* Thanks to all those who reviewed, favoured, followed and kudos-ed.
** Thank you for your patience. Part 3 is undergoing final tweaking.
*** As always, thank you to Frannel for being my writing buddy. Couldn't write anything without you!
Dramatis Personæ
Aglarebon – Woodland Stallion, Sindar's horse, 6yo
Aragorn/Strider – Male, Chieftain of the Dúnedain, 86 yo
Baradon/Sculls – Male, Elite Ranger Scout, 27yo
Bregol/Web - Male, Ranger, 23yo
Camaenor/Vice - Male, Master of Arms, 79yo
Cordoves/Swan – Female, Elite Ranger Scout, 63yo
Eryndes – Female, Mistress of Carthal & Apothecary, 47yo
Faron/Dusk – Male, Hunting Master & Elite Ranger Scout, 81yo
Foruyndes – Female, Mistress of Stores, 184yo
Gueniel – Female, Midwife, 61yo
Gell - Male, Commander of Rangers, 56yo
Laeron/Wren – Male, Elite Ranger Scout, 17yo
Lobordir/Joust – Male, Master of Stables & Elite Ranger Scout, 59yo
Mydedis – Female, Mistress of Housekeeping, 175yo
Sali – Female, Mistress of Kitchen, 193yo
Sindar/Master Elf /Legolas – Sinda Male, Prince of the Woodland Realm, 2976yo
Trîw/Jester – Male, Elite Ranger Scout, 35yo
Úrion/Bear – Male, Second in Command, 126yo
Splashing water on her face it was easy for Eryndes to admit in the privacy of her quarters; last night had been a mistake. She should've retrieved the book and said good night, leaving Sindar in the library.
But no. She'd been seduced. Seduced into conversation, then . . . Arms, corded with dense muscle, and adorable, almost dainty blonde arm-hair. Pale yet warm skin, smooth and yielding under her fingers. Oh, she could've kept at it all night; even to the point of her hands aching, she'd not have ceased until digging into his body's every muscle.
That's where fantasy overrode her mind; spurred on with drink and late hour, Eryndes saw Sindar laid naked from the waist up and tummy down with her perched on his divine buttocks, the countless hours trickling away while she kneaded into his back.
Sindar's voice dissolved the fantasy, it's fervent memory leaving her warm and slug-witted.
And Eryndes offended him. Again. Somehow.
Perhaps he'd read her mind? Could elves do that? How could she face him if it were so? No, she'd surely have had Aragorn banging on her door hours ago. Brothers were like that, pulling their sisters in line sharply upon any matter of insult or honour.
No, whatever the reason for Sindar's mood change it could be more likely to do with his tumultuous character, as interesting facet of his personality as it was perplexing.
And frustrating.
Her lovesick heart merely shrugged, acknowledging her love's strength in the face of such perplexing frustrations.
She dried her face then took to her hair, combing with more force than necessary. Twisting and heaping, she secured tightly with pins.
Would Sindar have blond chest hair? Leg and private hair also?
Eryndes growled for a third time and threw her woollen shawl over her shoulders; it was her duty to prefer the darker shades of the Dunedain.
Like Gell's. Yes, it was far more productive to focus her musing and fantasy on a man. Man, not elf.
Gell was as hoped; pleasant, honourable. Intelligent. From the few hours spent in his company after supper last night Eryndes felt her choice was a wise one. Carthal would be lucky to have such a man as master. He was everything she was meant to want.
And yet . . . His glance didn't steal her breath.
Realising she was scowling at herself in the looking glass, she swiftly turned about and shot through the door. Marching down the two sets of stairs and outside into the crisply cool morning air. Plucking a woven basket from the outside store-room, Eryndes let the bitter morning chill help cool down her heart's stubborn passions.
Skipping breakfast yet again in the hope to fit into her grandmother's dress for the wedding tomorrow, Eryndes snatched up a wicker basket from the storeroom. Keeping busy was the best remedy for hunger and the sick lying in healing rooms could do with a hearty morning soup; freshly picked turnips, parsnips, leeks, and wilted nettles and kale, finished with garlic, sage and thyme to warm their souls as well as bellies.
A dance with Sindar tomorrow evening would warm 'her' belly- Swiping the basket at the weeds along the road, her march quickened.
Later today the women Heads of Carthal would oversee the last preparations for tomorrow's wedding. This morning she, Sali, Mydedis, Foruyndes and Erchel would join the bride, her mother and sisters in creating the gown. Celegeth's father spent a few good coins on a pretty yellow cloth when he accompanied the last caravan to the south. The women were eager to begin. It was always a joyous time, locked away in a room away from the men for hours of needlework, crafting something beautiful to the constant tales, songs and laughter.
Eryndes stepped up her pace. The sooner she'd seen to the men in the healing rooms, the sooner the fun could begin.
Nearing the winter gardens, a chance glance up saw a grey stain upon the clear sky and her booted feet came to a stop in the crisp grass. Something was wrong. She felt it in her bones.
Biting her lip, Eryndes turned but kept her steps calm, retracing her towards the main entrance. There would be rangers on duty there. Smoke in the sky wasn't all that troubling, and yet . . .
Rounding the corner, she jerked to a stop.
Not three paces from her one more than a half dozen fellows stood together. Behind them another couple hundred filled the main embarkation loop; each armed and wearing differing degrees of armour.
The set in their shoulders matched the tension in their faces.
How much had her mind's turmoil tuned out, silenced, the happenings around her?
Her arrival didn't go unnoticed and each in the group turned to her in query; Aragorn, Urion, Gell, Joust, Faron, Baradon and of course Sindar.
She hastened a little bow, praying her face hadn't gone as red as it felt. "Pardon my intrusion," she slipped, cursing her newfound awkwardness and made to circle around them.
"Wait."
Stopping, Eryndes faced her brother and kept her eyes to only him. He took her arm and lead her further away from the others.
"Something has happened."
"What makes you say that?"
The serious in Aragorn's tone and face gave her pause. "I saw the smoke. You are all set for battle," she pointed behind him, "the hundreds of mustered rangers behind you."
Aragorn's scrutiny held a moment longer then he let out his pent breath. "Two things which may or may not be connected. First, last night the manor was infiltrated by the spellcaster-"
She gasped. "Was anyone hurt?" How much had her head been in the clouds that morning to have missed this?
He shook his head, "Not hurt, no. But many reported strange visions and illusions. The grounds have been searched . . ."
A spellcaster? Within the walls of her family home? "What happened?" she demanded.
"Much the same as we've seen these past months," he soothed, "mist, appearances by those dead or . . . those in places they wouldn't be. Sindar spent the last hours hunting the house and surrounds, but even he found no insight."
A ghostly memory snuck forth, unbidden, and before her eyes the floating face of her father taunted her. "Why? Why is this happening? What does he want?"
Aragorn studied her, his lined face and kind eyes a picture of perfect calm. "Don't despair-"
"And when the accusations begin?" she gushed, tremors taking to her hands. "If the people start speaking of Fuieryn and magics-"
Aragorn took her hand. "Sister, I won't let that happen."
The stern resolution of his promise and hard edge to his voice stopped the dread, if only momentarily.
With an effort, Eryndes swallowed her fear, "And the second?"
"An orc pack was discovered by Gell's dawn patrol. They were dispatched of quickly and burnt. I believe a show of strength is needed. We're taking three companies to flush out the land."
"Three companies?" she held tight to his hand, stopping him moving away, her eyes scanning in finer detail the rangers around them; fixing armour, strapping weapons, saddled horses growing into the hundreds.
He nodded, "Strategic show of force. Carthal is well defended but there are families out there. I plan to drive evil away from them."
She held fast to his hand, "Will it be enough? Sindar says there's a whole army sitting in wait within the walls of Carn Dum."
"Do not fear," he soothed gently, "We are strong and if indeed our plight does become dire we may call on our allies for help."
"What allies?"
The shadow passed and he tapped her chin with a smile, "Keep the fires burning, sister. We'll be back before supper."
"Aragorn," she pleaded but he turned away from her. The others in Aragorn's group followed him towards their waiting horses, each giving her a nod. Or a wink from Gell to which she forced a smile to encourage.
Sindar though stopped in front of her. The temper of last night was absent in his regard and he looked as pleasant as she'd come to know him.
"You do not dress for battle?" she tried to inquire lightly, to break through her lasting feeling of awkwardness. Knowing him to be renowned as a fierce warrior, she did wish he wore as much armour as the others. He seemed so vulnerable in nothing more than a leather jerkin.
"(Have no fear)," he answered lightly, "(today is not a day for battle)."
Unlike Aragorn, Sindar was not one to soften truths to her. From him the whole truth could be relied upon. She searched his eyes, "Three companies? The truth, Master Elf."
The corner of his mouth twitched. "Be assured it is the truth. Your brother seeks to discourage conflict with Angmar this side of the winter storms. To safeguard your people until the sun returns. We do not ride to battle."
Further concern nibbled at her heart. "You do not agree with him."
He didn't hesitate. "The luxury of an army ten thousand strong abides my king no need for such displays.
However Aragorn's strategy may prove of value. I will not be so vain to call it futile."
"Sindar?" Aragorn's call from the line of horses broke his eye contact-
"(Be careful)!"
Sindar glanced back with a wry smile, "(As my lady commands)." As soon as he smoothly mounted an impatiently snorting Aglarebon, Aragorn ordered the three hundred and some rangers to move out.
Eryndes watched, rooted to the ground as they all rode out the main gates. Sindar's confidence and teasing of her concern aside, the dread in her stomach didn't ease.
"Do not look so glum," Urion chilled from beside her. "They'll be back before you know it."
Sparing him a quick look, she returned to watch the dust settle along the road. "Do you ever regret not going with them?"
His laugh surprised her, "It's not too late to go after them. Put Sindar's teachings to use."
Huffing, she let a long moment pass, searching his ageing but still handsome face. "Don't you ever wish?"
"Every time." Urion's hand fell on her shoulder and he pulled her into his side, "but that's not where my duty lies anymore. Nor is it yours."
She capitulated with a solemn nod.
"Come on," Urion guided her round and back towards the manor, "Cheer up. We've a wedding tomorrow and I do love a feast. Need you to promise me plenty of frosted cakes."
"Frosted cakes?" a chuckle escaped her dour mood and she let her old friend lead her away. "We are not made of money." Stopping before the steps, she fiddled with the woven dried reed handle of her basket, "What of this spellcaster, Bear?"
Urion's unflappable nature didn't even surrender a blink. "We're searching but his is the face of many. Makes identifying him impossible."
"Is he Dunedain?"
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. So far none have been harmed. But Strider won't suffer the threat. He'll find a way." He patted her arm, "Try not to worry."
Amdiel pointed at him, "Brui! Look there's Sindar! Say hello, Brui. Say hello. Say hello."
Surrounded by the cacophony of men, women, children and horses choking the main embarkation loop, Legolas was trapped further by the wails of a discontent infant and his mother. "The boy does not understand, Amdiel."
"Sure he does," she beamed, thrusting the child into his arms, "See he likes you. Don't you, Brui."
The screaming increased, his little chubby arms thrashed in agitation, the noise beyond painful. Legolas held fast to the child but growled through gritted teeth, "Neither of us believes you."
"Oh no no. He's just tired, that's all. Aren't you? Yes, Brui's tired. He likes you."
The day waned into the latter part of afternoon when the three companies of rangers and single elf rode back down the forested road, through the large stone gate into Carthal's compound. Arriving a few minutes ago, the horses were slowing being sent away to cool down and the rangers mulling around, talking, ambling, before they too went about their own business.
Aragorn boasted the day's actions a triumph. Legolas was a little less convinced; hundreds of rangers and horses stomping through the plains, tearing into the near frozen ground and alarming every rabbit and bird out of their home.
Aragorn wished to send their enemy a message that the Dunedain were strong. Legolas was certain the rabbits and birds were undoubtedly impressed. He did concede, though, the enemy had many eyes over the land and perhaps Aragorn's display was seen.
Only time would testify.
For now however, Legolas' ill mood born from the events of last night endured. Although Amdiel was a pleasant enough woman and her child innocent, the pain of the noise was of a hundred angry bees inside his skull and wanted nothing more than to secure the child back to his mother and escape . . .
"Perhaps you'd like to hold him during supper this evening?"
His eyes widened, "Regretfully-"
"I hear the sounds of a little warrior needin' rescuing." Joust strode up and held out his arms. "Come, Brui. I'll save you from the nasty elf." Joust sniggered, expertly taking the child and hoisting him in his beefy arms. "There, there, that's better, ain't it? Aye." The child's screaming lessened to a bare sniffle and Joust beamed at Legolas while still addressing Brui. "See? Much better. Now, come away, let's find me a mug of ale. Have I got new stories to tell you! Stories you'll carry with you 'til you're a young man and start making your own mark on the women-folk-"
"Stories?" Amdiel gushed after Joust, a mother bear over her young cub, "You will tell my son no more of your shameful stories, Joust . . .!"
Legolas breathed out in a deep gust as Amdiel chased Joust and her elf-spine-shattering child up the steps to the inside, the buzzing ceasing but leaving his brain aching and tender.
"I think 'twas the elf who needed saving."
In no mood for jesting Legolas swept passed the chortling Cordoves and Faron, threading his way through the maze of people and horses towards the manor steps. Even after last nights futile attempts to track the spellcaster's whereabouts, Legolas wouldn't allow the insult go unchallenged. Or unavenged. There was time before his other duties-
"Come, Sindar," Cordoves followed him, "The boy hasn't even up-chucked on you yet."
"Charming," Legolas growled.
Faron followed up on his other. "You'll get used to it."
"Truly?" Cordorves challenged Faron, "And precisely how many children do you have, Faron?"
"Why? You soliciting me for your next?"
"I'd rather bed a warg."
"I'd pity the warg."
"Enough," Legolas ordered, their bickering grading on his already tender ears. "Neither of you have duty?"
Cordoves shoved her gloved hand to his chest with a scroll in her fist, "We're to debrief and plan our strategy for the coming week?"
"We're also to discuss a hunt, remember? The herds we scared out of hiding today?"
Legolas looked at them both, trying vainly to keep the surprise from his face. Reluctantly, he took the scroll of reports from Cordoves. He'd asked for her knowledge and assistance; the woman's temper aside she was a lieutenant in the making. "Indeed," he conceded. "Of course."
Faron's gaunt features mocked, "Got something more pressing on your mind-?"
"Faron, find Triw," he cut him off. "You'll need an extra hunter-"
"He's over there," Faron pointed. "Triw!"
Triw's head snapped to them and obediently fell in behind them, working their way inside the manor and down the long crowded corridor.
Baradon came whisking on by in a hurry but sought his attention in haste, "Sindar, you won't forget tonight?"
"I do not forget," he told him sternly, "I will be there." Baradon's appreciative smile bled into the mass of faces moving between them.
"Sindar?" Camaenor's large bulk shouldered his way through the masses of rangers and folk, "Sindar, may we speak? I've finished."
Sindar didn't pause his strides, seemingly gathering Dunedain to follow him as he tried to make his way to the war-room, "Aye, come."
"Sindar!" a child-like cry of delight came dashing and waving around the busy hall. Her little body slammed into him, "Where've you been? You're late!"
He pried her away from his legs and path, easing her to his side, guiding her to keep pace with him with an arm over her shoulder. If there weren't so many eyes about, he might've picked her up to save her short legs. But no. "How can I be late, Briel? I do not remember committing to time of return."
"You missed story time!"
Faron snorted, "Oh, I'll inform the istari at once; Sindar missed the kids' story time."
Legolas shot Faron a glare but it was Cordoves who spoke, "Button your lip or I'll get all motherly and button it for you."
"Briel," Legolas addressed the child, "I explained you can not rely on me to attend everyday."
"But-"
"(Silence)," he ordered without raising his voice, "Now let go. I have duty to attend."
She did as he bid but his senses heard the quick sniff. He stopped, so did his entourage like a platoon on parade. "No crying."
She bit down on her lip and nodded. Legolas turned and continued in pace to the upper levels.
"Honey," Cordoves called out soothingly, "You'll see Sindar this evening." They took the first set of stairs two steps at a time.
"Briel worships you," Cordoves bit out, "Perhaps you could try to soften that gruff elite warrior exterior-"
"If she worships me than nothing I do need change." They rounded on the second floor then started up the second set of stairs, "Is her age not enough to learn priorities. She is Dunedain and a talented hunter." Legolas shot a nasty look at Faron, "Maybe you should include her in tomorrow's hunt."
"A child?"
Legolas showed his teeth at the irony.
Faron groused. "How long have you waited for this moment? Besides, Laeron's proved himself ten times over and is far older than a snivelling girl."
"She will go with you."
Faron cursed under his breath. "Cordoves will too then. Don't give me that look, woman! You'll see the child doesn't end up prey for my supper."
Cordoves scowled. Faron, master of hunting, one of ten heads of Carthal, outranked Cordoves, and although Legolas didn't trust or even like him, Faron's titles were justified. He was a skilful hunter, even by elf standards and a steadfast warrior.
Legolas was not going utter such confirmation however. And he could never forget Faron held the secret of his identity hostage.
They made it to the war-room, the double doors wide open and they all strode in. Aragorn and Urion, as was too the newcomer, Gell, already stood around the map table. Legolas waited for his companions to bleed off towards the others before speaking. "You have finished?"
"Aye," Camaenor confirmed proudly.
Taking the leather bound blade and scabbard from him, Legolas took in the weapon with practiced eyes. The blade was light and small. It was well balanced and fine make. It was perhaps not as pretty as elven blades, yet given Camaenor's limited resources, it was prettier than Legolas expected. "I am in your debt, master craftsman."
The blacksmith rubbed his thick beard, "Glad you approve. The only way to improve on it'd be to sneak me a couple gems, or some of that silver steel-"
"Perhaps one day I shall." He pocketed his purchase. "You have yet to name your price."
"I don't expect-" Camaenor stopped at Legolas' glower. His big shoulders shifted, "You've honoured my craft and named me friend. It's but a small trinket, not worth a price to come between friends."
The smallest tug itched Legolas' lip. Upon his arrival in Carthal those months ago, Camaenor had been a brash, impolite urchin. Not the sort an elf prince would ever consider befriending. Yet over time he'd come to see into the heart of such men and in doing so he'd discovered Camaenor's troubled past and nigh constant loneliness. A condition well known to Legolas.
"Then you honour our friendship," he inclined his head, then smirked, "But I insist on a price. For the materials alone if you prefer."
Camaenor looked as if to argue, then his hairy face relaxed and held out a hand, "Two pieces of silver?"
"(Fair trade)," he took the offered hand in a very human gesture of agreement, Camaenor's thick, rough and hairy hand alien against his. "I will repay the owing after the debriefing."
Camaenor released him, "No rush. Money matters little until spring opens up the south trade route. By then you have need somethin' finer and bringeth me a superior steel to work with."
Legolas chuckled, "I would trust mithril to no other human craftsman. You have my word." Pleased, Camaenor gave his leave and shifted his muscled bulk out the war-room.
Joining his comrades at the map table, Legolas glared at Gell's curious attention. The man held his gaze a moment then returned to the map with a shake of his head. Neither of them had spoken more words than necessary to the other. Allowing his dislike to flow, Legolas moved to stand between Urion and Lobordir.
Acknowledging, he held no right to be so affronted by this stranger made little difference. Simply looking at him made his blood simmer. To hear him speak made it boil.
"We're all here?" Aragorn glanced around at the group of two dozen men and women. "Very well. Let's begin. Gell, why don't you deliver your report of this morning's confrontation?"
The young ranger stood tall and delivered his report efficiently, factually, as well as any veteran elven commander.
Legolas quietly seethed.
Finally done for the day with the rangers, Aragorn bid Legolas join them for a tour of Carthal's defences; showing Gell and his seconds the layout and weapon placements, and run through the history of bombardment and sieges against Carthal.
Legolas declined and not only because spending the remaining afternoon in Gell's company was about as tempting as a slow riverboat cruise with only a dwarf for company, but because he had more pressing business.
Stealthily slipping out from the hustle inside the manor, and keeping out of sight less he'd attract more folk to inhibit him, Legolas made his way quickly through the fields. Reaching the southern wall, he spied the course but solid rock boundary. This was indeed the less convenient way out of the compound, yet if he wanted to remain unseen, this was the way.
Satisfied, he leapt, his fingers and boot-toes finding anchor in the cracks half way up the wall. Nimbly, he climbed the rest of the way and swung onto his feet. Crouching low, he checked around, then hastily threw himself over the merlons. His descent was brief, taking hold of a passing branch of accommodating tree, he used his momentum to move to another, then again to land on solid wood.
Keeping moving, he flew through the trees as only an elf could, his footing as sure as on the ground.
In no time his trek through canopy came to a halt. Looking out the top of a gorge, Legolas could see far out over the landscape. Slipping over the sharp edges, he found a semi-smooth rock and sat down crossing his legs. A few curious birds and lizards paused about their day, but he dismissed them. He had not the mind to indulge them.
Reaching within, he immersed in the eternal light. His father could summon the light, which many mortals claimed magic, mixing with life's energy to create illusion. Others initiated speech into minds, for private consultation, intimacy, or cohesion. Some allowed the light to inhabit plants or objects, creation or manipulation on the elf's command.
Legolas could do none of that.
However that didn't mean Thranduil's lessons were wasted. Opening his eyes the lands before him came to sharp focus. Every tree, grass tuft and shadow. Every dragonfly and beetle, bird and beast, their cries as vivid as though leagues didn't separate them. Careful not to allow the sensations to overwhelm him as they did when he was an elfling, Legolas came to peace, the flow of live around, washing over him.
At peace and controlled, Legolas spoke. "You sought me. You invaded my privacy, dishonoured the love in my heart. Well, I am here, spellcaster. What do you want of me?"
The surrounding air grew heavy. Saturating. Life pausing under the weight.
Legolas didn't hesitate, pushing in further, searching, demanding-
An ocean wave collapsed upon him, crashing over him and making his breath a toil. Bracing against the pressure, his eyes opened and would not relent. The weight lifted so suddenly, he lurched forward, then it came back, stronger. He strained his muscles, then smirked. "Is this the limit of your power?" A quick breeze caught the air, shifting, easing, and once more Legolas braced for the come back.
It didn't come.
A stab of fear jolted in, like a spear thrown from an invisible threat. He gasped. Before him, floating over the bluff a fog rose, twisting, concentration until a shape was clear.
Urion, his eyes lifeless, arms hung loose as if in death, hung from a filthy rope around his neck. Joust, floated in the air beside him, cleaved from neck to mid torso. Triw was there too, the young men, Baradon and Laeron, their faces silently staring.
'What have you done?'
Legolas shook his head and fought through his pain to speak, "Using my father's voice? Your depravity knows no bounds!"
A shriek chilled through him. The mist spread into chaos then took on more shapes.
"No," he breathed, sweaty sickness the likes he'd never felt assault his already punished nerves. Before him lay Briel's body; naked, flesh and skin torn.
Another shape, Aragorn, battling against an untold number of raging Guntabad orcs. Teeth bared, he fought as if he ever, but his sword was slowing against the flooding onslaught. Behind him Foruyndes and Eryndes huddled together, Foruyndes hiding from her fate behind wrinkled knobby hands. Blood and tears trickled down Eryndes' cheeks, fear haunting her eyes. She did not watch Aragorn falling back or the orcs.
But at him.
The rusty orc blades descended upon Aragorn, his face contorted in aguish, his eyes turning blank. Blank, and pointed at his brother, who failed to protect him . . .
It was a good while later when Legolas stalked into the great hall. Gell was with her and the two engaged in conversation, making his mood fouler.
He caught her eyes and didn't let go, closing the distance to her. Excusing herself, she met him away from the others. Away from Gell. "I was beginning to consider myself forgotten."
"Nonsense," he countered, trying and failing to keep his tone even. "Shall we?"
"You have Baradon's gathering tonight, too, perhaps you should like to postpone today's lesson?"
"Is that your wish?"
"Not at all," she soothed, unaffected by is manner, "But the demands on your attention since returning this afternoon . . . And your students will be waiting for you in less than an hour."
"Not a moment to be lost then."
She took his offered arm as had become custom between them, and he lead her towards the exit. "What is the cause of your ill temper this time, Master Elf?"
Teeth grinding, he glanced down at her in irritation. She simply stared up at him with patience. "There are mysteries here I cannot solve," he bit out honestly. "Problems outside my knowledge and skill. Enemies without form or agenda."
"Enemies like the creature we saw? This spellcaster everyone's talking about?" She waited for him to continue then rested her hand on top of the other around his arm. "The north is not without plenty of frustrations."
"In Lasgalen," he admitted, "problems have solutions. I will not say we are without darkness underneath the trees, but if spiders invade our borders, we kill them. If the food stores run low, we open our treasury and trade for more. And while any of multiple threats may strike, we live in comfort knowing our allies will come to our aid if needed." He took a long breath then exhaled. "Here . . . There is no such comfort."
"I'm sorry," she whispered softly, "I forget sometimes of how much you must yearn to return to Lasgalen."
"You misunderstand. It is not my wish to return," he admitted then scoffed. "If I did then my misgivings would be simple to mend. Alas, no. I do not wish to return to my father's home. Remaining here . . .
Carthal is as homely as I should wish or need. What I yearn for is the answers to save the Dunedain."
He could hear the vibrancy of her smile and just the thought of it lightened his spirit. "Your living here with us would make many of us very happy, not least I."
Surprised and gratified, Legolas stopped them and sought the expression that born so generous words.
She wasn't looking at him though, and pulling her hands back she removed her cloak, shivering for a moment from the icy air. "We are here."
With all the spellcaster threatened, the orcs and beasts invading from the east, and darkness overshadowing everything, Legolas could feel the ache, the desperation in finding a measure of goodness; a happiness to call his own.
He knew, knew to the ends of the Earth and Valinor, his lasting happiness was intertwined with the fates of Aragorn and Eryndes. Aragorn was his brother.
Eryndes was . . .?
There was a moment coming, a time in the very near future where he would unburden himself upon her, dumping at her feet in great detail all the true yearnings of his heart. At that time Eryndes would either welcome his confession or not. She would confess her own strong regard for him or admit to feeling nothing. She would consider him a worthy choice for husband and accept the difficulties of a less than usual unity between two races, between mortalities, or she would not.
'I love you. Please, I beg a state of courtship to exist between us.'
Was it so hard to say?
Even as he burned to speak right then at that very moment, there was also a nagging twinge inside his breast, promising the time was not yet upon him.
Not now but soon.
Instead, he reached into his pocket, "I have something for you." Cradling her hand, he placed the leather bound knife and scabbard on top.
"For me?" Her cheeks coloured neatly. "You should not have gone to the trouble-"
"Eryndes," he stopped her darkly; he couldn't bare if she refused. "Do not."
She bit her lip holding back the smile his gift should have bought, "Thank you. I am sure I don't deserve it. At the very least I shan't be abusing your knives anymore."
Relieved, he said, "Alas I bore no true precious metal or jewel from home to use for ornamentation. Still blade is well made. Camaenor may have little regard for you but pride in his skill delivered as promised, a fine blade."
Her small dainty hands held the dagger dearly, her smile finally free and growing bigger the longer she held it. So too grew the pleasant squeeze in Legolas' chest, "Jewels really? If anyone saw me with a jewelled knife, they would accuse me of theft."
"Yet a treasure lies beneath your dress."
A flicker of shock passed over her but then she reached up to touch the silver chain to pull out the white gem. "Thranduil must think very highly of Aragorn."
"Indeed. Those stones are sacred to my people but also coveted by outsiders."
"Is it-? That Aragorn should give Thranduil's gift to me; you are not . . . offended?"
He raised a brow. "Would you give it back?"
"No," her hand clenched around the gem.
Legolas smirked and nodded to the knife, "Come, let me see you wield it."
.
"Feet wider apart. Knife higher. Good. If I were to come at you like this," he demonstrated, "you must dodge, like this; quick and low. You try."
He feigned striking and just as he predicted, she didn't move, standing still with a frown. "Ah, how was that again?"
"You were watching my face. If you are going to learn you must pay closer attention."
She looked up at him and he repeated, "'Everyday'."
"Just so long as you do not intend to bring a stick."
"A stick?"
"For punishment."
"Fear not, my punishments are no so barbaric."
"Oh?"
He gave a nod, "Rest assured I can be creative and far more educational. Try again."
She did try, but her feet weren't quick enough to keep up with the rest of her.
Legolas lunged to stop her fall but wasn't close enough and so with a yelp, she landed in a pile on the ground.
Again.
Gently taking her arm, he carefully brought her back to her feet and trying his best to school his features, "Are you alright?"
"You are laughing at me!"
His face broke under the pressure, "You do make the most charming sounds." There was an almost medicinal quality to Eryndes' company; no matter the depth of his sour mood, or the hopelessness of a situation, her particular 'ways' always tempted to draw him out. Intentional or not. Whether he wanted her to or not.
The simple truth of love; his world was merrier with her. He was merrier with her. Never would it be simpler, or need be complicated.
"I do not!" she challenged, hands on her hips, "What sound? I make no sound!"
Legolas chuckled, taking a piece of frozen grass from her hair, "I like that one a cross between a bleating fawn and an owl."
Her outrage was always a source of amusement for him, just like now; eyes fierce, her cheeks blushing prettily, mouth gaping, desperate to find a suitable retaliation. "I am sure the noises you make when you fall over is just as amusing."
"I do not fall over."
Fierce blue eyes narrowed. "No. Of course not."
He picked up her knife from the grass. Righting himself, he held it out, his grin unmoving, "I will not apologise for what I am."
"You could be a little less pleased though."
Keeping his gaze deep into her eyes, he stepped in closer, repositioning her fingers on the hilt, "Never."
Marginally shaking her head, she broke the moment and moved to see how he'd adjusted her hand,
"Tell me, how do the ladies, the lady-elves, do all this without getting tangled?"
"Simple. They wear trousers."
She took her stance again with a huff, "No amount of coercion will get me out of a dress."
Legolas blinked, trying hard not to drop his gaze down her body's profile. "Duly noted."
"Into trousers," she corrected herself.
"Keep your feet at shoulder's width," he reminded after clearing his throat. Before they could resume, the agitated approach of an intruder stole Legolas' gaze. "Yes, Sali?"
"Oh, Sindar! There you are and looking . . . ravishing. And how strong you are. You know I've a little cupboard in my bedroom. Be more useful under the window," she trailed her eyes down his person, "Needs your particular brawn to . . . move-"
"Surely you didn't brave the elements for this?" he growled, his temper quickly draining of courtesy.
Sali looked at Eryndes sternly then sighed, troubled. "It's Foruyndes. She's barking up a storm again and the old mule won't relinquish her duties, all the while she's coughing over my broth and saltines! I have over four hundred mouths to feed. Honestly, I don't know why she bothers, no one likes her cooking anyway-"
"Sali," Eryndes cut in gently, "I shall come momentarily."
Sali didn't move, her aged face souring with each passing second. Eryndes was about to give in- "Sali," he said briskly, "Go back inside where it is warm. Eryndes will join you presently." Clicking her tongue, Sali turned and ambled her way back through the frozen grass.
"Foryundes is ill?" Legolas asked, concerned.
"Her lungs have a hard time during the colder months and her heart is at its weakest."
"Is there not . . . medicine?"
"There is," Eryndes took up her cloak and threw it over her shoulders. "But there is no medicine in the world to stave off mortality."
A dark shadow crossed his spirit.
"Master Elf?"
Needing to be bold in response to the darkness threatening his heart, he moved closer and took her hand. It was cold against his ever warm. So small, so fragile and yet so comforting. Though she was surprised by the gesture, she didn't pull away and returned a firm grip.
"What is it? Something is truly troubling you this afternoon."
Unwilling to spoil the moment he softened his expression. "(It is nothing. Let us return)," he directed, guiding her back towards the manor. "(It shall soon snow)."
It did snow. Five minutes less than twenty, the sky shimmered down to meet the earth in gentle caress, blanketing the Dunedain lands in fresh snow.
Inside the great hall during supper was crowded and noisy, but Sali's steaming hot soup and saltines put smiles on faces and bellies.
Legolas' hadn't smiled. For when Aragorn finally came to dinner, he brought Gell to sit at their table. Though tempted to leave, he couldn't. Baradon's gathering, the gathering Legolas promised to attend, was to immediately follow supper.
He was trapped.
Refusing to acknowledge Gell or his traitorous brother, Legolas spooned his soup around the bowl. It was getting cold.
"You do not find Dunedain soup to your taste, my lord Sindar?"
His cheek twitched. "I find it acceptable, master Gell, thank you for your concern." He didn't have to raise his head to look at the man to know Gell was chafing under Legolas' rebuff. Let him, his jealousy provoked. Let him wonder why 'lord Sindar' couldn't bare his company.
Legolas felt the ghost of his father's hand striking the back of his head, a memory long passed but still potent.
'Rudeness and jealousy? Really, ioneg (son), does your pettiness know no bounds? Lift your head and behave like a prince!'
Grimacing, he lifted his head to acknowledge the man politely. "My mind is occupied this evening. Please forgive my rudeness."
The hard line to the other's jaw eased at once and Gell waved his apology away, "No need."
Sitting beside Gell, Aragorn's face did not relax. Legolas held his disapproving glare as long as he cared to then went back to his dinner. Aragorn could disapprove all he liked. He was not the elder brother, Legolas was.
'Act like it then!'
Breaking off a large chunk of bread and sopping up as much of the liquid, Legolas shoved it into his mouth quickly. Lately his mind was trapped with memories of his father's scolding.
Was it because of the spellcaster? His fears and lingering doubts? Or simply because he hadn't behaved towards Gell as he'd been raised, not up to the Thranduil standard?
Or was it a sign? He missed his father?
Perhaps but he always did.
Or because with all the goings on lately, and the threat of darkness looming, mixed with Legolas' inner turmoil, he'd gratefully welcome his father's counsel?
Through the corner of his eye, he sought two tables over. She sat with her friend, the midwife, and from the angle he saw her soup bowl pushed away and was sipping tea.
Thranduil would not approve. He hadn't approved of Tauriel either. Nothing less than a daughter of a Sindar or Nolder lord would win his father's approval.
It was fact but not one to be overly concerned about. As much as he loved his father, Legolas was a slave to his heart and would never be coerced or persuaded. The choice was made and there was nothing the great elven king could do to stop it now.
Prickling of his skin told him he was being watched. His eyes shot back to his table and found Gell's. The man was watching him curiously, then at his hardening glare, joined in Lorbordir and Baradon's conversation.
After dinner had been cleared away and folk went about their affairs, Legolas remained. There was a while before Baradon's gathering and so he occupied the time musing different strategies.
"I didn't know you played chess."
Looking up from the small board to young Laeron, finally having escaped his father and watching from across the table. Laeron desired to join the men tonight but Urion didn't feel his son old enough.
Baradon was young. Laeron was younger still, ten years junior to his best friend.
Legolas went back to the board, "My lord Thranduil advocates the playing between soldiers, from pike-elf to commanders. This set has journeyed with me wherever I have ventured with a saddle pack."
"I haven't seen you playing before now."
He shrugged, waving to the bench seat opposite. "I find it unnecessary to play often. Time does not diminish my skill."
Laeron sat down. "Then why did you bring it with you when you don't like playing?"
"My lord commands it," he answered, but then added, "and perhaps habit. This set was gifted to me from one of the eldest commanders in the realm, Lanthir, when I still sought my father to check the wardrobe for monsters."
"How long ago was that?"
Finishing replacing all the pieces to their starting positions, he sat back and offered Laeron first move. "Why are humans so fascinated by immortality and age?" It was probably pointless to ask a boy such a philosophical question, but it popped out unbidden.
Laeron moved his first piece; a standard attack. "For someone to live for so long; it's unnatural to us.
Fascinates us. Fills the imagination of all a man could accomplish with immortality at his fingertips." Legolas smiled, "And what would you do if you were immortal?" He played on the defence, moving only a single square.
Laeron's next move was just as aggressive as the first. "I'd see everything there is to see in the world. Leave nothing unseen."
Another single square. "And then what?"
Laeron paused his fingers over his chosen piece, "Then what, what?"
"You have eternity. Once the world satisfies your curiosity, then what?"
"I-I'd," he considered, his youthful gaze looking up into the rafters, "I'd have a family."
"Yes? Then? Once your children mature?"
He continued before Laeron answered, "and their children mature and their children-? What will you do once all the books are read, all your stories have been told? Will you take a hundred years to create the perfect painting?"
Laeron laughed, "You're trying to tell me immortality is bad."
"Not at all." Legolas slid a piece across the board, "I am two thousand nine hundred and seventy six years old, Laeron, and yet I will never be an elder amongst my people. I will always be seen as a youngster, even by those I have commanded for two millennia. You detest your father treating you as a child, how would you cope with an eternity of never aging." He took a pause, "Envying that which you do not understand is foolish. Checkmate."
Laeron's eyes shot down to the board. "Oh."
"You should adapt your strategy to your opponent. I was defensive to draw you out and discover your mind. It worked."
"Besides you've been playing this game for two thousand nine hundred years."
Legolas chuckled, "Defensiveness in defeat is a poor teacher."
He ran his fingers through his long dark carefree locks, "It is. Sorry. Next time I'll do better." "Another?"
"Thanks but I'll pass," Laeron grinned, knocking over his king, then looked around the hall, "I've got to keep moving. Can't have my father finding me."
After Laeron fled the hall, there was another taking an interest in him.
This one Legolas ignored-
"Mind if I have a go?"
Barely containing his exasperation, he gave in but couldn't resist, "I do not recall much chess being played in the wild."
Gell took the seat, a pot of ale in both hands. He placed the second in front of Legolas. "Played a game or two before."
Over the space of a handful of moves on both sides a heavy silence staled the air.
"It's clear we must speak."
Legolas glanced at him before returning to the board, "Must we? What is this speak to concern?"
"I know it vexes you; that it is to me her eyes draw."
Legolas glanced around them but none were close enough to hear. "Aye, eyes draw to a squealing boar too, lest they be killed."
Gell causally moved a piece, "Believe it if it brings you comfort. However I do admit to finding her as equally pleasing; as fine a woman as a man could want." He took a sip of ale, "Very fine ass."
Legolas snatched up another of Gell's pieces, "Watch your tongue or it will be the next thing Sali pickles."
"You're jealous. Why? What good is a mortal woman to the likes of you?"
"Your move."
Gell shifted a piece without due care, "Your refusal to answer says much."
"I do not answer because it is not your business."
"If I decide to court her? Consider that your business? And what'll you do when I wed her-?"
"Marry you?" he scoffed. A beast rose inside his belly-
"-and take her to the marriage bed-?"
"(Enough)!" Legolas shot to his feet, towering over the table, waiting for a final reason to tear the man's head off.
Gell sat back in his chair with ease, his cool intelligence calculating, "Seems there's a tinge of doubt in your belief there. Perhaps now you'll admit her not so indifferent to me."
Legolas' fists tightened. Once more he'd been incited into revealing too much. Such was his weakness with anger.
"I don't know what your interest is with her and personally I don't give a damn. You've had a knife at my throat since I arrived. Whatever your set against me is without reason since I've never offered the slightest slur. As a man of honour I'd have come to you and opened a dialogue between us. Now? I need not extend any respect or courtesy, just as you've extended me none." Gell looked down pointedly, "I'll simply say may the better 'man' win."
Legolas followed Gell's gaze and with fury barely contained knocked over his king. He didn't bother collecting his ancient set, instead turning and storming out of the hall. His anger had cost him more than his concentration and the game.
Gell was cunning.
"Sindar?"
Legolas stopped with a cringe. He'd promised.
Exhaling much of his anger, he eased every tense muscle in his shoulders and back, releasing the hard fist to his hands. With a pleasant expression, he addressed the worried young man following him quickly. "Sindar? We're about to start. You're not leaving?"
Legolas put even more effort to loosening his jaw and tried to smile. "It is time?"
"My father told me, 'son, there's only two types of women - willing and unwilling. Don't waste your time on the unwilling; there's plenty eager skirts to keep a man happy without needin' begging.'"
Legolas did not join in their laughter. This was the man Aragorn chose for his sister?
Gell fixed him with arrogant grin, "You're quiet over there. Have nothing to share?"
Finally his patience ran thin, "Perhaps I prefer civil conversation to bragging about copulation with harlots and trollops or self-exacting gratification."
Some of the men sniggered, others heads popped up eager interest.
"'Self-enacting gratification'. Why don't you elves just call it 'thumping the willow' like the rest of us?" Gell smiled through his teeth. "Though clearly you wouldn't know a mossy-vale from your own gooser, much less what to do with it."
Legolas tensed, fully prepared to fly across the table at the man. "(One who doesn't know his mother's name should be wary or end soliciting her bed)."
Gell tensed too, his blue Dunedain eyes becoming hard as stone. Legolas pressed his feet to the ground ready to jump up-
"Sindar," Baradon whispered a plea at his side but Legolas didn't spare him a glance.
"Faron wouldn't know a mossy vale either," someone snickered, the whole group joining in.
"That being so," Faron bit out from the corner, the first time he'd spoken loud that evening, "Perhaps Sindar and me'll find 'nother table, spin yarns of bloody battles. Leave you lot to boast 'bout fanciful conquests and exaggerated beauty."
Legolas eyed Faron, but the man wasn't looking at him. Instead he surveyed the table. The tension in his muscles easing.
Although spending an evening exclusively in Faron's company was not at all tempting, it was largely preferable to listening to Gell. He stood, "Then perhaps we shall."
Faron smirked at him, and too rose-
"We too," Urion said loyally, standing and dragging young Laeron with him. "My son has enough trouble keeping his belt buckled as it is."
"Aye, aye, I'm coming," Laeron mewled, unsuccessfully trying to brush off father's hold and came to stand on his own two feet.
"Very well," Joust slammed down his empty mug and stood, "Nothing I ain't heard before anyway. Besides can't leave you to the mercy of an old man, a boy and an askew man-"
"Shut up! No one asked you!" Faron snapped, his ale sloshing over the side of his mug.
"Commander," Baradon said respectfully from his honoured position at the head of the table, "Sindar is my friend and mentor, and I asked him to join my gathering, as asked you. Please-"
"Sit down, lads," Gell chuckled, waving them back down and inclining his head in Baradon's direction. "I apologise. I swear not to utter another debaucherous word."
The men stared at Legolas, waiting. At his nod, they sat.
Faron scoffed, his words coming out muffled by the mug against his mouth, "I still say the pretty lord and I-"
"Save it, Faron." Lobordir cut in with a conspiratorial wink in Legolas' direction, "Ignore him. He's drunk."
"I might be drunk," Faron scoffed again, "but I still ain't hearing bloody battles and blood."
"As you wish," Gell leant back in his seat, his focus landing squarely on Legolas, speaking with all the false pleasantness to make his skin crawl. "Why don't you start, my lord? Surely someone as
'experienced' in years as you has a hoard of bloody stories to sate your blood-thirsty friend."
.
". . . then made my way down the rock face to collect my fallen knives."
"I'm surprised you didn't stop to fell a few balrogs on your way down."
Legolas squared his jaw, fixing a glare at the man. "You suggest I exaggerate?"
Gell waived the charge away, "Oh, nay. But not have I heard exploits so fantastic that weren't coming from the likes of the 'Balrog Slayer' or 'Greenleaf the Destroyer'."
Legolas narrowed his eyes, hands clenching into fists-
"As I understand it," Aragorn's voice cut through the tension, and the table turned in their seats to see Aragorn and Sirdhem coming closer, with Eryndes at her brother's side. "Legolas despises the moniker 'Destroyer'."
Legolas ground his teeth. It was true. He loathed it.
"Why?" Baradon asked eagerly. "I'd think it a warning of sorts."
"What?" Faron laughed, "and not Greenleaf the Dandelion?"
"Do you know the elf-prince well then?" Eryndes asked Aragorn quietly.
Not quietly enough for Faron not to hear, who chortled loudly.
"I do," Aragorn confirmed , and he turned to include the audience of the table, "Greenleaf the Destroyer was so coined by the surviving orcs after the battle for Erebor, after he tore through a whole legion of orcs, riding upside down underneath an enemy bat."
"A bat?" Eryndes asked in disbelief.
Legolas took a very long draft of ale.
"Indeed," Aragorn confirmed, "A bat the size of a deer. Angmar breeds them especially for aerial attack on grounded troops"
Awed Baradon edged closer to where Aragorn stood, "And what of Legolas the Orc Hunter? How was that coined?"
Aragorn didn't blink or even shift in his eyes. "Alone and armed with a single blade, he ran down a whole pack of Moria orcs who'd raided a family on the outskirts of Escaroth. Slaughtered every one of them. My friend Legolas is a singular warrior, worthy to hold company with the greats of legend."
Legolas finished the rest of the mug in one lengthy draught, placing the empty mug on the table with a shudder. "(No single warrior is an army, Aragorn, no matter what names claims him)."
"True."
"And why does he hate being called those names?"
Aragorn patted Baradon on the shoulder, "Names given by one's enemies are not for praise but hatred." He took the empty seat next to Baradon.
If Aragorn was done with his sister, it was then time for their evening walk. Legolas went to stand-
"Why is such infamy bad?"
Legolas finished standing and answered Eryndes' question, "Because both friend and foe come to believe the person a monster."
"Well, folk should never take so much stock in reputations or names."
His manner softened in agreement and opened his mouth to ask her for their evening walk-
"We've established that before, haven't we?"
Clenching his fists, Legolas shot a warning at the interloper.
Gell smirked at Eryndes, ignoring Legolas and slipping in between them, "Believe you owe me that chance to change your stock with me."
To Legolas' chagrin, Eryndes nodded, "Of course. Good evening all." Gell leading her away, she briefly turned back before they moved out of the great hall.
A hand landed on his back, "Cuckolded, eh? Nasty!"
Legolas snarled, throwing off the offending arm, "You and I are about to have a problem."
Faron lifted his lips, his eyes peering in far too close, "I'm up for a wrestling rematch, my lordly Dandelion."
"Leave him, Sindar," Joust came over and bodily manhandled Faron out of Legolas' face, "He's drunk and going to spend the night locked in his room."
"Sindar?" Aragorn got up from his seat and slid passed his side, "Tea for the ale? Come?"
"You have not spoken," Legolas muttered, his focus solely on the pot steaming on the stove; as if the preparation of urulas tea was the answer to all his troubles. He even shifted uncomfortably when Aragorn came to stand opposite him.
Perhaps Legolas thought he'd attack him?
A moment ago, Aragorn coaxed his brother away for a private word in the kitchen. It was so late even Foruyndes didn't haunt the kitchen. It turned out there really was something bothering the elf, something he'd been reluctant to tell him about.
Until now. Until Aragorn made a point of asking.
The kettle hadn't even landed on the fire before Legolas confessed the full tale of the spellcaster's visit last night. Mixed with his visions that afternoon, Aragorn could appreciate Legolas' dour mood.
"As I said, it was not her," Legolas pressed, firmly, "It was an illusion. The work of this spellcaster."
"You need not be so defensive, melloneg," He soothed, yet unnerved by Legolas' constant shifting. It was so unlike him to be so thrown. So twitchy. "I know my sister. And I know you. But why? To what end would the spellcaster do this?"
"In all other accounts the apparition was without voice. She- 'It ' called my name and . . . she - it - was," he shifted again, "wearing only a night-slip."
Aragorn studied him quietly, then scratched a tingle in his beard. "Are you sure it wasn't a dream? Surely there's no need for shame fantasizing-"
"(There was no dream)!"
Aragorn waited. Patience, as always, was key with his friend.
And as expected Legolas admitted with a sigh, "I am- familiar with dreams of fantasy. This was not one of them."
He pursed his lips in thought, but also to stop a smile. It was rather revealing admission for Legolas to make. Somehow it made him seem more 'human'. "And you're certain this was the spellcaster's work?"
"You suggest there could be another? Or more? Perhaps five?" Legolas resorting to sarcasm was as much out of character as his twitching.
"I'd hope not," he muttered, a hint of dread threatening to fill his stomach. One magic-welder was concerning enough.
"This spellcaster somehow knows what he should not," Legolas paused, struggling, "Eryndes does not know my name nor have I heard her utter it. The Dunedain accent, way of speaking, did seem legitimate."
Aragorn hesitated but the part of him that was Eryndes' brother insisted upon asking, "You've not seen her in a slip either."
The uncomfortable question hung in the air until Legolas levelled his stare, "I have not seen her in a slip. I am no pervert."
Holding the stare for a moment, Aragorn dropped his gaze down and away, giving a slow shake of his head, "But the spellcaster has? Furthermore, he is aware of the significance of appearing to you as Eryndes; to know your affection for her."
"Nay," the conviction of his answer brought Aragorn's head up and found his friend's eyes closed, "As you spoke earlier, any could guess our friendship and affection. No, no this was more. The apparition was - the spellcaster knows-"
"That you love her?" Aragorn offered, carefully, "That you'd desire intimacy with her?"
Legolas opened his eyes and stared directly at him.
It seemed as good a confession as he was going to get. Aragorn gave a small sympathetic smile, "Not many could know it is love-"
"Now you know there are five."
Aragorn choked. "Five?"
Legolas' upper lip curled. "I believe I may have given so much to Gell earlier." There was a moment of pause. "Foruyndes and Faron. Each came to the understanding unaided."
"Urion also suspects but won't speak of it."
"So this is our thinking? The spellcaster is one of six?"
"No, not one of us six."
Legolas' features went rigid, "You have long had your suspicions?"
Aragorn leant back into counter and rubbed his tired eyes. The night was waning and soon the morning moon would rise. He pulled his pipe and tobacco pouch from his breast pocket, "In years passed there were whispers. Folk suspecting each other of dabbling in magic. There were those accused witches, notably Fuieryn and Foruyndes. Fuieryn saw warnings of doom. She made healing potions, and even wielded uncanny powers over the men-folk-"
"Fuieryn is dead and to think Foruyndes capable-"
"Sometimes rumours are based in truth," he stuffed his pipe to the brink, "Even Eryndes has shown inklings towards magic; peering glimpses into the future-"
"Aglarebon is more magical!"
Allowing flame to lick the tobacco, he breathed in until satisfied the pipe smouldered nicely. "I'd never suggest Eryndes. But Foruyndes? Hers is a troubled mind."
"You take a set against her because of her oddity."
Raising his eyes, he tried to reason logically, "She sent you out away from the manor, perhaps knowing you'd be attacked-"
"That is absurd!" Legolas snapped. Arms crossed over his chest, he moved to the other side of the room to peer out the window to the snow-storm raging outside. "It was my choice and I was wrong. I refuse to suspect her to ease my guilt. Foruyndes is my friend. If her intentions towards me were as you say-"
Blowing out the soothing lungful of smoke, Aragorn shrugged, "If you are so certain then tell me whom do you suspect?" He continued when no answer came, "Then you have no suspects."
"Until now I did not consider this . . . person to be anything other than an annoyance. A lowly creature bent on causing havoc with simple magic tricks."
"And now?"
Legolas spun around, piercing him with his glare, "Now these tricks and threats have become a personal violation and I will seek retribution. Whomever the spellcaster, I swear they will rue ever interfering with me."