickled in through the opening of the cave. The distant murmurings of water caught his attention and he could feel himself once again grow distracted by melodies, this time emanating from the water's sweet, calming whispers. Legolas shut his eyes and silently mouthed another verse of the Barrel Song.
Float beyond the world of trees
Out into the whispering breeze,
Past the rushes, past the reeds,
Past the marsh's waving weeds,
Through the mist that riseth white
Up from mere and pool at night!
With a sigh, he finally decided to get up and slowly head towards the bright opening when the caves looming walls suddenly seemed to close in on Legolas, igniting a sense of urgency deep within his soul. Though he began to walk over tentatively and slowly, as he came closer to the light, the walls continued to move in on him causing him to increase his speed with alarm until finally he broke into a sprint, his entire body screaming to release him from the confines of the cave.
Finally, Legolas escaped the stifling cave and emerged into a deluge of bright, white sunlight. The warmth of it awakened his senses and quickly eased his anxious mind. When the elf's eyes adjusted to the bright daylight, he caught his breath at the sight before him. The endless eastern land had been replaced by endless water, calm and still as a mirror against the horizon, gently lapping against a gravelly shore, not far from where he now stood.
Legolas stared at the water, as enchanted by it as if it were Galadrial's mirror. But the peaceful water contrasted with the air around him which simmered with tension and resentment, though Legolas could not quite place what gave it this feeling. It was as if he teetered on the edge of reality, as if he had fallen out of the world he had known, felt, heard and tasted in the whimpering trees and Manwe's breaths and landed within its twin - a shadow of reality, a memory that suddenly came alive, seething with all the anger of Morgoth stifled under a thin veil of resentment and hopelessness. You do not remember us for thousands of years have passed since we encountered the fork in our destinies – you chose one path and we chose another. And now you have come to us and we shall take you. We shall show you the path you did not take, the songs you did not choose, the dimming light you left behind.
Legolas shook his head, for these voices spoke to him from within like phantoms percolating his brain. He eyed the water carefully and wondered, absurdly if the voices came from the waves themselves as they washed ghastly, ethereal foam upon the shore only to wipe it away with their next great gulp.
A strange land this was indeed. Aye, technically speaking it was like any other land – the sky was blue, the sun set and rose periodically, predictably; water, earth, wind and fire retained their same terrible, life-giving identities and yet nothing in them was the same. Nothing reflected Middle Earth – unless perhaps this really was an enchanted mirror - a mirror that reflected an alternate universe that shadowed Middle Earth.
"It is beautiful, isn't it?"
Legolas jumped at the question. He reached for his weapon, only to find there was no weapon, and turned towards the cool voice, tinged with a familiar Sindarin accent, fully expecting to find the treacherous Reanur at his side, but to his surprise no one was there. Legolas narrowed his eyes and searched all around him in confusion. Suddenly, his eyes widened with glittering surprise at the sight of seven Sindarin elves sitting below him in a semi circle, only a couple of meters away, despondently watching the lapping sea breathe gently into the deadened land as silent as stone. Legolas faltered slightly at the sight of these elves - these warriors. Thranduil's warriors. Though their gaunt faces were barely recognizable, Legolas knew them immediately by name– each and every one. Aye, he knew those sullen phantoms. But he did not know which one had spoken, for none even seemed capable of a murmur at this point.
As Legolas' eyes flitted over each one, their faces reflected in the watery depths like wavering images in a stream. Legolas' mind quickly forgot the question that had so startled him. Even if he did remember it, he could not speak out to inquire which of the elves had spoken up. It seemed as if someone reached into his throat and pulled whatever breath remained in his lungs as he stared at the wraithlike figures.
Finally Legolas gathered the courage to speak. Hundreds of years of unshed tears strangled his voice and the result was a breathless, cracked whisper.
"What did they do to you?"
A pair of sorrowful eyes rested on the prince, as if struggling to remember where they had last seen that young face. So pale, so emaciated they were by grief, pain and regret. Legolas shuddered – he had seen this before. He had seen grief take its toll on an elf's soul and eat away at it leaving nothing but a fading mist of what once was the beautiful figure of an elf. Ai, Nana, you thought you were not strong enough. But you see? Even the greatest warriors cannot keep their strength in the face of this evil!
Their large eyes watched Legolas carefully, sorrowfully. "We cannot fight this any longer… We will die or we will be enslaved. We are lost," they seemed to say to him. Legolas shook his head and slowly backed away. "Nay, this is not real. This is not real," he murmured. "Ven Eru. Suil Ennui, erio thûl lín i faer hen." *
"You should not look at us but at the sea, for it is more beautiful than anything you can find in our faces," the same voice that had spoken before murmured. Legolas' head snapped towards the voice which came from the dark shadow of a lowered head, the one face he had not yet seen. The warrior then continued softly. "Prince Legolas… It is not truly you, is it? Ai, I had hoped I would not be seeing you here. I had hoped Merionè would be able to fight it... that he would keep Thranduil from sending anyone after us!" He raised his head and Legolas noticed that though pale and weak, he did not exude the same terrible despair and darkness that emanated from his companions. Then suddenly Legolas stiffened as he recognized the face. Velsiur. The third missing captain. Ai! Reanur betrayed them, Merionè's fate was dubious at best – and now what of the third? Had he betrayed them as well? Had he fallen?
Velsiur's eyes cautiously skimmed their surroundings before returning to Legolas. "Legolas, you should not have…" he stopped suddenly and moved his eyes again to the ground, furrowing his brows in frustration. "Nay, there is no time for shoulds…" he sighed to himself. He then gazed again at Legolas. "Forgive Merionè," he whispered. "He knows not what he does – if he knew where all of this would lead… that you were here now...."
A sudden shuffling of feet caused Velsiur to glance behind him and he stiffened as a tall, wiry elf gradually approached. "Ai, may Elbereth watch over you," Velsiur muttered. He then looked up at Legolas and spoke rapidly, his voice a feverish hiss that barely rose above the lapping waves of the lake. "Legolas, listen to me. Do not try to save us – whatever you do, whatever they offer, do not take it, do not believe even for a moment that we could be saved, that anyone could be saved – not by them and not by anything you do for them. Just save yourself. Save your hopes, your dreams, what you know of the world and the ideals you left behind when you came into this land and do not let go, not ever, not for anyone – not me, not these doomed spirits, not your family, not anyone. For it is all a lie, my Prince. Whatever words that brought you here were lies. We" Velsiur emphasized as he motioned to himself and the warriors beside him. "are lies. Phantoms. We cannot be saved because we no longer exist - not for you at least, not for this world. You cannot save anyone here for the grace of the Valar does not exist here. They are dead here. But you are not Legolas. You can save yourself."
Legolas stared confusedly at Velsiur, more interested in the fate of this one last captain than in the identity of whoever now approached. A faint glow still radiated from Velsiur's sallow skin and his eyes remained astute and bright as he spoke. "You are not yet lost, Velsiur," Legolas breathlessly returned.
"Nay, Legolas, do not think of me. I am one of them." Velsiur emphasized these words as he pulled his cloak tightly over his shoulders. He quickly assumed the same distraught, hunched over position of the other warriors and fell silent, immediately blending in with the others.
The approaching elf stopped a few feet from Legolas. A strange, welcoming smile graced his face and he nodded his head in acknowledgement of Legolas.
"Welcome, Prince Legolas. I must admit, I am rather surprised to find you here. When I saw Reanur bring you here, I assumed you were but another lonesome woodland elf – imagine my surprise when he informed me you were not a warrior, but the King's son himself! This is truly an honor indeed…" he greeted in the Common Tongue. The elf's voice, laced with a strange accent, was smooth and collected, not unlike Thranduil's velvety imperial voice, though Legolas sensed the sinister undercurrent within the silky stream of seemingly amiable words.
"Who are you?" Legolas asked suspiciously, not bothering to return the friendly greeting. At the mention of Reanur, his muscles tensed angrily, but he remained still and calm, naturally retaining his proud stature.
The other elf raised an eyebrow and bowed his head slightly. "You may call me Rómen," he answered, unaffected by Legolas' discourteous tone of voice. His gaze rested on the sea and he motioned for Legolas to look at it as well.
"It is but a lake, though they say the Great Sea looks much like this. Have you seen it?"
Legolas slowly shook his head, taken aback by the question and the elf's restrained affableness.
"Neither have I and I do not suspect I ever will," Rómen sighed. "I shall remain here and fade with this sea, just as your people with fade with your land. You see? We were sundered once, but in the end we will all meet the same fate. We will all fade into memories and soon even those will fade."
Legolas lowered his eyes, unsure of how to respond to the haunting words. He thought of his own memories, his departed kin – would they too fade? He shook his head of the thought – such an idea was impossible! Yet, he could not control the nagging doubt in the back of his mind, the whisperings of the world around him, telling him that his time, his people's time, was quickly drifting away, slowly disappearing from the lands of Middle Earth.
The elf sighed again and continued, his hazel eyes never leaving the bejeweled surface of the Rhun sea. "I do believe you had it better though. Aye yes, your kind lived in light as we dwelled in shadow. You mourn the passing of your great wood, but you do not know what it is to be forsaken. Your kind was given light, and you kept it to yourself. You did not bring it to these lands, you did not think of these lands, and now He who has promised us light gives you darkness. Alas the sundering of the elves! Alas we shall never share the same light!"
Finally the elf turned to Legolas, his bright eyes gleaming in the shimmering pale light reflected off the water's surface. "But we will all meet the same fates in the end - we will all fade. Aye, light has been promised us, but I do not take it to be everlasting. We shall have our day, just as you have had yours, and then we too will drift away as the tide of men washes ashore. But you can share in our light while we have it, young Prince. We shall not hide it from you as you have from us. Tell me, does it matter under whose leadership you fade? This world whether it belongs to Men of the West or Men of the East, will never again be yours. Sauron or the Kings of Men. Gondor or the Easterlings. Tell me what will the role of the elves be? Even your king will fade. Even if the Men of the West prevailed, tell me what place will Thranduil have in this world? But I do not believe that power lies in the West. Not anymore. You would die fighting for her, but you could instead prolong your glory by accepting the offer I have now given you. Accept the light I offer you, the promise I too have taken to heart, and you can share in our glory, fleeting though it may be, rather than die in the shadow that consumes your world as we speak."
Legolas gaped at the elf who then turned and again gazed wistfully at the sea, his long hair flipping in the light breeze. Legolas too turned towards the Sea of the Rhun and for a moment came under her spell. Something about it seemed so peaceful, so sad… like the coming of winter or his own fading forest. Yet it also offered a strange sense of respite, an escape, an answer that could calm his aching heart. He now yearned more than ever for days long past, when he was young even by human standards…or at least the Númenoreans' standards – days when he would recline and play under the great trees of Mirkwood with his siblings and his parents nearby, under the warm rays of the sun, without an inkling of concern or foreboding of the dark days that lay ahead. They now seemed so far away. A sudden chill caused Legolas to shiver. For the first time in his life, he felt the burden of the years creep upon his back, both the blessing and the curse of the Eldar. Aye, for the first time ever, he felt old.
Rómen's voice, strident against the melodious sea, interrupted Legolas' thoughts. "Legolas. What say you? What path do you now choose?"
Legolas blinked at the elf, for a moment forgetful of his surroundings and unsettled by his abrupt change in tone. "Choice? Choice… I do not recall you giving me a choice at all…"
Rómen narrowed his eyes and enunciated each word carefully. "Every step you take is a choice, young elf. I think you know the ground ahead of you, where your feet will next fall – into darkness or light, death or life, slavery or power. I offer you a part in our history. I offer you a choice between defeat and glory."
Legolas held the gaze and chose his next words carefully, aware that his situation was about to rapidly deteriorate as the other elf's peaceful façade began to melt away. "Aye you are right – only I fear our ideas of what is light and what is shadow differ. Your promises lead no where – they provide no ground and I would only fall into darkness," he returned, his features hardening as he regained control of his mind.
The other elf raised an eyebrow and chuckled at these words. "I am afraid you will soon become rather disillusioned…"
Legolas' mind now stubbornly bolted angrily from its pensive slumber. "Nay! I know exactly what Middle Earth is up against! But you do not! Do you not know your own history? That Sauron's promises will only lead your doom!" he spat angrily, his previous peaceful melancholy giving way to heated anger. "Do you not see? Do you not remember? It is Morgoth who has brought you into this shadow to begin with and now you only choose to stay! You believe the same lies that doomed you in the first place…"
The chilled tip of a sword at his throat halted Legolas' tirade.
"And what would you have us do? What choice would you lay out before us? If you were in our place, to whom would you turn?" The sword lightly drew across the prince's neck.
"You see the truth then. You see it, but you believe the lie," Legolas whispered, unfazed by the sharp tickle against his throat.
The sword stopped and pressed harder into Legolas' throat, though still refraining from drawing blood. Rómen focused his gaze and spoke, his voice low and gruff. "There is naught else to believe when the messengers of Sauron are the very same the Valar have sent."
The words struck Legolas like a wave of ice cold water and he staggered in their wake. He would have responded had he known how to respond. But how does one respond to such enigmatic blasphemy? Such an impossible notion? The riddle burrowed into Legolas' mind and though it made little, nay, no sense at all to him now, as if someone had just told him up was down and down was up, many years later the words would sound to him like an echo at the discovery of Saruman's treachery. Even the Maiar are capable of corruption. Aye, Rómen was right in one respect then. Legolas did not know what Middle Earth was up against. Disillusionment hung in his future just as weakness and old age awaited men in their mortal futures. But as to what or who the elf spoke of now, the time had not yet come to reveal such secrets. Gandalf may one day suspect the duplicity of the other Maiar, but such suspicions were beyond Legolas' own comprehension for now. Up remained firmly above him and down still pointed toward the ground. He would not let anyone tell him otherwise though gravity seemed to pull him towards the sky and the ground beneath dropped farther away.
Legolas would not be the only one to face the terrible specter of disillusionment. A world away, Cièdron struggled with his own footing as the gravity of Dol Guldur pulled him closer even as he tried to escape. As Cièdron and Bratherond strove to sever the magnetism that connected them to Dol Guldur, Merionè slowly grew to accept the inevitable fall that he came ever closer to jumping into. Thranduil felt as if he were choosing between the ground and the sky as he made his final preparations to leave what was left of his people for what was left of his family. All of Mirkwood quaked with the coming of war and tremors shook the Kingdom of Gondor as enemies noted a weak spot on the shores of Umbar. A battle awaited the unsuspecting steward of Gondor, though it would take a leader of all men to alert him to this danger – a leader who had only just begun to waken. Meanwhile, in the West, where not a tremor shook the blissful, idyllic fields of the Shire, the greatest power of all – the one thing that could tear Middle Earth apart quicker than any band of Orcs, Easterlings or Corsairs – lay in the tiny hand of an unsuspecting hobbit. The fires of war were flaring and the war to end all wars loomed upon the races of Middle Earth. And the one who would own the task of smothering the conflagration had not even yet been born.
Now in the midst of this growing tempest, Legolas stood at the tip of a sword, his immortal life in the hands of one who heralded the tempest as if it brought with it the rising of a new day – or the long awaited end of the old.
They stood motionless for what may have well been an eternity, but in reality, no more than a few seconds. Legolas faltered slightly, his eyes wavering towards the warriors. Velsiur stiffened and pulled the cloak more tightly around his shoulders. The strange elf that held Legolas at the brink of life or death caught the slight movement in Legolas' eyes and grinned. "Ah, yes, they have been waiting for you," he whispered. "You see how they waste away? It is because they continue to fight the forces against them since they know not where to turn. But they would follow their Prince. They can yet be saved if their Prince showed them the way."
Velsiur shifted at these words and shook his head ever so slightly, yet just enough for Legolas to notice. The winds seemed to increase causing the rippling water to swell in anticipation.
"They would follow me into the pits of Mordor. But I would not lead them there," Legolas whispered. But despite the strength in his words, his voice faltered ever so slightly, causing the other elf to smirk.
"Or perhaps you will not lead them at all because you fear it. You will abandon them instead."
Again Velsiur shifted uncomfortably and lifted his glowing eyes to Legolas, imploring the young elf to remain strong. His cape puffed behind him and the hood slipped off his head revealing his long, yellow hair.
Legolas glanced fleetingly at Velsiur's pale, gaunt face and lifted his chin defiantly. "I will not abandon them."
Rómen cocked his head and moved closer to Legolas. The sword continued to press into Legolas' neck, forcing the younger elf to back away. "Then you will save them?" Rómen suggested.
Legolas opened his mouth, but quickly locked it shut without a response. Instead he mustered up as much steadfastness as he possibly could, summoning his father's determined, formidable gaze. "Not by your standards."
Suddenly, Rómen drew his sword up to Legolas' chin, lifting the elf's head ever so slightly. "There are no other standards here. But I am willing to negotiate. These elves have proven themselves to be magnificent workers, but I would release them from their duties if I could find a worthy enough replacement…."
Legolas eyed the elf carefully as Merionè's warning sounded in his mind. Whatever you do, do not trust any of their promises, do not believe they will keep their word. They will not. His heart clenched in panic as he slowly came to realize how alone he truly was - he now had no one, not his father, his brother, or Aragorn, to turn to – no one to work out a clever scheme with, no one to cover his back. Whatever decision he made now would be his alone and it seemed not only his fate, but Velsiur's and the warriors', depended on it as well.
Merionè made it clear their promises were not to be trusted. But to turn down this trade would be to proclaim his life to be more valuable than the warriors, would it not!? What cowardly prince would abandon his people so easily? Or what cowardly captain? Legolas thought sadly as he came to fully understand Merionè's own dire situation – the helplessness the elf must have felt. The helplessness he felt now. Legolas nervously eyed the warriors – a dangerous move that perhaps a more experienced ranger or elven warrior would have avoided for in the fleeting glimpse, Legolas revealed his uncertainty to Rómen. Thranduil's stone faced determination faltered ever so slightly in the young elf's features and the terror and hesitancy within him shone through like light trickling through the thick canopy of Mirkwood.
Velsiur too caught Legolas' hesitation and his back straightened, though still he remained silent.
Rómen lowered his sword and gently turned Legolas' face towards his own, his thin hand as cold against the prince's cheek as the sword was against his neck. "How many warriors is one son of Thranduil worth?" he breathed softly, his eyes glittering as Legolas' own eyes, against his will, shirked the frigid gaze.
Legolas' mind raced and he desperately sought a way out, yet as the water caressed the back of his feet and his eyes saw nothing beyond but the steep cliffs which gave way to hundreds of miles of wasteland, his hope washed away. He was falling into the same trap as Merionè and he knew it, yet he knew not what else he could possibly do. "What would the terms be?" he finally whispered in response, desperately seeking a way to delay his final decision.
At this Velsiur's head snapped up and his eyes flashed brightly in contrast to the dull orbs of the other warriors watching this transaction with as much interest as they watched the dead sea before them.
Rómen grinned hungrily. "The terms? Why, that is simple enough - you pledge your loyalty and we release your kinsmen from their duties to us."
Legolas fell silent and furrowed his brows. Only the gentle splash and slurps of the water filled the winds around them. "Pledge my loyalty to you?" he repeated slowly. I am not the first soul he has asked for. And I would not be the first to give it to him. He will use me as he has used Merionè…As he has used Reanur…
Legolas began to back away, but water soaking through his light boot alerted him to the fact that there was no backing away now. He shook his head, as if trying to make the entire world around him disappear – nay not just the entire world, everything that had happened in these past weeks. He should not be here! None of them should have ever left Mirkwood! This had all been a terrible mistake – they had been lured into a battle they could not fight. And now what of Cièdron? He is alone with Merionè. He is as alone as I am now.
But the time had not come for Legolas to worry about his kin. Alas, the time had come for him to decide his own fate. "No… no, I will not…" he finally breathed as he continued to shake his head. I will not be used as a weapon against my father.
Suddenly, Rómen's features exploded with fury causing Legolas to tense as if he would have to wrestle off the incensed elf in just a matter of moments. "So be it! You are ours anyway, for there is no escaping here – you had the chance to release them, but now you will waste away with them! If you will not give in voluntarily, then we will force you to! It is no matter to us!" His eyes flashed dangerously and he lowered his voice to a hiss. "All this way you have come. All this way, and for what? Your people suffer. Your family suffers. And now what have you accomplished for any of them?"
Legolas narrowed his eyes, struggling to control his screaming mind. "Your words are lies. I will not fall for them."
Rómen paused and held Legolas' gaze. "You will fall. And your family will fall as well. My words are neither lies nor riddles, they are the truth and it is the truth that you will not accept." He then waited patiently for a response that would not come from Legolas. Finally, after several long moments, he sighed and lowered his sword as he backed away from the water. "Very well then. I must admit, Legolas, you are no fool. I see that you have decided these ghosts are not worth the price we ask. But I think I know what you will find worth it."
Rómen's eyes glittered and a small smile tugged on his lips. "What if I told you we had the power to release one from his oath in return for a new one, a more valuable one, from another?"
The blood drained from Legolas' face and Rómen's terrible grin grew. "I have heard that Merionè is with your brother right now, is that not correct?" he asked casually.
"Why should I believe you?" Legolas whispered.
"Do you have any other choice? Will you take the chance that maybe I am wrong? What if I am right? What if you somehow do escape here later and you find that I was right all along? That we could have released Merionè? That you could have released Merionè?" Rómen raised his sword again and delicately drew it against the neck of one of the doleful warriors. "Before he made the final decision to serve your enemy in the best way he could."
Legolas' eyes widened and for a moment, he thought his knees would give way beneath him. He imagined his brother alone now with Merionè at the edge of Dol Guldur, unaware of the elf's treachery even as he fell deeper and deeper under the oath's power. Even if Cièdron was aware, Legolas knew his brother could not defend himself against Merionè – his temper and skills may be deadly, but his loyalty to his brethren and his sympathy to Merionè would overcome that. He would try to help him – he would try and he would only fail for he could never even comprehend the extent of Merionè's fall. Or even if he did, how could he possibly escape now? The thought caused Legolas to tremble uncontrollably and he had to struggle to hold his head high. Yet Legolas forgot one important factor – Merionè was not alone with Cièdron. Alas in his panic, he had forgotten Bratherond!
Sensing Legolas' weakness, Rómen continued, his face brightening in triumph. "In fact, what if I were to give you the option to leave now! Leave and don't give your oath in Merionè's place!" Rómen's laugh grew as Legolas' own trembling increased. "Go find your brother! Go find Merionè! Go! I release you! A son bringing home the body of his brother will be more than enough to bring down a King when he has already lost his other children!"
The wind now blew in powerful gusts, as if Rómen held sway over the very land itself. Churning water continued to creep behind Legolas and the elf found it hard to even hold his footing. Though Velsiur still did not speak, his face betrayed the storm that was brewing within.
"Do you swear that Merionè will be released?" Legolas finally responded, his words nearly lost in the chilled gusts.
Rómen's sword dropped by his side and his excited features calmed into a hardened, snake-like smile. "Yes," he answered.
Legolas gulped and struggled to remain standing.
"Then I will do it."
The words sparked an explosion, not only in the triumphant eyes of Rómen, but in the body of Velsiur. The captain had been growing increasingly nervous and fidgety as the conversation continued to worsen – these last words however caused him to bolt from his seat like an arrow and before Legolas even knew what was happening, the powerful warrior leapt at him and pushed him down into the wet, gravelly sand and lapping waves, quickly pressing his knife to the prince's throat.
"I will take your body before they can take your soul," he hissed warningly, pointedly catching Legolas' terrified eyes in a solid gaze. The soft words were lost to the other elf, though they filled Legolas' mind with their intensity. As the dagger pressed deeper into his skin, Velsiur continued in the same muted hiss, "Do not make my greatest act of loyalty also be my greatest betrayal. Do not have me save the King by killing his son. You do this and both you and Cièdron will die at the hands of your father's own warriors."
A moment later, Velsiur was pried off and the flashing eyes of Rómen replaced Thranduil's warrior's dreadful gaze. Legolas' head spun in confusion and fear as he slowly raised himself from the water. Rómen turned from Legolas and focused his eyes on Velsiur. To Legolas' surprise, Rómen did not appear surprised or angry at Velsiur's sudden outburst – rather a strange smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth and his eyes glittered wonderingly.
"Never mind these captains of ours. We will address this later – I assure you, you will not have to suffer such a rude outburst again."
Legolas caught his breath and focused his eyes on Rómen as his own muddled mind focused. Scolding himself for even considering to give in to the elf's offers and for having to have Velsiur literally knock some sense into him, he once again gathered together all of his strength in order to address Rómen in a barely controlled voice. "You took these captains with the understanding that you would let the rest of them go. It seems you did not keep that promise and so why should I believe you now. It is not that I thought they are not worth my life. It is that I do not believe a word that you say. My oath would have no bearing on Merionè's."
The other elf laughed treacherously, alarmingly indifferent to Velsiur's interruption and Legolas' renewed strength. "But you are wrong! We did let them go! I am sure you are aware of the numbers of your father's patrols! Far more than just seven, I assure you…"
Legolas stiffened at this seemingly obvious revelation. Of course- there had been nearly fifty braids scattered on Thranduil's magnificent table. Fifty. "Where are the rest of them?" he whispered fearfully, his momentary resurgence of strength, tenuous and thin, once again slipping away.
Rómen cocked his head and smiled. "We let them go," he answered simply.
The words were uttered so lightly and easily, yet they fell heavily on Legolas as if within those words carried the whole terrible, leaden truth of their fates – of the captains' fates, of his fate. For Rómen had worked Legolas into the perfect trap. It no longer mattered whether his words were lies or not! Perhaps, literally they were not lies at all, but either way, they had all been deceived and now there was naught Legolas could do for his brother, for the warriors, for his father, or even for himself. A few long moments passed as the three stood silently amidst the agitated winds and restless water. Velsiur bowed his head, as he had nothing more to offer Legolas in the way of help or guidance. I will take your body before they take your soul. Had it truly reached the point where the only way to maintain his loyalty was through death? Suddenly Legolas remembered his older brothers' own fates. Was that the true reason his brother had died? To save his loyalty? Because he would rather die than be used as a weapon against his own people?
Nay, not now, now is not my time… Legolas thought, though as he backed into the waves, the cool water seemed to tell him otherwise.
But there was still a shred of hope. Legolas again eyed Velsiur. The tall elf shifted uncomfortably and his eyes still avoided the Prince's. Do not have me save the King by killing his son. Aye, even if there was no hope for him, there was hope for his kingdom at least. Velsiur proved it. As long as others retained the same courage and devotion to Thranduil as Velsiur just exhibited, hope remained for Mirkwood. Indeed, Velsiur had proven to be the most loyal of all to Mirkwood. He alone would sacrifice all – his life, his warriors' lives, even the Prince's life, for the sake of Thranduil, for the sake of Mirkwood. Only one oath he had given in his life and only one oath he would take to his death.
Rómen once again spoke up. "Not all were willing to let their patrol go in return for their oath, so we kept them. We kept them so that we could train them to choose the right way," he explained, motioning towards Velsiur and his warriors. "I do think they will come around soon enough though."
Legolas continued to watch Velsiur carefully, "I would not be so sure of that," he returned. "The true prisoner is the one you released."
Rómen laughed. "Think what you may, but you must remember, Legolas, we are all prisoners and Fate is our gatekeeper. Even you cannot escape her. When this world ends, even your kind will be no better than us." As Rómen spoke, he slowly sheathed his sword and raised his bow and arrow in its place. Legolas stiffened and unconsciously backed further into the water. The waves now lapped against his knees and nipped at his tunic. Velsiur's eyes flashed and his muscles tightened, but before he could move, another elf appeared at his side, grabbing and twisting his arm behind him, and holding a long dagger against his throat. Legolas gasped and stumbled slightly at the sight of the new elf. Reanur.
Rómen smirked, though he did not move his eyes from his target. "Besides, do you mean to tell me of your three captains, Velsiur is the only one who is free? You mean to tell me he is freer than Reanur is now? Than Merionè? You mean to tell me Velsiur's warriors are freer than Merionè's and Reanur's?" Rómen pulled at the string, his arrow pointed straight at Legolas' heart.
"Fifty braids were brought to us!" Legolas yelled, his frustration now building inside of him like a storm. "If you claim they are free, then where are they now?!"
Rómen's eyes sparkled. "It is as I said, we let them go. We let them go, but they chose to stay."
Reanur's gaze fell to the ground and his knife quivered against Velsiur's neck from his trembling hand. "A warrior's fate is always tied to his captain, Legolas. Their loyalty lies wherever their captain's loyalty lies," he said softly.
Legolas' steely gaze froze on Reanur. He had not noticed before how thin and weak the elf now appeared. Dark shadows framed dull eyes embedded between sharp cheekbones. Not only his hand, but his entire body shook softly from a sickly, nervous tremor. Behind him, more elves emerged, all just as sickly looking. All Thranduil's warriors.
"Oltho vae ne fuin hen,Velsiur," Rómen whispered. Legolas' gaze quickly broke away from Reanur just in time to see Rómen change his aim and release the arrow. ***
Legolas' cry was lost in the strengthening breezes as Velsiur collapsed into a writhing heap. A moment later, he was still except for the gentle undulations of his silky hair in the cursed wind of the Rhun. Whatever fleeting hope Legolas held fled away with the last breath of Velsiur.
Reanur's face paled and he gaped in shock at his dead companion at his feet. Rómen laughed at this and turned to Legolas, holding the elf's gaze with his own terrible eyes as he sardonically sang,
"Down the swift dark stream you go, back to lands you once did know."
TBD
* Taken straight from The Hobbit
**May Eru protect us. Western Winds, may your breath lift this spirit
*** May you dream well tonight, Velsiur
Thank you all for your so very very very kind words!
Alexa, I loooooove the King Arthur stories – The Mists Of Avalon is one of my favorite books. Do tell me more about this movie that's in the works! I hope it's a good one – I've been very disappointed with past adaptations (ok so I've only seen 2, but neither were very good).
