Disclaimer: Not one Elf.
Author's Note: I'm a little late! Sorry about that.
Many thanks to everyone who reviewed. Enjoy the chapter!
Part V
28 September, Afternoon
"What did Melda say?"
Saeldur was relieved to hear Legolas speaking in complete sentences again, no longer struggling for each word. They were alone in Legolas' sitting-room. The King and the Prince's guards were still occupied with the aftermath of the morning's events, and Aeroniel, Rochendilwen and Colfind had been despatched straight out to the archers to ensure that they did not attempt to extract their own brand of justice for their commander's suffering.
"She had little to say for herself that bears repeating." Saeldur leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Her mind has been twisted by lies."
"I must know."
Saeldur met his friend's eyes. "She said that when the time comes to face the might of Dol Guldur, we will have no victory if you command the archers." He shrugged. "As I said, her mind has been twisted."
"Perhaps not." Before Saeldur could protest, Legolas went on, "Mithrandir said… the same thing."
Legolas' words were slowing, a sign that he was not as much stronger than the previous day as Saeldur had hoped, but his last statement could not be allowed to go unchallenged. Saeldur had never taken Mithrandir for such a fool as to suggest that the presence of the finest of the realm's archers would be anything but an advantage.
He said as much, making Legolas laugh.
"You need not be so… jealous of my… honour. Mithrandir… meant no offence."
"What did he mean, then?"
"Only that… my duty… may lie… elsewhere."
Saeldur could not imagine where Legolas' duty would lie if not in his father' realm. That was a worry for another day; enough had been said on the subject for this one.
"No more talking. Feredir will not be pleased if I let you tire yourself out." He hesitated. He did not want to lay another burden on his friend now, but they were alone. Legolas seemed to be in a forgiving mood. There might never be a better time. "There is something I must tell you, Legolas."
Inquiring blue eyes turned on him. "What… what did… you do?"
About to launch into his story, Saeldur paused when he noticed Legolas was shivering slightly.
"Are you cold? You should have said something." He got to his feet. "I will fetch you a cloak."
And, he thought as he went through the connecting door to Legolas' bedroom, he would have a moment to decide how best to word his confession.
25 September, Afternoon
"No."
"You do not understand, Rochendilwen." Calathiel's voice was surprisingly even. "I am not asking you to trust me. I do not blame you for being suspicious. Legolas has recovered from more serious injuries in the past. Naturally you suspect foul play. Look." She held out her arms. "I have nothing. You may check if you like. And you need not leave us alone. You and Eredhion and Voronwë can stand and watch."
"None of us is likely to know the difference if you give him something that will harm him," Rochendilwen pointed out, not unkindly. "I cannot let you see him, Calathiel."
"I will give him nothing. I will do nothing other than see how he is. Then I will tell you what you can do for him. You can do it, or not. The choice is yours."
Rochendilwen glanced at Eredhion, who shrugged. "I suppose it cannot hurt to let her see him. But we will be in the room."
"Of course."
Legolas' eyes had glazed over in dreams as he sat in a chair by the fire. He did not stir as Calathiel made quick work of checking the wound from the Orc's blade. It had healed a little. It should have been fully gone by now. She laid a hand on his cheek when she was done, frowning at the clammy skin.
"That will do," Eredhion said.
Calathiel stepped away at once.
"Well?" asked Voronwë.
"He is fading. But you already knew that."
"Is there anything we can do for him?"
"Would you agree to any potions or herb mixtures I suggest?" Three scowls met her gaze, and she sighed. "Then, no. There is nothing you can do for him. Change the dressing on the wound regularly. It will help prevent infection. But I doubt that will make a difference."
"It should have healed by now," Eredhion said, echoing Calathiel's thoughts.
"Yes." Calathiel shrugged. "I would probably have done the same in your place. Legolas has been poisoned, and for all you know I am only saying this to lull you into a false sense of security and let me give him something. If I had been there…"
"Calathiel," Rochendilwen said dangerously. "This is not the time."
"I know. Forgive me; I meant no offence. I just wish I could have helped." She glanced at Legolas one more time. "Someone should write to hasten the King's return."
"We have done that," said Eredhion. "I trust he will be here soon."
Calathiel shook her head. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "I will not tell you not to hope, but… You should say your farewells while Legolas is still coherent enough to hear them."
"Legolas is not going to die," snarled Rochendilwen.
But, as she looked at the still figure with blue eyes gazing into a distant dream, she was not nearly as certain as she sounded.
28 September, Afternoon
Míron had lost track of how long he had spent waiting in a concealed alcove outside the royal quarters. He had arrived in the early hours of the morning, when Thranduil had been with Legolas. He had waited as the minutes trickled by.
Feredir had been the first to arrive, before breakfast. He had come looking pale, drawn – as well he should. It was his own sister who was in a cell being questioned by the Royal Guard. Feredir must be upset. It was admirable that he was able to control his emotions on the matter enough to help Legolas.
Admirable.
Misguided.
Míron fingered the knife tucked into his robes. A sharp edge and a quick death was more than Legolas deserved, with how much suffering he had caused everyone else, but it would have to do.
His thoughts lingered on Melda. She was as strong-willed as her father. She would not reveal anything of Míron or any of their other friends, of that he was certain. She would not shake no matter the cost – and the cost might well be her life. She was guilty of high treason. She had acted against the realm's beloved prince. No matter how honest her motives, no matter how loyal she was to Eryn Galen, the Council would be united against her.
Míron's fingers tightened around the hilt of his knife.
This was why he had to end it. Legolas did not deserve the loyalty that was so eagerly given to him.
There was more activity now. Barancrist arrived, followed closely by Colfind and Rochendilwen. Colfind had barely been in to see Legolas, having been spending most of his time with the archers on the training fields to leave Saeldur free to sit with his friend.
Sure enough, Colfind emerged in just a few minutes.
Then came Saeldur and Aeroniel.
Míron was not entirely surprised that Saeldur had faltered at the last moment. He had been expecting as much. Saeldur and Legolas had grown up together, a bare handful of years separating them. Saeldur was bound to have some loyalty to his friend that could not be entirely eliminated, too much to see him lingering in pain.
No matter. It would be over soon. And Saeldur would make an even better ruler for having a spark of mercy in him, particularly if he was willing to be guided by Míron's wisdom.
Barancrist was the first to leave. He was followed closely by Feredir, then Saeldur, and finally Thranduil himself.
Aeroniel and Rochendilwen were staying with Legolas, then.
Míron sighed.
But he was patient. He would get his chance.
It came when, after Council must have ended, Saeldur returned, followed by the departure of Aeroniel and Rochendilwen.
Now. It had to be now, while only Saeldur was with Legolas. Saeldur might protest, but Míron could make him see reason. They could do it quickly and efficiently. Painlessly. Do it and slip away. There would never be a better chance.
18 September, Morning
"Do you want to tell me what that was about?"
"You have no right," Saeldur growled. With only Rochendilwen and Aeroniel present, he would feel no hesitation in expressing himself. Legolas was not certain that was an entirely good thing. "You have no right to give up so easily."
"I should not have said what I did."
"What does it matter what you say?" Saeldur caught Legolas by the shoulders, and would probably have shaken him if he had not been unwell. "Even if you had not said it, it would not change facts. You cannot give up. You owe a duty to the realm."
"What do you expect me to do, Saeldur?"
"I expect you to be the Elf I swore to serve!" Saeldur shook his head. "Do you remember the day I swore my oaths as your second, Legolas? Do you remember what you promised me?"
"Saeldur –"
"You swore you would be worthy of my faith. Is this how you are worthy? By giving up?"
"Saeldur!" Rochendilwen protested, but Legolas waved her objection aside.
"I have tried to be worthy of your faith, Saeldur. I am sorry I have failed you."
There was a moment's silence. Then Saeldur dropped into the chair beside Legolas'. "You have never failed me. Not once, not even when I failed you. Forgive me. I spoke in anger." He caught at Legolas' hands. "I have faith in you now. I have faith that you are strong enough to live, because you know how much we need you."
"I do not know if I can."
"I do. You are more than our friend and your father's son, Legolas. You are our prince and commander of the archers. You have a responsibility to Eryn Galen. Your fëa cannot leave Middle-earth yet." Saeldur's grip tightened. "Promise me. Promise me you will not give up."
28 September, Afternoon
Legolas looked up with a smile when the door opened, expecting to see his father or one of his friends.
Míron stood in the doorway, his face pale in the afternoon light. His eyes stared into Legolas' almost unseeingly.
Legolas felt a sudden chill, all the instincts of a warrior kicking in and making him reach for his knives before he remembered they were on the table in his bedroom.
"I thought Saeldur would be here," Míron said in a hoarse whisper. "But you are alone. Alone."
Light glinted off the blade of a knife in Míron's hand. Legolas opened his mouth to call Saeldur, but, before he could make a sound, the knife was at his throat.
"One word," Míron hissed. "One word and you die."
At any other time, Míron could not have put a knife to Legolas' throat and hoped to live. Legolas was a trained warrior. The knife would have been out of Míron's hand in a heartbeat, Míron incapacitated in another. But Legolas was still too weak, his reflexes too slow. He knew he could not hope to disarm the other Elf before he carried out his threat.
"On your feet," Míron snarled, pulling Legolas up with his free hand. "To the door. Slowly. I do not want to burden Saeldur with the guilt of having allowed this if I can at all avoid it."
For a moment Legolas considered refusing to move. Míron did not intend that he should live to see another sunrise, no matter what he did. Legolas could at least deny him the satisfaction of his obedience.
But obeying would gain him time, perhaps enough time for someone to come. He had promised Saeldur he would fight to live.
Quietly, Legolas let Míron push him out the door.
His knees went weak with relief when he heard footsteps approaching down the corridor. Míron heard them as well. He wrenched Legolas' arm behind his back, simultaneously holding him on his feet and making certain he could not move.
His father, Arbellason and Eredhion appeared at the end of the corridor. Their eyes widened as they took in the situation. Their hands went reflexively to their weapons before they had even taken in the situation, but Míron gave Legolas a rough shake, making them go still as they watched him.
"Not another step!" Míron said, pressing the knife hard enough that Legolas felt it break skin. "Stay there and keep your hands off your swords! Move and he dies."
"Have you gone mad?" Arbellason asked incredulously.
"I mean it! I will cut his throat without feeling a moment's regret."
"You cannot hope to escape with your life if you harm the Prince of Eryn Galen," Eredhion pointed out, eyes darting around the corridor as he looked for an opening, a weapon, anything. "Whatever you want, this is not the way to get it."
"Release Legolas and we can talk," Arbellason added.
"I think not." Míron half-twisted Legolas' arm behind him. Legolas bit his lip on a cry of pain.
"Hurt my son," said the King, his voice colder than the depths of winter, "and I will show you no mercy. Hurt my son and I promise you, you will die. Release him now, unharmed, and I might let you leave Eryn Galen with your wretched life."
"I have no quarrel with you, Thranduil. But Legolas must die. It is best for us all." Míron kicked Legolas' legs out from under him. Legolas scrambled for his footing, but despite his best efforts he was on his knees, Míron's knife still at his throat. "I am sorry you must endure the sight of your son's death, but there is no choice."
Legolas met his father's eyes, blazing with a combination of anger and some other emotion Legolas could not identify.
He wondered if his father's anger was to be the last thing he saw.
25 September, Afternoon
"Where have you been?"
Calathiel glanced at her father. "I went to see Legolas."
Thorontur sat bolt upright in his chair. "Eredhion and Voronwë permitted you to see Legolas?" He tried to keep the suspicion from his voice, but he knew he had not entirely succeeded.
"Only to see him," said Calathiel. "They would not let me do anything to… help him."
"How is he?"
"Dying. Slowly."
Thorontur shut his eyes. "Elbereth Gilthoniel. There will be no forgiveness."
"No forgiveness for what?"
He ignored his daughter's question, getting up to go in search of his wife. He found her in her workroom, shredding herbs. Her normally steady fingers were fumbling and shaking.
"Celebwen."
"You promised me two days."
"Legolas is dying. What do we gain by waiting for him to inch closer to death?"
"Thranduil will return. He will believe you, he will let me help Legolas, I will heal him, and that will be the end of it. Nobody ever needs to know."
"Celebwen, please. You are grasping at straws. I promised Thranduil I would look after Legolas." Thorontur sank into a chair, burying his head in his hands. "How am I to face him? How am I to face anyone? Celebwen, we are guilty of high treason."
"We are not guilty of high treason," Celebwen said. Her voice was far steadier than Thorontur's. "Thranduil is not here. Legolas is incapacitated. You are next in the chain of command. You have a right to take whatever decision you think is best."
"Best for the realm," Thorontur qualified. "I fail to see how I can justify to Thranduil that I thought it was best for the realm to sit and watch Legolas die."
"Legolas will not die. Trust me. If it comes to that point, we will tell Eredhion and Voronwë the truth and deal with the consequences. It has not happened yet."
28 September, Afternoon
Saeldur heard raised voices. Dropping the cloak he had just taken out of Legolas' chest of drawers, he slid his knives from their sheath and stepped into the sitting room.
It was empty, but the door leading into the corridor was open.
Saeldur went to it, moving with the silent tread of the warrior. The scene outside made his blood run cold. Míron had Legolas, held in front of him like a shield, with a dagger to his throat. He could hear the King, Arbellason and Eredhion further down the corridor. The King sounded as though he wanted to introduce Míron to the sharp end of his sword, but he could do nothing while Míron hid behind Legolas. None of them could.
Elbereth.
Saeldur was about to make his presence known and order Míron to release Legolas, but something stilled his tongue. He had seen the glint of madness in Míron's eyes. He knew how desperate he was. He would not stop now, no matter what it cost him.
He had known for years – decades, and longer. He had known, and he had told nobody because he had thought he could handle it. Míron had been free to pursue his schemes for centuries because Saeldur had thought he could handle it.
Míron was going to kill Legolas now. Saeldur knew it. Legolas was going to die, and it would be Saeldur's fault.
He had his bow, but he did not dare draw it. He was a fine archer, one of the finest in the realm, but he lacked Legolas' ability to keep his focus when the stakes were this high. In this tiny space, with no room for the shaft to straighten and fly true, with Míron pressed as close to Legolas as he was, Saeldur would never make the shot. He might miss.
He might hit Legolas instead.
Legolas was going to die because his second-in-command could not steady his hand on the bow.
Saeldur shook himself. Legolas was not going to die. Not here, not like this.
Míron forced Legolas down to his knees. He was bent a little awkwardly so he could keep the knife at Legolas' neck while still watching the Elves in front of him.
Saeldur replaced his knives and drew his bow and an arrow.
He gauged distance and force. He had done this thousands of times in battle and on the training fields. He had never done it with Legolas' life hanging in the balance, but that made no difference. He could do this.
His first thought was to aim for Míron's shoulder, but if that did not incapacitate him, he would still have time to cut Legolas' throat before Saeldur could get off another arrow.
Saeldur could barely breathe. To kill foes in battle was one thing, but this was…
This was…
This was keeping his oath to defend Legolas.
He could not falter. He had caused this situation, keeping his secrets and thinking he was clever enough not to need anybody's help. Legolas' life was not going to be the price for Saeldur's stupidity.
Saeldur sighted down the length of the shaft, felt the tightness of the bowstring – not too tight, or it would go through Míron into Legolas – and released the arrow.
His hand shook, though. Having half expected it, he was already drawing another. His first arrow grazed Legolas' arm, making him slump a little. Míron scrambled to keep hold of him. That movement gave Saeldur the space he needed.
The second arrow flew true.
18 September, Night
As late as it was when Saeldur returned to his room in the warriors' quarters, a few moments later, there was a knock on his door.
He opened it to find his mother standing outside. Her face was clouded with anxiety.
"How is he?"
"Weak," Saeldur said, stepping back so she could enter. "Naneth, what are you doing here?"
"If he dies…" She shook her head, running her hands through her hair. "It will be my fault if he dies."
"How could it possibly be your fault?"
"He was taxing himself too much! I saw it. I spoke to him, but he said he was only a little tired, and I assumed Thorontur and Celebwen would never have let him attend Council if he had not been improving. I should have trusted my instincts." She looked at Saeldur, eyes dark with regret. "But he was improving, Saeldur. I am sure of it."
"Perhaps he was simply forcing himself to look healthy," Saeldur suggested, guiding her to a chair. "Legolas is stubborn. He has survived worse injuries than this."
"I am not a fool, Saeldur. I have seen enough injured warriors to know when one is convalescing. Legolas was getting better… and then he was getting worse. Some sort of delayed venom on the sword was what Celebwen said it was. He was getting better." She accepted the cup of wine Saeldur gave her. "I should have said more about it. I should have insisted he rest."
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Saeldur laughed. "Naneth, you do not have the authority to insist that the Prince of Eryn Galen should do anything, and we both know it is pointless to tell Legolas he should rest."
"Legolas has been a warrior long enough to know how far he can push himself. At least, usually he does."
"Naneth." Saeldur squeezed her hand. "It was not your fault. Believe me. Even if he was exhausting himself too much, how could you have known that Lady Celebwen was wrong to allow it? And I promise you Legolas is not going to die."
"I hope not."
It was much later, when his mind was walking the dream paths, that Saeldur realized the significance of what his mother had said. He came to full awareness at once, sitting up in bed and rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
He had to speak to Arahael.
I know a lot of people were hoping for Thranduil to do what Saeldur did... But I felt like it needed to be like this. That's not to suggest that Thranduil won't have his say; he will, when the time comes.
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