Chapter 37
"Nay."
A sudden flare of dazzling silver flashed as the blade fell from fingers appearing to become suddenly nerveless and Aragorn watched as Legolas sank slowly to his knees before the great beast, the single word whispering from his lips as he fell, half prayer, half plea. His feet moved before he could think and he found himself rushing to the elf's side only to be grasped firmly from behind as a muscular arm wrapped itself around his waist, pulling him to an abrupt halt.
"Stay, Estel." A low whisper tickled his ear. "I think 'tis better if you leave him alone this time."
Elladan, for it was the elder twin who had stayed his movement, loosed his hold and Aragorn turned to face him, a look of thunder upon his face. The angry words that had risen to his lips faltered however as he saw the compassion and worry etched on his brother's on mien when the peredhel nodded in Legolas' direction.
"I fear he needs the known more than the unknown at present."
Aragorn turned his head to look over to where the prince still knelt, head bowed, face hidden by the long fair tresses that hung almost to his waist and watched in awe as the majestic stag lowered its own head and breathed out through flaring nostrils. Golden hair lifted and flew in the ensuing breeze and Legolas slowly raised his head until his eyes once more were captured by those of the beast. It seemed an eternity before the stillness that had enveloped the whole forest was broken by three strikes on the ground from one of the stag's front feet and it turned to walk slowly away. As if a spell was broken the troop of wood elves moved in around the archer, who remained frozen in place, his gaze never leaving the stag as it moved through the forest without a backwards glance, to disappear between the trees.
Thus they now stood, two distinct and separate units, the Sylvan elves all with their eyes having dropped to the one in their midst who had so nearly committed an almost unforgiveable crime and the brothers, Aragorn flanked by the twins, waiting to see what would happen next. The young man had heard tales of the supposed Spirit of the Greenwood that dwelt within the form of a white stag and what punishment befell any who dared lay a finger upon one of the great beasts in case it were he and wondered how the Silvans were going to react to what had just taken place.
"'Dan, what…?"
The nickname had scarcely left Aragorn's mouth before Elrohir made to quiet him with a shush and a shake of his head.
"All we can do is wait, little brother," came his sad, whispered reply
~o~
"Nay!"
The anguished cry was muffled by the thick wooden door but was loud enough to startle Galion out of the reverie he had once more fallen into, bringing him sharply back to his senses and propelling him across the corridor in two strides only to leave him hesitating, with one hand grasping the door handle, unsure if his king would welcome his intrusion or not.
Had he really heard the cry or was it a remnant of some forgotten dream? He had no wish to be on the receiving end of Thranduil's wrath if he could help it having had the misfortune to witness it first hand on a number of occasions before. Keeping his hand on the handle he pressed an ear to the carved wood, there had been no further sound since the first call and he had just decided that it must have been in his own mind when he felt the handle move under his hand and it was only his elven agility that stopped him from falling head first into the room as the door was suddenly wrenched open. As it was he only just managed to step back and avoid the figure that strode through the gap.
"There is not much time."
Looking every inch the king, Thranduil moved past the flustered butler and headed down the corridor like a ship at full sail.
"He will be here before sundown." The king continued, knowing that Galion would be following in his wake. "You will have them brought straight to the throne room and dispense with the guards."
"Aye, Aran nin, but whom…?"
"My son and his company of course." Thranduil turned to face his friend, his face set cold and stern as he barked out his orders. "And inform no one of their arrival, I want to see them alone."
"I will meet them myself, Aran nin."
Gallion swallowed and nodded in acquiescence, there was a sadness in the kings eyes that belied his frosty countenance and he felt suddenly afraid although could not have said why.
"Good," Thranduil uttered sharply then turned to march quickly away once more. "And Galion," the words floated sadly back down the corridor. "I wish you to remain with us. It may already be too late."
With that final soft request he swirled around a corner and out of sight as the butler stood in puzzled uncertainty before finally collecting himself and hurrying off to do his liege's bidding. Too late for what, he wondered.
~o~
The elf was unsure what had happened. One minute he was poised on the brink, ready to sate his desires with the swift eagerness of the hunter, the lust for blood thrumming through his body. The next he was on his knees, his heart almost breaking from the waves of anguish emanating from the great creature before him, vision blurred by uncontrolled tears, a strange sense of 'wrong' engulfing his confused mind. He felt the warm breath of air as it played with his hair and compelled him to raise his tear filled eyes until they were captured and held by those of the stag. Despair washed over him and he felt as though he was falling into a huge brown lake, shot through with glittering copper and all else faded away. He knew this beast. Somehow his heart remembered but his mind was clouded, confused, fractured. They were standing alone in the forest, within a clearing he did not recognize but knew he had seen before. He could feel the great age of the trees that surrounded them, their branches twisted and knotted together as if to form a cage and for a moment he felt such fear as to make his blood run cold.
A tremor passed through his body and for a moment the world spun and he could not tell if he was on his knees or on his feet, then all stilled and he realized he was now standing, staring at a feral, half clothed elf who stank of blood and lust who held a long, sharp blade poised over his head. His heart beat quickened as he tried to reach for his own knife but could not move. He stared into the elf's eyes and felt his panic turn to horror as they turned from clear, sky blue into an inky blackness as if the soul behind them was being consumed by the dark. He tried to run but his legs felt wrong, heavy and uncoordinated, as if he had acquired two more and did not know how to work them. The knife began to descend and he could feel the anticipation, sense the need as the elf's breathing quickened, his body tensed ready for the killing blow and recognition bloomed with awful clarity. His mouth opened but he could not scream as his frantic mind suddenly realized that this crazed, demonic creature about to sate himself with blood was actually he.
The world shifted again and he found himself once more upon his knees in his own body, staring at the retreating form of the great stag as it walked away through the trees a yearning in his heart for something he could not identify and felt the waxing distrust from the troop of Silvan's as they closed around him.
~o~
The Witch king had almost reached the fortress when his horse suddenly collapsed from under him, falling to the ground in a sprawling heap, throwing him off onto the rocky ground. He lay for a moment, looking up at the building which towered above him, his anger barely restrained by the fact that the animal had got him far enough to be able to walk the rest of the way easily. Rising to his feet slowly he looked down upon the unfortunate beast and kicked its almost motionless form. Horses were such pitiful creatures really, he thought as he watched the shallow rise and fall of its side that was the only evidence it still lived, there must be a better way to travel than having to rely upon such weak, mortal animals. With a final kick he moved away. It could stay where it was for now, he would send a warg or two down when he got back to the fortress. It may as well be useful in its death. Looking up at the tower he began to walk, picking his way amongst the stones and boulders anticipation growing as he realized he would soon be heading back down again, but this time it would be with an army. He smiled all the way back to the fortress.
~o~
"Legolas?"
The quietly spoken name roused the elf from his thoughts and he turned his eyes to the figure that now moved to stand before him, recognizing the captain of the sylvan guards.
"I…we…" The captain faltered, trying to decide on the correct course of action.
"Yes?"
Regaining a little of his previous calm the elf raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, contemplating what the sylvan was trying to say.
"I must…" The captain broke off again staring at his friend then looked over to where the peredhil stood with the human male watching the scene quietly.
"Legolas Thranduilion." Looking back to the elf still on his knees before him the captain swallowed before continuing with resolution. "I hold and keep you, by order of my King, that you will come before him to answer for your actions against both he and the spirit of Greenwood the Great."
The elf listened intently as the sylvan spoke the official words outwardly showing no sign of emotion whilst inside his mind was in turmoil. He felt as if he were awaking from a dream and could not escape its cloying clutches. He remembered a sense of urgency, of need then such sorrow as he had never faced before but the details were fading away and try as he might he could not grasp them and make them stay. There was an animal… Shaking his head he returned his focus on the sad voice that still spoke in the background.
"Will you agree?"
Looking up at the Captain the elf tried desperately to recall what he had been saying but could only stare blankly.
"I asked if you would come freely Legolas," the silvan held out his hand with a sad smile. "To your father." He continued and waited for his hand to be taken. "I do not wish to bind you, mellon."
As this last was uttered the elf felt his heart twist and suddenly he knew who he was once more. He had been here before. Knocking the proffered hand away he raised himself to his feet. He would not let them do it again. He would not let them debase and cow him. Standing proudly he forced a smile on his lips.
"That will not be necessary, mellon." The depth of sarcasm in that final word made the captain flinch and the elf inwardly chuckled over the small victory.
"I will be only too glad to see my father and explain." He smiled wider, considering just exactly what it was he would 'explain' to the king once he met him.
For a moment there he had lost his way and he was not sure how it had happened but he was back now. As he watched the captain pick up the discarded knife, slip it into his own quiver for safekeeping and motion for two others to flank him before they set off into the forest once more, he saw again the images of himself surrounded by a sea of broken arrows, beaten and banished as his so called friends looked on and remembered how he had been saved by his master. His body responded in an instant to the recollections of his training, how he had finally been made to see what he was and that there was no shame in enjoying what he did. How he should embrace it, use it to make himself faster, keener, better and more able to ensure that in the end he would prevail. His blood thrummed with anticipation. The sooner they reached the kings halls, the better.
A/N
So we are getting there slowly. Not long till father and son meet up again now...
Thanks if you are still reading. Hopefully the lack of reviews is because of exams as the lovely Obsidianglasses suggested. I do hope it's not because you are no longer enjoying the story.
Anyway I will say thanks to both Obsidianglasses and bettsam0731 for taking the time to let me know they are out there. If anyone else wants to give their opinion I would be only to glad to receive it. Constructive criticism is always welcome. :)