Bard dared not breathe in the heavy silence as everyone around him moved carefully into position. The very air weighed oppressively on him. He thanked whatever fates were watching for the luck that had been with them up to this point and hoped it remained into the evening. They would surely need it.
The skirmish with the hallway guards had gone unnoticed as the elves had taken them out quietly, efficiently and no swords had been crossed. The battle on the dock below hadn't caught any attention either, for too well insulated had the Master planned the town hall. All that remained now was to make the most of their entry into the main hall to minimize casualties but they wouldn't be avoided entirely.
The Easterlings, content to believe they had secured the Keep and the city and that the elves had either been captured or retreated, didn't seem overly concerned with the possibility of intruders now. They lounged and played cards, laughing and drinking long into the afternoon.
The main hall was packed with citizens from Lake Town but most seemed subdued, possibly drugged. The guards keeping the room secured numbered in the thirties as far as could be ascertained with a limited view within.
King Thranduil sent eight elves to scale the roof outside. The high windows offered additional entries and would help serve as a diversion. A small group of men and elves stood behind a service door from the kitchen to the hall, waiting for their cue to enter. The central door and two side doors were similarly occupied. Six elves and ten men were lining the staircase leading to the Master's chambers, waiting to deal with anyone who responded to the noise below. Once word was received from Eleros that everyone was in position, they would free the rest of Esgaroth's people or die trying.
Bard thought of his children. He was glad they were in Dale. At first he'd worried for them over the slim forces left there and limited food. Now he was glad they were far from this and he didn't have to worry for their safety while the battle played out. This time, he felt ready more than panicked. Of course, the enemy this time was an army of men instead of a dragon.
Thranduil moved suddenly, looking upward, having heard something no one else could hear. "It is time."
Bard swallowed as an elf reached for the door he stood behind and another raised a horn. Its thin peal shattered the quiet of the approaching evening, and ushered pandemonium in its place. Elves and men poured into the main hall, coming face to face with armored Easterlings who were hurrying to get to their feet and find their bearings. Crashing glass overhead delayed their reaction as they looked toward the new threat. The archers above pelted their targets but several of the more armored Easterlings were taken out by arrows under the chin from bows among those on the floor.
Bard smirked to see the elvenking's favored strategy was still as effective as ever.
The lake people instantly rose, screaming in all directions. Some crawled sluggishly, barely getting out of the way and some ran off in blind panic. Some were unfortunate enough to be hit with an arrow or split open on a blade. Still the majority managed to clear enough of the floor to allow room for their rescuers to engage their captors.
Thranduil greeted the throng of black armor clad opponents and whirled among the weapons clashing around him, searching for one foe in particular. He had not truly believed Tolvaris would be here though he had hoped for it. If the dark elf had any sense of priorities or strategy, and Thranduil had to believe he did, he would be found leading the march against the woodland realm.
The elvenking's jaw set as he thought of the attack on his home and the large steel plated man he was facing now received the brunt of his anger, first with a deft gash to the sliver between plates on the inside of an elbow. Then with a jab in an eye that drove deep into his skull. He turned from the man, whose body had yet to begin to fall, certain he was dead even as the wounds he'd left bled and arms twitched in reflex.
The next to approach was a trio of small leather armored Easterlings. They required more thought to dispatch as they attacked simultaneously, each attempting to pierce him with a spear. After dancing around their offensives twice, he realized their pattern and he also knew they couldn't yet read his movements. Deliberately repeating his earlier steps, he saw confidence in their responses as they began to anticipate him. On his final step, he stopped short and pivoted away and the now-overconfident men continued into their motions, impaling one another on the bladed ends of their weapons.
A rush of combatants came toward them, elves leapt from the floor and onto the crisscrossing poles before vaulting onto other fixtures in the room. They were followed closely by enemies less agile and heavier and the trio screamed as their flesh began to give way under the weight.
Thranduil didn't wait to witness the violent de-goring and moved on to battle someone new. His nose wrinkled as the stench of human bowels followed him.
Bard's arrows were beginning to run low if the lack of weight on his back was any indication. He spotted an archer in black armor, perched on the low end of a ceiling beam and rushed toward the wall past him. The man was picking off anyone not well protected and his foot hung down for counter balance as he leaned into his aim. Bard arced toward the wall and strode up onto it, using momentum and traction to run several feet higher than he could have jumped and then kicked himself off. He stretched his reach for the archer's foot and grunted triumphantly as his fingers took hold of the ankle, dragging his quarry down to the floor.
The man landed on his neck and the sound of bones crunching followed. He never got up again.
"Thank you," Bard said as he lifted the arrows from his foe. "You're too kind."
Citizens of Esgaroth shrieked high and pitifully, desperately trying to get away or find a weapon. Thranduil had to admit he was more surprised than he was prepared to be that some had chosen to stay and fight. Most of the women gathered the children close and fled through the front door and out into the hall but even some of them had picked up a heavy or sharp item to help reclaim their home.
Eleros shouted a warning and Thranduil paused to listen. Violent scuffles sounded on the floor above them and the Master could be heard simpering loudly about a wound and careless elves. He cast a glance at Bard who had also heard the Master and was looking upward.
The bargeman grinned. "If he isn't dead, things must be going well."
Thranduil flattened his lips. He didn't share Bard's good humor. Tolvaris had left no real challenge here. Esgaroth wasn't important to him. It was hard not to feel he was wasting time better spent making the journey back to his kingdom. Urgency began to lick at his patience and efficiency. He opted to kill with the first strike rather than toy with any of the tribesmen and returned to the battle at hand.
When Seren returned to the infirmary with Menui, Ceridwen had another directive for her. After taking her baskets and handing back a piece of bread and fruit with a command to eat, she gave the human a satchel that clinked musically with little vials of glass.
"Poultices, bandages and field kits…" The healer said as she rushed away. She took a moment to help hold a convulsing elf down while another healer poured something between his lips that stilled him.
"The Prince expects me to inform him of your waking; and he is expecting those on the south battlements. The bulk of the fighting is there. Halloran will take you." Ceridwen gestured to a quiet, ivory skinned, red mahogany haired elf.
Seren blinked having not noticed her amidst the chaos in the room. Every bed was occupied and the shelves of Ceridwen's stores had noticeably dwindled.
Ceridwen paused on another pass, noticing Menui for the first time. "Child you should be with your mother."
"But she's not home," the girl cried.
The healer swallowed and gestured for Menui to come to her. When she didn't budge, Seren knelt and hugged her close.
"You'll be safe here. Wait for me in the apothecary and listen to the music, alright?"
It took several moments but the child eventually agreed and went to Ceridwen.
Halloran came into view and collected a second satchel, gesturing for Seren to follow.
From a rocky ledge overlooking the clearing below, Legolas watched the gap between the elves and the Easterlings grow as the enemy retreated to the dark trees and dense forest. His people chased after them but he gestured for the call to quit the field for the night and a hollow horn was sounded. "They're falling back. We have our own wounded and dead to attend to."
"I beg pardon my lord, but we should press our advantage," one of his archers objected.
Legolas rounded on him. "It is no advantage. We are matched. Were I to send more warriors out to take them down, we would likely lose most of our kin to whatever forces remain hidden in the dark wood."
"So we will wait for them try again at dawn?"
"The forest is as much an enemy to them as it is to us. They will not rest easy and their numbers dwindle faster against the might of this mountain – that is our advantage. We will see to our people and resume this in them morning. We can wait them out for a time, but they will have to concede if they do not succeed soon."
"No doubt they assumed victory would be easier with the Dragon's Heart they've been using," Seren said as she and Halloran crested a long set of stairs that led through the mountain.
"Ceridwen has too many patients and not enough beds or supplies," Halloran added.
Legolas stared wide eyed at them for a moment before grinning and embracing Seren's shoulders with a brief, firm squeeze. "I'm glad you are well."
Seren acknowledged this with a nod and held the satchel she carried open for the elves to begin dispersing supplies.
"How many have been lost?" Legolas asked.
"One hundred and thirty-seven have perished, my lord," Halloran supplied. She took in the sounds of distress and pain around her and added, "Thus far..."
In short order, their satchels were empty. Halloran tasked able elves with carting the most severely wounded on stretchers back to Ceridwen before she and Seren sprinted back to the infirmary for more salves and bandages.
The second trip was worse. It was quieter and far more bodies lay still, some turning to red ash while others had paled and lay in a wide puddle of crimson. Seren paused amidst the elves organizing their kin and helping those they could off the battlefield. She was no stranger to death. Her battle with leukemia had introduced her to it early and often; but never had she personally seen so many of a people she cared for robbed of life.
She shook her head as dizziness threatened her footing and looked down, trying to breathe. The shining ruby hue of the stone under her feet startled her and suddenly she had to get to clean ground, anywhere but the swirling slick beneath her. She hurried over a catwalk to the carven wood battlement built against the mountain and ran to the left until she reached an archers' nest and sat at its base on a wooden crate where arrows were stored. Even though she closed her eyes to the scene before her, she still saw it and she ached. Her face was hot and her heart hammered in her chest.
A shadow fell over her and nothing was said as Legolas sat next to her, offering a water skin. She took it and drank greedily, only registering the taste of one of Ceridwen's poultices after several swallows. Immediately the herbs began to slow her pulse and her chest loosened. Her breathing eased and a slack feeling rolled through her limbs.
"Thank you," she said and finally met the prince's gaze. "So many lives lost… faces I see every day and will never greet again. I couldn't begin to describe the feeling that came over me."
Legolas gazed down at his interlaced hands. "I hope you never see enough war and death to lose that feeling."
When he raised his eyes again, they were immeasurably sad and long past the point of shedding tears so great was the grief she saw there. The chaos of war and dead kin flashed into her thoughts in sympathy of the horror he'd just survived. She gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze and made no reply and instead allowed him the reprieve to just be for a moment.
The moon was beginning to rise into the oncoming night and she watched its halo gently cast itself in waves over the sky, deepening shadows and lifting up the details of the world around them.
"I wish my father were here," Legolas said suddenly.
The familiar jerk of every nerve ending at the mention of Thranduil startled Seren enough to visibly jump just a little. She covered it by hugging her arms around herself as if she were cold.
"He will come, Legolas."
A slight and sad smile graced the prince's features. "Of that I have no doubt."
"You have done well here."
He was quiet for many moments before finally replying. "More have been claimed by the Dragon's Heart. They number almost half of all who perished. The death toll is now one hundred and fifty-three."
Seren flinched.
"There are no bodies to bury. They're just… gone."
Unable to contain the impulse, Seren gently lifted his chin and narrowed her gaze into his. "We will see that they are remembered."
He cast his eyes down but nodded once after a moment. His forehead tilted forward a fraction of an inch, just enough to brush hers. She leaned into the gesture, gentle pressure and thoughts of calm offering him solace.
The world resumed its pace at disorienting speed when he stood and offered her a hand. Once on her feet, she was again focused on the work to be done and handed out the new batch of supplies as she traversed the battlement.
Around her, elves were steadily clearing the planks of wounded, and then the dead. Then lastly, their blood was scrubbed away. Seren kept too busy to think about the reality of her work. The first task was also the largest. Haphazard piles of armor lay everywhere; having been hastily discarded to treat wounds or remove the dead from them for ease of transport. The forges would be burn hot all through the night, repairing what could be salvaged. Seren joined many others, surveying pieces for damage and sorting them until every plate had been inventoried.
Without armor lying everywhere, the battlement's walkways felt less crowded, which was just as well as the trunks stationed at intervals along the wall were hauled close to a quartermaster who would spend the night replacing the weapons supplies stored in each.
Around midnight Seren found herself picking up the gore that had finally dried enough not to slip her grasp. Briefly she wondered who a particular piece belonged to and then shuddered at the absurd curiosity, forcing herself not to think of the task as picking up crumbs of people.
Soft squelching bits of crimson might have been torn leather or piece of skin or bowels – she didn't care to find out as she helped clean them up and plucked arrows out of the wall. A red fist-sized lump stuck to the end of a thick ebony assault machine shaft might have been a heart but she barely paid it any attention as it fell to her feet when the shaft was lifted from the floor. It had been cast aside after its victim had been freed. She simply swept the pulped organ up into her bag and breathed deeply through her nose, thinking of her paintings to keep her mind off the activity.
Next she spotted a lock of reddish bronze hair and stooped to pluck it off the walkway but dropped it as a stripe of scalp and skin still bearing a pointed ear unfurled and dangled before her. Her stomach heaved violently and she rushed to the banister, retching over the rocks below.
No one bothered her as she returned what was left of the fruit and bread Ceridwen had given her. No one looked upon her with pity or shame and they left her to her sickness despite appearing anxious to ask after her wellbeing. She wasn't sure which was worse.
The water skin Legolas had given her came to mind and she returned to her former seat, finding it undisturbed. She returned to her discarded sack as she drank greedily, welcoming the dull heavy feeling that made her insides go still and steadied her vision.
It was her terrible luck that Legolas came upon her during this moment and he watched her with a bemused expression.
"The tonic wears off after a time," Legolas explained. "You must continue to drink."
She took one last swallow and nodded.
He glanced around at the others watching them. Some tried to hide it and others stared openly. "Come with me. There is something you should see."
"Oh?" The nerves in Seren's stomach returned and she closed in on Legolas's heels as they entered the mountain.
Esgaroth's tally of dead had been less than feared but more than hoped. Thranduil bitterly considered the preparations underway to lay them to rest. His own people suffered a few casualties but four elves was still too great a cost to him when there were far greater losses being accrued in his kingdom. The few Easterlings that had been allowed to live long enough for questioning were all too happy to boast about how much of the Dragon's Heart they had already prepared. A single arrow would be fatal to any elf and he wouldn't fool himself with the hope that every one of his kin escaped the hail.
Frustration took up residence in his jaw and he ground his teeth together. He should be there instead of here helping the simpering Master who was doing more to hinder than help efforts to stabilize his people.
The fat man moaned frequently about needing healing for the cut on his leg. Certainly it stung but it didn't impede his function and it was something time would heal completely. Loud complaints impugning elvish medicine as a fraud drifted periodically over the air.
As the sky fell to full dark, Thranduil decided he would gather his people and take their leave. If fortune was on their side, they might reach his halls before midday on the morrow. He could not fathom a single more than necessary spent here in the town upon the lake.
So lost was the elvenking in his resentment, he almost failed to notice Bard's and Eleros's presence in time to turn and greet them. The king grinned mildly when he saw Nuinethir was with them. Through the window to the courtyard beyond the keep, he could discern many dark shapes standing in formation and shifting restlessly under the light of their torches.
"My lord," Nuinethir greeted with a deep bow.
Thranduil held his right open palm to his chest and nodded down imperceptibly. "Are you well?"
"Quite, my lord," the runner answered eagerly. "Our wounded are doing well also. Tellis is mending admirably. We've all returned to Esgaroth and await your command."
"I have gathered those of my people willing and able to join us," Bard said and looked toward the courtyard. "They stand ready to depart, this very evening if you wish it."
Thranduil's eyes widened imperceptibly. "Do your people not need you here?"
Bard smiled a little. "The wounds have been dressed. The survivors have been fed and given what comforts that can be spared. The dead have been accounted for and ceremonial platforms for the lake pyres are being constructed now. The city has been thoroughly searched for any remaining sons of Rhun and declared free. There is little else to be done now and your people need you. I pledged to help you and so have over four hundred of our men and women. Let us not waste any more time than we need."
Thranduil's smile was slight but genuine. "Make whatever final preparations you must. We will depart in an hour."
Caireann and Laseviir poked around the scant remains of their camp. The lack of debris encouraged hope. With the moon rising full and bright, the entire clearing was lit with its cerulean glow. The space was empty; save for cold fire pits, tiny bits of torn suede and splintered beech.
"The tents were pulled up," Laseviir stated, remembering the destruction of the camp as it was invaded. "Our people reclaimed the camp."
"There are also tracks leading north," Lithia said, pointing at the path with one of her arrows. "Many are pressed deep into the soil and snow – they were likely burden with wounded."
It was heartening news and Caireann breathed a little easier. "We will press on to the city and then, home."
Fariel, who had remained silent, padded swiftly past the group and to the front of the clearing to survey the forest ahead. When he gestured for them to follow, they continued their journey under the rising moon, their thoughts less troubled than before.
A sense of urgency made Seren yearn to increase her stride but she and Legolas were already walking a pace so brisk, any increase would have them running. He led her to the far side of the cavern where the seat of the king stood and they slipped into a hallway she'd never been in before. It led directly from the dais and deep into the mountain. The stone walls were hewn with even finer details. Archways were artworks of forested landscapes occupied with all manner of little stone animals. The occasional dot of silver or gold patina highlighted leaves and shimmered delicately like stars in the black shadows of the vaulted ceiling. The hall rounded a bend and moonlight streamed in through high elegant arches and the scenery in the carven stone came to life. Shadows cast by the relief of each tiny stone figure made them appear to lope casually through a moonlit meadow while the night sky twinkled above through a canopy of trees made of polished, living earth. Seren stopped to take in the enormous wall of art before her, nearly breathless with its scope.
"It's beautiful…" Clouds behind her rolled over the moon outside and the scenery shifted merrily as she watched.
Legolas had paused to give her a moment, not surprised in the least that she found the forest carving eye-catching. After centuries, he still stopped to appreciate it from time to time. He knew well what she giggled about when the light outside shifted again.
"The elk almost seems to wink!"
"It's as though he knows something we do not," Legolas supplied with a smirk. He'd watched that many times.
Seren smiled. "How long this must have taken!" She studied the style in the carving's lines and her brow knit in concentration. "This wasn't made by the dwarves who carved the fortress into the mountain. The etching strokes aren't the same."
"Quite the observation," Legolas agreed and approached her. He spoke low so his answer didn't carry. "Tellis carved this."
Seren's eyes widened comically. "Tellis?" She stared again at the wall, trying to picture the willowy tan elf focused on the stone with tools in hand.
"After he was wounded… and under the burden of everything he had lost, he took up a stone cutter and began carving into this hall." Legolas wandered a few feet away, finding his target unerringly and caressed the stone, enticing Seren to look more closely.
"It's so rough," she said when she saw the jaggedly rendered misshapen figures gathered in a clearing. The piece occupied less than a square foot of the wall but now that she'd seen it, it stood out.
"Tellis had no skill to speak of but he improved with time. He polished his earlier attempts but father refuses to let him change this first carving. He says it's a reminder of how far he's come."
Seren smiled softly, both from learning more about Tellis, and the king's endearingly odd yet unsurprising consideration. "You're far more sentimental than you'd like others to believe…" Her own words echoed to her. Though he never acknowledged it, Thranduil did have a strong sense of symbolism when it came to matters he cared about. The little leaves he left on Legolas's gift, his insistence she wear the insignia of the woodland elves were evidence of this. Now she knew of this stone carved masterpiece, marred by one sloppy first attempt. It wasn't surprising at all.
"This isn't what we came to see, however," Legolas stated.
Seren straightened, gesturing for him to lead the way. He pivoted on a heel and continued down the hall until it split. The wide mouth of the joined hallways was elegantly decorated with gold gilded leaves and vines. Tiny fires danced in delicate wrought iron braziers that hung from wall sconces. Both halls had a grand air about them and Seren grew ever more certain of her suspicions as to their destination.
Legolas paused as she slowed and stared down the hall to the left as he led her to the right. "This way."
Seren shook herself back to the present and resumed the trek. After wending through a pair of turns, they finally came to a wide open arch cut into stone and what looked like a spacious set of personal chambers beyond.
She stared around her as she crossed the threshold. She had thought her chambers indulgent but the grandeur of the room in which she now stood made it seem plain by comparison. Yet it somehow managed to still be simple in its elegance. The most extravagant feature was a set of three pillars, polished and carved, reaching in stone arcs toward one another high overhead. In the center of them, the ceiling was cut open in an intricate pattern to allow in narrow beams of natural light. Various shades of deep green fabric hung in sitting areas for partitions and a rich dark brown carpet, bearing a leaf pattern trim embroidered in golden thread dominated the center of the floor. Large wooden chairs and chaises dotted the space and more tiny braziers hung everywhere, casting a golden hue over it all.
Ahead of her, a tall set of three arches opened to a grand balcony. A wooden trellis allowed vines bearing small white flowers to climb over the platform, offering shade and filtered out the spray of a nearby waterfall.
"These are your chambers," Seren stated more than asked. Then she spotted the rear wall, adorned with various blades, bows and quivers above a solid and massive work table where tools and components for making arrows spread haphazardly over the surface.
Legolas didn't deny this and instead gestured for Seren's attention to be directed to a covered stand in the center of the room. He opened the green fabric and pulled it away.
Her heart skipped when she saw her easel. "Why do you have my painting?" She raised questioning eyes to him and a hint of betrayal burned there.
"I beg your forgiveness for intruding upon your space but I could not leave this as I worried Menui and Ceridwen would have told others of its existence and spread rumors that have no merit. I must ask who this is."
Seren considered the question, frowning. "I see people or places – sometimes objects – that have no relevance to me but I'm driven to paint them all the same."
Legolas's brow furrowed. "She is no one to you? You have no idea where you might have seen her?"
"She's a creation – nothing more."
"I beg to differ," Legolas stated softly.
He gestured for Seren to approach around the pillar obscuring the left wall from view and watched her expression intently.
She gasped when she saw another painting hanging there. It was massive. Life size renderings of three people appeared on the canvas. One was obviously Thranduil, though he seemed younger despite not looking less aged. Another, smaller figure could be none other than Legolas as a child, held aloft in his mother's arms as they laughed amidst the backdrop of a sunlit garden. The final figure's resemblance to the prince was undeniable and Seren stared at her.
Clear, pale blue diamond eyes shone brightly from her delicate, pale features and the gold luminance of her tresses fell around her like a sunlit waterfall. Grace was evident in her poise and laughter shone in her smile as she embraced her son who posed with a tiny bow in his hands.
Seren looked again at her easel. The same eyes stared at her and the same jewel was nestled in the hollow of each woman's throat. It was a tiny white star shaped gem held aloft by intricate swirling vines of gold. There was no denying that it was Legolas's mother depicted on Seren's easel.
Emerald eyes flickered between the paintings. "This isn't possible…"
Seren was slowly shaking her head, wanting to refuse this was happening but Legolas demanded her attention again.
"Look closer at your painting, Seren."
Seren stared for a time and the elven woman stared back. Slowly the gaze began to feel alive. The image blurred around the edges and her eyelids slipped down of their own accord. The painting dissolved, spreading over the blackness of her mind's eye. Around her, the sunlight in the garden shifted and sparkled with little motes. Faint laughter played in her thoughts and a breeze that smelled of spring filled her senses.
A tiny voice, far away declared, "My aim is true, ada!"
The visage of the woman shifted out of view and a familiar garden Seren had never seen sprawled before her. It was watery and blurry except in the center were a tiny figure in silver with a pale head stood many yards away, pulling back an arrow in his small bow, aiming toward a wooden circle near her to her right. The vision ended when the little pointed shaft suddenly flew toward her.
Seren yelped and clutched her abdomen, feeling the arrow's impact, expecting pain and blood but there was nothing. Her heart raced as her mind grappled with the realization that she hadn't just been shot. Laughter echoed dimly in her ears, a deep and unmistakable resonance. Thranduil…
She gazed up at Legolas who was staring where she clutched her abdomen, just under the ribs. He had gone as pale as if he'd seen a ghost.
"I saw…" Seren shook her head. "I don't know… Can you see it?"
"Any who look upon this painting can," Legolas replied distantly.
He gently stroked a finger over her hand and the phantom wound.
"I shot him here…" Finally, he seemed to see her again. "By accident," he quickly amended. "I do not know how, but you painted one of my father's memories."