A/N: And onto chapter 14! If you aren't already aware, brace yourself for a lonnnnng story. Again, thank you for reading!
The sound of the forest- her beautiful Song of ancient trees, hidden brooks within small valleys, the touch of wild feet upon mossy ground- presses against him as the welcome flutter of a thousand hands. Unable to contain the joy which rises in his fae, Legolas smiles and begins to run- runs up that ancient path which his people tread, and then turns into the heavy fall of trees which stand by the path, ever-watchful and welcome.
The trees, their pale leaves turning from green to red under the gentle sky, the brush of their boughs against his hand; it is all he knew it would be. He runs, skips over clumps of ivy and underbrush, weaves his way under the heavy limbs of ancient trees who Sing of life and the fall of leaves. On he travels, deeper and deeper into the forest, pausing occasionally to touch the leaves that cling stubbornly to their branches, feels the life that trickles through their tiny veins under his fingertips. Each and every living thing has a place within the Song, even he- he strains to hear it, the leap and dance of his fae amongst the continuous rhythm of trees swaying in the wind, the scuttle of bugs and tentative steps of wild forest creatures.
Where before he only tasted a portion of the forest's Song, now he is completely surrounded by it, swallowed up in the welcome pull of a thousand thoughts, a time and life immeasurable to him. Even so, he continues to walk through her hidden corridors until he finally deems it safe to stop and pull out his map. With the cavern of stone far behind him, he hears only the shift of leaves in the early breeze, the patter of tiny limbs on tree-bark and foliage. Looking about him, all he sees is the stretch of trees and the sky which peers through the maze of branches, turning a rosy pink as anor begins to rise from her bed of clouds.
There is no chance of anyone seeing me now, he thinks with satisfaction, and takes the time to look closely at Belathon's map. Where he has indeed followed Belathon's instructions to turn into the forest upon escaping the King's Halls, he hasn't exactly continued in what appears to be a straight line towards the Forest River.
Well, he reasons, tracing the markings of the map closely. If I am still within this pocket of forest, if I turn a little north I will surely make it to the river.
And so he walks on, his fae as buoyant as the cool breeze which rustles against the leaves above him.
To his delight, he is able to watch as anor grows steadily higher within the sky and the forest around him wakes and stirs. Birds begin to sing their morning songs high above him, and he even catches a glimpse of a red-tailed squirrel darting through the trees, no doubt on her way to store nuts for winter.
But something bothers him, even despite walking amongst the trees and listening to their Song. A pressing weight to his fae keeps tugging at him, urging him to listen- look around.
It is whisper of eyes upon his skin, the quiet unease that fills him when he takes step after step. The back of his neck prickles, his ears twitch at the soft crush of leaves underfoot. He is not alone.
This presence he feels near him is not one of the forest. It presses at his back with every step he makes, reminds him that the forest does indeed have eyes, and they watch him.
I am not afraid, he thinks resolutely, and I won't falter. I am on a mission for my King, and for my people.
Even so, he reaches out and carefully brushes the trunk of a young beech tree. It sings happily under his touch, full of the vibrancy of youth, and dutifully informs him of the nest of mice which house beneath its shallow roots. It does not speak of danger, nor of unfriendly eyes.
Whoever they are, Legolas resolves as he pulls away, trying to shake the uneasiness from his fae, I am sure they do not mean to harm me.
But then, a small voice whispers in the back of his mind, no one has ever hurt you.
Legolas breathes in, and feels the forest breathe with him. He is being ridiculous. Whoever they are, they don't mean any-
A crackle of fallen leaves registers only a few feet behind him, and his heart kicks under his chest. And still, though he reacts as any creature of the wood would do when faced with danger, the forest is as calm as before. Her leaves still fall, and her Song does not colour with shadow.
He turns slowly, every muscle tense, to face the woods behind him. "Who is there?"
Annith always said to turn and face your enemies, and I won't be afraid, I am not afraid- His very blood seems to stop as he imagines the heavy, poisonous bulk of a ungol flying down from the tree-tops. Did yngyl dare come this far North? No- he remembers Aeglostor once boasting to a friend that he had personally driven every last ungol from this part of the forest.
Maybe- maybe they think I am a trespasser; a ridiculous idea, Legolas thinks, when his father is the King of these woods and it is in his power that stretches forward and protects them all.
But the figure which he knows looks upon him- they could be one of the Silvan who choose to live in the woods; those who do not like the closeness of the King's Halls, or boundaries.
"I do not mean any harm," he lowers his voice, eyes flickering to the trees around stand the same, swaying patiently in the breeze, yet he still cannot shake the sensation that there is someone watching him. "Im Legolas, and I travel to Laketown. I am- I am a messenger of King Thranduil."
He waits, darts his gaze to each small movement. Slowly, a shadow flickers amongst the trees, and from the mighty bough of an oak tree, a figure peels itself away. First legs, then arms, and then the form of a tall ellon appears and stands before him.
They are unlike any edhel he has seen- heavy black hair sweeps down their shoulders, rushing down a bare chest the colour of the earth. Muscles writhe with even the smallest of twitches, and they loom above him as the shade of the oak which they drew themselves from. Yet what is most startling is how every part of their rhaw glistens like spring water under sunlight, like their fae burns right under their skin.
Legolas stares, his heart thudding. "M-Mae l'ovannen. How..how did you do that?"
The stranger blinks down at him with eyes that are the veiny green of new leaves. "Thranduil, did you say? You are very young to be a Messenger for your King."
His voice is deep and Legolas sees ancient trees swaying in the breeze, their great limbs bobbing, heavy with leaves. More than that, he is aware of a great, heavy weight touching his fae, curious and yet frightening. The might of their mind is such that he is reminded of a hawk toying with its prey, the talons pressing into the vulnerable body of its victim, able to end them at any given moment. Their strength causes him to flinch, scrambling to throw up what flimsy shields he can muster, such is the impossible weight and age of their touch.
"I-" his voice falters, and he can practically feel Faervel hissing about manners- it is rude to stare, Laeslas! But his eyes are drawn to the stranger's hip which jut out of their body like roots above the earth, and onto the set of daggers which dangle there.
A shiver of fear runs up his spine; he is reminded again of how small he is before this stranger, this ellon whose entire body is wild and bright with his spirit, in a way that Legolas has never seen or felt before.
Full lips part into a very sharp smile; the stranger has traced his eyes, and felt the defences of his spirit. "I am of no threat to you, nethben."
"Nethben?" Legolas echoes. The word is a very old endearment, hardly ever used by his people. Not one of his family has ever used it, nor the cooks or butlers or even Lady Faervel whose blood is of the Laegrim. He has only ever heard it spoken by his tutor Badhron, who mentioned it being used by those Silvan who settled by the Forest River. Yet this stranger is no Silvan- his fae sits just beneath his skin, like a trout in a shallow pool who causes ripples to arise with every move. And in his green eyes is a wildness that makes Legolas want to run.
"Are- are you an Avari?"
The stranger's smile grows. "You are clever, for one so young. Yes, I am an Avari- my people know me as Hissaelon. But now, tell me this, Legolas Thranduilion, what does the youngest prince of your people have to do with delivering Messages to the Lake of Men?"
Shock races up his rhaw in a flash of lightening. "How did you know who my father was?"
The Avari drops his smile, and gives Legolas an unreadable look. "I have met your father before, nethben, and his shadow lies within your eyes, daring any to touch you."
A blush rises to his cheeks; he is all too aware of how restricting his father is- and now the stranger tells him that the King even inhabits his own gaze! It is too much- and what is worse is that the Avari stranger makes it seem as though his father cares only for him. "My father is- protective of me," Legolas admits, struggling to keep the heat from his voice. "But he is as equally as protective of my brothers and sister!"
Hissaelon raises a hand. "I make no judgement on your father, nethben; sidh. I only wonder, how do you think he will feel when he realises that his child has left his Halls?"
This is the last thing that Legolas wants to think of. He drops his gaze to the forest floor, stares at the foliage which gathers there. He has only been out in the forest for a heartbeat, and already he is reminded of the consequences that await him.
"He won't be happy," he says in reply. No doubt his father's fury will shake the very forest floor when he discovers his trickery, and the treachery of those who helped him. It leaves him uneasy, almost frightened.
But, Balathon is quick to chide, silver eyes glittering, you forget that you are helping your people. And when you return, your father will not be angry, but full of pride for what you have done for his Kingdom.
"Perhaps," says the Avari in a grave tone, "you should return to him, before you are missed."
"No!" Legolas says, and the woods echo with the word. "No! I will not." Hissaelon has not even known him for more than a few heartbeats, and already thinks of him as nothing more than a wayward elfling, a child to be corralled up and put away!
"I am not an elfling," he says firmly. "And I know what I need to do. By delivering my message, I am upholding the honour of my people and ensuring their freedom."
Rather than being reassured by his words, dismay spreads across the dark-haired ellon's face. "Who put those words in your mouth, nethben? Who thinks to put you in harm's way for the sake of their ambition?"
Mortification rises to his cheeks. "No one did! I- I know what I do!" He insists, and he can't hide the anger in his voice. Neither Belathon nor I do this for ambition- we do this to help our people! And why does everyone I meet think I am a simple child who is unable to think for himself?
The Avari does not even seem to hear his words, for he steps towards him, green eyes flashing. That incredibly heavy mind pushes against him with the same strength as a physical blow, and Legolas grits his teeth against the touch.
"Legolas, listen to me- we are but strangers to each other, but I know that nothing but death and ruin will come of you travelling to the town of Men- I saw it as soon as you stepped into these woods."
This makes him pause; the heat that has risen up into his throat suddenly evaporates, and he is filled with shame. It is beyond rude to shout at a stranger, and an Avari stranger at that! Ivon! He has shamed everything he has been taught of treating others with kindness and respect, and to listen to what they have to say.
And more than that, he has heard whispers of the Avari people, and the powerful Sight they contain. You would do well to listen, Laeslas, a voice suspiciously similar to Lhosben says. You will need to listen to all who come before you, if you want to be a true Prince.
"Goheno nin, Hissaelon," he sketches a hasty bow, hoping that the ellon is not offended. "I did not mean to shout. But I know what I am doing, truly." he says earnestly when a shadow flickers across the Avari's face.
"Do you?" Hissaelon looks past his bow as though it is nothing, and peers at him. In the growing sunlight, his eyes harden to jade stones. "Do you truly?"
The words weigh down on him like boulders, pressing the air from his lungs. Why do they affect me so? He shakes his head, feels his braids bounce against his chest. "You are kind, Hissaelon, to worry for me. But I am no elfling- I know my duty, and it is to deliver a message to the leader of Laketown."
The Avari pauses, and a shiver ripples through his body. "Very well," he says gravely. "If it be your path, then your path it is to walk."
Legolas glances about him. The air is lighter with dawn's warm rays trickling through the leaves, and he must hurry if he means to be out of the reach of his father's power by the time he wakes. But he can't just leave Hissaelon, not when the Elf still stands before him.
An idea strikes him. Hissaelon is one of the Avari- an edhel who knows the earth and her paths better than any other. He could lead him to the Forest River. And perhaps on the way, Legolas could apologise for his rude manners, maybe even ask after the lifestyle of such a rare people.
"Hissaelon?" He calls, and the elf raises green eyes to him, waits. "Would- would you be so kind and show me the way to the edge of the Forest River? Where I may meet with a bargeman?"
To his relief, the ellon nods without hesitation. "I will. Come, and make sure that you lift your feet. The forest floor is thick here."
They travel quickly, to Legolas' relief. By the time anor is at her zennith and her rays smiling down on their heads, he can hear the rush and hiss of what Hissaelon explains is the powerful current of water against rocks. The Avari is so aware of the forest around them that it makes Legolas blush for shame, for some of the plants that Hissaelon points out as poisonous- such as the spotted ivy or tiny red berries- he would have surely picked or eaten.
"My father, he is strict with me." He explains hurriedly, pushes down the bile that rises in his chest at the memory of the night before, how his father had- had- No. It does no good to think upon it. Not when he walks beside an Avari and amongst the trees.
"He has not let me see the forest before now- he says it is too dangerous, even for a prince of the Greenwood. I suppose- he does it out of fear that I will be hurt, but sometimes..some days I wish nothing more than to run away."
Hissaelon gives him a look. "And now you run."
"Now," says Legolas as firmly as he can without being rude, "now I go to deliver a message and bring pride to our Kingdom."
The Avari makes a noise in the back of his throat, just like his tutor Badhron when frustrated. "You are much like my own ion. He thinks he knows best, when he has seen so little of the dangers of the world."
"You have an ion?" Legolas asks, surprised. To be truthful, Hissaelon does not seem the fatherly type.
The thought must cross his face, for Hissaelon gives him a sharp, wolfish smile. With a press of his mind which is surprisingly gentle, the Avari passes him a memory; the flickering figure of an ellon with the same dark hair as his father, and a mischievous smile, dances before him, and then withdraws. "Yes, I do. He is a few laer older than you, and would explore the entire Greenwood if I but let him."
Legolas grins up at the Avari. So Hissaelon had previously spoken not from judgement, but from the overprotective urges of a father wanting nothing more than to keep his child safe. "Would you tell your ion that I also understand the pain of protective fathers?"
Hissaelon's eyes grow wide as though surprised at his daring, before narrowing into glittering slits. "You cheeky laeg!"
Legolas laughs, and dodges the playful swipe aimed at his ear.
They cross the rising slope of the forest in companionable silence, and he relishes the way his legs burn from the climb, how his body flushes with delight at the Song of the forest. The sounds of the birds as they sing to the welcome light of anor lifts his mind and casts aside the burden of Hissaelon's words, and he takes joy in the way the spotted light sinks into his skin.
The rush of the river grows louder as they reach the top of the rise, and at last the trees thin and he sees the glorious river that dominates the land.
"Ivon!" He breathes in awe. The water is clear in the unfiltered sunlight, and even with various rocks placed in it, the river continues to rush and rage down through the forest, unheeding of that which would try to obscure its path. "It is beautiful."
Hissaelon, however, doesn't seem to share his wonder. The tall figure pauses instead and gestures behind him, to the woods they have just travelled through. "These woods, though they have been my home and all I need for many yen, are no longer free of the shadow which plagues the southern parts of the forest. You think me protective for not allowing my son to travel far, but this forest is no place for a child. Take care, Legolas, when travelling through such places- it was your Song which drew me to you; your fëa that is so young and bright."
"But it is peaceful here!" Legolas points out. How can Hissaelon see only shadow, when the world is bright and full of joy? "My brother Aeglostor- he's an archer in the King's Guard- says that he and his company has kept this part of the forest free from yngyl for many yen."
"That may be," Hissaelon says slowly. "But your brother and all the edhil within the King's Guard cannot banish the malignant forces that clings to the very fëa of the Forest, and changes its Song."
Legolas pauses, lingers on the Avari's words. If not his brother, who can? "Could my- could the King? He is strong, stronger than many edhil, and not just in battle."
"Perhaps he might have, once, when he and the Queen reigned together." Hissaelon admits, and Legolas' heart sinks at the mention of his mother, she who he does not know and yet who was irreplaceable in giving him life.
Even as the Avari speaks, a shadow touches his face, as though he recalls a dark memory. "Now, though? No, I am not sure of that."
Privately, Legolas wonders at the doubt in Hissaelon's voice. Though he does not like to think on it, his father is powerful, more powerful than any of his family, or any of those in his Halls. How can he not cast out the shadow?
But then- his mind recalls the shadows which pressed under those cold grey eyes, his father bowing his head and admitting that he will leave the southern parts of the forest to be swallowed by shadow. Perhaps- Perhaps Hissaelon is right. Maybe not even his father can repress or stop the shadow from stealing into their forest….
Hissaelon's voice draws him from his grim thoughts. "Come now, nethben. We must hurry to reach the port of the bargemen- your father and his guards would have realised you are missing by now."
Realisation floods Legolas like the swelling of the river against its banks, makes him stagger upon the ground. This stranger, this Avari who has only just met him and yet has willingly lead him through the forest, goes against the express command of his King.
My father's wrath will already be insurmountable, and knowing that I had an accomplice in escaping… I do not wish for another to be caught in such a net of fury.
"Hissaelon," he asks hesitantly, "will you not face trouble for taking me to the bargemen?"
The Avari looks down at him. In the sunlight, his face becomes drawn, wary. "I will."
Shame rushes through his blood. Though Legolas has known the Avari for only what are heartbeats in the life of an elf, he admires the tall, powerful figure, this ellon whose whole life is within the forest. He cannot leave him to the wrath of his father. "Then- then leave me here. I do not want you to face my father's anger. If you tell me where to go, I will make sure that you are not seen."
"No, nethben" Hissaelon is shaking his dark head before Legolas can finish his sentence. "I would not leave you to wander along the river now. If it were my own child out in these woods I would guard him as a wolf does her pups. As your Ada is not here to protect you, so must I be the wolf."
"But you have your own ion-!" Legolas makes to protest, but the long-legged Avari is already striding off down the banks of the river. Every step of his newfound friend further down the riverbank tugs at his fae, calls him to follow. Yet once again, something holds his feet to the mud, pulls at his cloak.
I must choose now, he realises, and the choice which lies before him seems insurmountable. Do I leave the protection of my realm and enter a world that does not love me? Do I allow Hissaelon to bear the brunt of my father's anger? Or do I turn back and remain in safety? Should I leave Hissaelon to return to his forest?
Ahead of him, Hissaelon does not slow, but continues on as though Legolas is right behind him. Ahead of him, the river and beyond that, the strange world of Men, call to him. Behind him, he can feel the strength of his father and his family, and the forest he does not know but loves all the same.
Choose, choose now.
He takes a breath, and chooses.
A/N: Hope you liked it!
Sindarin: Ivon- Yavanna, or the goddess/deity of the forest
Ion- son
Fae- spirit
Fea- Quenyan word for spirit