Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Or Happy Late Hanukkah (December 24th was the last day for the Jewish people)! Or if you celebrate something else...then still, enjoy yourself!
Chapter 16
The horse watched from where he was tied up, next to the tree.
Of course, he hated his position. He looked like a complete idiot! He most definitely didn't deserve this. Mmm hmm, no sir. After all, he was the best foal out of all of his seven siblings and he deserved to beadmired, not tied up here like a hostile rat for sale! Besides, his father had been a purely bred horse, descending straight from Doriath, and his mother had been an award-winning Silvan steed, coming from a rich line of ancestors from Lindon. That was a pretty honorable heritage.
But of course, he just had to be lucky enough to get this ungrateful, dramatic elf as a master.
Fortunately, the elf had had enough sense and finally realized that the horse was too tired of carrying his fat conceited head, much less his entire body, so when they'd finally reached the outskirts of Fangorn and had entered another relatively small wood, he'd gotten off and let the horse trot by itself.
And the horse was actually not having such a bad time. He got to walk around a beautiful scenery, eat as much as he wanted and get some decent exercise. It was better than being stuck and ceamped upin those stuffy stables. Especially since they hired and called forward those younger, incompetent elflings to do his calling. They didn't even know how to comb his hair right, for Shadowfax's sake! He felt so mistreated...if the elf could only be advanced enough to understand him, the horse would really just want to use one of his hooves to slap him and complain about the poor service he and his beautiful mane were getting.
Oh, and he'd tried, which is why he was currently tied up.
Anyways, the elf had tied him up in this blasted tree (although it smelled very good) and he had been about to search the area when suddenly, they'd heard a rustle in the leaves. Immediately, like the dramatic being he was, the elf had taken out his very shiny sword in the slowest way the horse had ever seen and had looked around, his eyes suddenly hardening.
However, the horse concluded that whoever was making such a racket in the forest was either: 1. stupid, 2. very stupid or 3. blind. And he had nothing against blind beings! In fact, the horse believed (he hated family reunions, terrible things) he'd had an uncle from his father's side that had been blinded. Although that was partially, since the arrow only went through one eye and made it a bit mushed up, making the blood flow out and the flesh-but...that was a little too much information. His point was that whoever was trampling through the forest must have been blind for making so much noise and possibly not looking at where he or she was walking.
Then, as the elf had stepped forward, brandishing his sword and holding it up in the air (dramatic!) in a tense position, the horse saw the weirdest thing he would ever boast of seeing in his life. A boy was running blindly into them, huffing and puffing. He looked terrible and for once, if the horse had a choice in between being a slave horse for one of those savage Easterlings or be this boy...he'd choose the Easterling torture.
He was serious, this boy dreadfully needed a bath! And ugh, that hair. The horse didn't even think he could even use his words and advanced thoughts to describe this boy. He'd had certain experience with mortals (their mares were always seeking him out, which was annoying since he knew he was way above them) and he guessed this boy was about nine to twelve summers old. His hair was a long mangled mess and now could be easily tied into a small braid. His eyes were dark, bloodshot and tired, with bits of red there and there. A great slash went across his chest and looked like it was expanding, making the boy wheeze and breath heavily. Wounds and bruises coated his body and his knee didn't look right. He also stank, of mud, sweat, pain and...blood.
The horse neighed wildly, jumping up and down. He didn't like this boy, not at all. It wasn't only his low sense of hygiene and fashion or the battle he probably came from...but there was a feeling. He didn't know why, but he was special. Somehow...there was something about him. A special aura or sense he was feeling. It unnerved him, yet it was frustrating, since he didn't exactly know what he was feeling.
The conceited dramatic elf turned to look at him, hissing "Daro!" just as the boy collapsed on the floor, exhausted.
The horse looked at Thranduil (or whatever his name was...he honestly didn't care) and stared at him with a face that said, "Hooligan! Who you telling to halt, huh? I ain't going to be bossed around...especially someone with the likes of you."
The elf completely ignored him though! Pretending to be oblivious, the horse saw that he was more intent on the boy. He was examining him, his cold eyes unreadable as he scanned the boy up and down, tearing every part of him with his very own eyes and watching to see if he was friend or foe. Suddenly, however, he raised his sword cautiously. The boy had stood up, as if he'd gained some miraculous burst of energy from the Valar...not before he had the sword at his neck, though.
The horse rolled his eyes. Dramatic! Please, wasn't a simple "Who are you?" enough or a certain, low-voiced warning? NO! The elf just had to pull his sword and pull it against the stinking boy's already bloody neck. And even more! Even though he could've very well spoken elvish, the elf first spoke Westron with a fluidity that was more than comfortable. What a huge show off.
"Tell me where you are going in such a hurry, and maybe I will spare your life."
The boy was trembling, the horse saw and perhaps for the first time, the horse had pity on him. Slowly, the boy struggled and looked up, his eyes squinting a bit. Perhaps the sun was affecting him...the horse noticed the boy was awfully pale and maybe a tan or two would do him good. His mother had told him that in Dol Amroth, where she'd gone in a competition (but only won third place because they had stupidly incompetent judges), they had some nice beaches near the sea, so a visit or two might not be bad for this boy.
Much to his surprise, instead of squealing or doing anything stupid, he scoffed and spoke in flawless Sindarin (woo hoo! Another show-off, just peachy!), his voice dry and husky, as if extremely fatigued. "Sure, kill me now. Then one life, or perhaps two, will already have been wasted for nothing."
The elf showed nothing, although horses had more advanced senses, and the horse could feel a slight feeling coming out...although it wasn't clear. Was it distress? Was it curiosity? Was it anxiety? Shadowfax! Why did this dramatic elf have to be so enigmatic? The elf switched back to Sindarin, which was better than the boy's, although the horse had to admit, he was pretty proficent.
"Speak, human," growled Thranduil, gripping the sword tighter. "Explain. And why do you speak Sindarin? Are you friend...or foe?"
The human sighed, as if he were used to this kind of interrogation and after he cleared his throat for a while, he spoke. "I am no foe. My name is Estel. I was fostered in the West by an elven family of peredhils, who kept me and my mother when we were in danger. Therefore, from the age of two, I was-"
"Peredhils?" snapped the elf. "There is only one family that yet lingers in that accused-no, it cannot be!"
The horse didn't exactly know what the elf was talking about, but apparently the child did. He stood up, dusting himself awkwardly as the elf gave him a decent amount of space, lowering his sword a little bit so that the boy could speak more comfortably.
"Yes," he responded. "Elrond Half-elven is my father, foster father."
"ARGH! That insufferable peredhil! What in Mordor is he doing, adopting stray humans? Does he want more trouble than we already have? That idiot!" the Elf-king growled, shaking his blond head repeatedly. "But then, I am not surprised. He was never the brightest."
The horse neighed in annoyance. Loud sounds were bad for his beautiful ears...they couldn't be damaged by such a lowly creature. He whipped his head around and watched as the boy's ears flared up
The boy, this Estel the horse assumed, scowled. "Oí! My father is not idiotic! He is the wisest of all elves who currently reside in Middle-Earth...no one's knowledge can compete against his!"
"Yes, yes, maybe in science, and mathematics and all that sort of thing...we must admit Elrond has some proficency, especially in those healing arts he has always preferred. But logic? NO, the thick-headed fool has a skull fifty times more dense than that of a stone eater," said Thranduil, with disgust, especially at the 'stone eater' part.
Estel growled back, but said nothing.
The pathetically dramatic elf circled him, examining him as if he were some rare display. He gave him space now, which was an upgrade...although the horse doubted it would last long. His sword was now in the air, tense, and the elf held it in a way in which clearly told everybody he knew how to use it. If the boy dared do anything, all he'd need to do was pierce him and it was game over. Apparently, the boy saw this as well, since he was dead frozen in place, quietly admiring his fate.
"But...we must admit you are slightly right. Elrond is not entirely stupid. He must have had a purpose." Thranduil paused, squinting at the boy even though his eyesight was perfectly well. "You must be worth something. Tell me, who are you really? Where were you just coming from?"
The boy was quiet and now. In his position, the horse saw how vulnerable he really was. Still, he raised his beautiful eyebrows as he watched the boy muster what little courage must be left inside him to respond.
"I-I am not tricked so easily...I p-propose an exchange. A q-question to me, for one to you."
The horse snickered and the elf shot him a glare. The horse returned it by revealing its long, pink tongue. The elf sighed in disgust and then turned back to the boy, his eyes neutral. The horse half-expected the dramatic elf to do something...well, dramatic. Something like a huge denial or maniacal laugh. He was taken back though when the elf did what he did.
He just smirked.
"Very well," he said slyly, putting his sword in his sheath. "But what would a mere mortal human want to know of me? Perhaps how I keep my hair so well kept? How the fighting techniques of my people are? Or perhaps you want tales of my realm?
Please, well kept? Compared to mine it looks more like a hornet's nest, snorted the horse.
Estel snorted as well, although he sobered up pretty quickly, his voice turning solemn. "I may be...a child, but I am no fool. I do not wish to ask anything foolish. I wish to know the closest path to Mirkwood and how I may survive in that forest. You must be from there, from your outfit and your unfamiliar accent."
With these words, the dramatic elf immediately turned dark. Every sly feature turned dangerous and his eyes, once nonchalant and unreadable, were now blazing with a glare, protected by a protective anger behind them.
"And why would you want to know that?" he snapped.
The horse could tell the boy was scared, but he kept his ground. His legs were shaking slightly and his face had paled even more, if that was possible.
"I-I bring dire news. Those dire news must be delivered to the K-King. But I-I have never been in the forest before. I-" The boy paused, taking a few deep breaths to stop his shaking and summoning a bit more courage. "I am afraid."
Thranduil raised a bored eyebrow, his features softening. "I see. You are afraid yet you are willing to enter the forest regardless of the dark malice that yet lurks there, along with the filths that inhabitate the area?"
"I-It is not that I am willing. It is that I just need to go. There is no choice. But I am willing to follow that choice...because of the sacrifices that have already been made for me to come here so far," explained Estel softly, looking at the floor sadly.
The horse knew that look...it was a look of grief.
Apparently, the elf wasn't as half as stupid as he thought, so he knew that look as well. Yet he showed no emotions, especially not pity. His hands curled around the hilt of the sword even tighter, some veins bulging out dangerously.
"Tell me more of this...dire news, you are bringing," he continued slyly.
Estel looked up hissing, his eyes turning into a glare. "We had a deal. One question for another. Nothing else."
"Yes, yes. Deals and more deals. Yet surely you must know how the Silvan and Sindarin elves in the forest are...less wise, more dangerous," said the elf, putting more emphasis on 'dangerous.' The boy was frozen and tense in place. "They are distrusting...they will not take on enemies easily or foreigners, that is."
The boy hissed. "I already said I was no foe."
"Oh, did you? I never heard," said the elf, feigning ignorance. The horse snorted. Drama queen, much? "Anyways, continue..."
"I..." The boy paused, as if unsure but continued, clutching what seemed to be a paper even tighter. "I was going to Lórien. I planned on visiting my brothers there, since they didn't let me go with them in their journey. I was young and ignorant I thought I could take care of myself."
"And?"
"And...I did, but not as easily as I thought it would be. In the middle of the journey, I-I was nearly killed. Many times actually, but not as seriously...were it not for this stranger. This stranger then dragged me on...crazy business, you can say." The horse swore a small smile lingered in the corners of the boy's mouth. "Until things went down. H-He was performing a quest, an extremely dangerous one. To help his homeland. Another elf came with us...we made a plan. It was desperate but we were all willing. I was willing...because of what the elf had done to help me."
"This elf...he must be quite brave. Where is he now? He and this...other elf?" asked the dramatic elf suspiciously.
Estel did a noise. The horse gagged inwardly, shaking his ears. It was a terrible sound, something in between a cry, a moan, a scream and some choking noises. Some snot hid inside his nose, threatening to squirt out, as well as some crystalline tears in the rim of his eyes. However, swallowing some air and coughing a bit, the boy regained his voice.
"T-The elf that accompanied us later is dead. He was mutilated and then beheaded by the enemy. The other elf..." Estel paused. "Has his fate on my hands. He sacrificed himself for me to escape. I do not think he is dead, since he seemed so confident he wasn't. But I have heard of the horrors that are subjected to those who are captured..."
The elf's eyes flickered dangerously. "And would you care to give some names?"
"Why?" snapped the boy.
"Because...Because there is something I am looking for. It may just well be that my search has come to an end. I must know." He spoke with authority and while the horse wasn't the least intimidated, the boy looked ready to become a pile of melting goo.
He was quiet but then, almost as if he were talking to no one in particular, he whispered in the wind. "Legolas and Silad. S-Silad is the dead one, and L-Legolas-"
"Oh, really? Legolas? Well that's just peachy...since he's my son."
O-O-O
"How did you become your prince's apprentice, Captain Beluriel?"
They'd trekked through the secret passage Gilraen's husband had talked to her about for hours non-stop. They were fortunate that they were not a large party. Not that it mattered anyways. Despite being an elf, Beluriel had the size of a human teenage girl and was incredibly short for anyone her age. She was also incredibly skinny and could squeeze through the small opening easily. And even if Gilraen towered about 3 inches above her, she was also able to go through, although with a slightly harder time.
It was narrow, and a tree could barely go through it and you had to travel walking sideways. And Beluriel was proud to say it was not her favorite place. She had to admit she had a teeny little case of claustrophobia and like all of her fellow elves, she would rather be out in the woods, under the care of the stars and of nature, not cooped up in this cold, stone underground cave road. It was rocky also and the terrain was hard to go through. Gilraen's cut got slightly worse and both of them had bruised themselves a few times because of their accident-prone characters.
Luckily, perhaps after a few days or so of walking, they'd pushed some rocks off, dusted a few things and had popped out harmlessly out through the exit. Then, after a brief water break, they'd gone further down until reaching a small wood. As the strategical genius she'd always been, Beluriel then chose a place to camp for the night. It was a nice glade, with some sharp rocks surrounding them, as if they were protective walls. They would be good to hide in if there was any danger, such as death by arrows, but they would also make whoever wanted to kill them have to maneuver through a sea of sharp rocks. It worked in their favor...mostly.
Beluriel frowned as she rubbed her chin, putting everything down and finally succeeding in lighting a bonfire for them. Earlier, Gilraen had gone to the river and the Captain had realized that fishing was also one of her fortes. They would use the fire to cook the fish and ration them for the next few days, which she knew wouldn't be easy. Legolas and Estel could be anywhere near Fangorn...who could tell?
"I actually never knew," she told Gilraen. "But it's a long story."
"There is time," the woman replied patiently.
"Well..." Beluriel lay down in the grass, both of her toned arms acting as pillows. Gilraen was sitting in a rock next to her, tending the stew as well as knitting. Of course, the woman had space for a knitting kit, but not for a healing pack? Brilliant. "I wasn't actually going to be in the military. My parents never really liked it."
"No?"
"No," said Beluriel. "My father was a novice for a while but he quit, since it wasn't his thing. He became one of Mirkwood's greatest craftsmen instead and a scholar as well. My mother was never fond of death and violence either. She might seem tough and rude in the outside, but she's actually incredibly gentle and protective of all of us. My grandfather, whom I never saw, died because of a life-long injury he'd gained from a battle and he'd had breathing problems for a long time. My aunt...she was kidnapped. Mother says she didn't treat her well and she regrets that, because she thinks that maybe that's why my aunt ran away and got kidnapped. She doesn't even know if she's alive! But then, she also blames it on the patrols, since they should've noticed a little elleth running through the woods. She says they're 'inconsistent.'"
"And what did you end up learning?"
"My father set me up with a blacksmith friend of his. He was delighted I wanted to choose a similar work style like him and so was I. Truly, I had to admit that the thought of spending many hot hours in a closed room and hammering until my arms hurt was not very tempting, but I always liked weapons so I tried. It was actually quite delightful and I enjoyed myself for a long time. I was able to learn more about making weapons and I had an opportunity to perfect my knife-throwing skills, something that my blacksmith master taught me and came in handy."
"Go on."
"Anyways, one day Teacher, although he insists I call him in his real name since he's like a second father to me, said he was going to check on his sick sister for a few minutes. I wasn't worried. The village's healing center was just around the curb and it would be fast. I agreed I'd take over the shop for a while."
"What does this have to do with this Leg-Leg-"
"Le-go-las," said Beluriel patiently, pronouncing each syllable for her to hear. "Anyways, it is coming. I was making and re-forging this dagger. Very beautiful dagger you know. The hilt was dwarf-made and although we all despise dwarves, they do have very nice skills with the crafts. It was long and slender, surrounded by layers of gold and silver and coveredwith all these little gems and I swear I almost stole it-"
"The story, Beluriel. Not the dagger."
"FINE!" grunted Beluriel. "Anyways, I was making the dagger and then I see this shadow passing through the back window, flickering. I left it open because of the air. I was young back then and I wasn't left alone frequently, so I panicked and thought of the worse. The shadow was too slender to be Teacher and so I thought it was probably one of those thieves. You know, nasty, short, skinny, very troublesome-"
"I know what a thief is, Captain."
"Yes, yes. Of course you do. And since last time, when one of the thieves stole a shield speckled with rubies from Teacher and made him and his client very mad, I wanted to avoid that. So as the figure came from the window, I grabbed the dagger and I threw it at him."
"Let me guess: it was Legolas."
"Of course it was. Idiot thought the door was locked and he decided to go through the window, leave a note and grab the knives Teacher had finished fixing so that he could go practice earlier. He had been wounded in a patrol and his weapons had been damaged as well. He'd just gotten a release and wanted to practice as soon as possible. Luckily, he always had good instincts and he ducked, otherwise the dagger would've been embedded in his throat."
"Impressive," grinned Gilraen.
Beluriel sat up, shaking her head incredulously. "I don't know why, but you and Legolas think very similarly, Lady Gilraen. I, in the other hand, was a bit nervous, especially since I recognized the prince right away. I don't see anything impressive! In fact, I thought I was going to be locked up in the dungeons for royal treason. But no, do you know what he does? He compliments my shot and asks for my name!"
"He seems to have a good taste of humor."
The Captain of the Cavalry snorted. "Yes, a jolly good taste, does he not have? It could get him dead in a second! And it almost has, countless times...he's been lucky so far, but who knows how long that luck will last?"
There was some silence when awkwardly, Gilraen spoke up. "And what happened then?"
"Oh, well I was polite. You know, I answered all his doubts, gave him his knives, grabbed the dagger I was re-forging and bid him farewell. I hoped he'd forget it all and think it was over for the sake of my sanity but no. This was Legolas and he's incredibly stubborn with the things he likes or loves. So I found him stalking me near the stables and realized he'd been doing so for the last three weeks. I was pretty spooked, so obviously I grab the stable broom..."
O-O-O
If the boy could get even paler, the horse swore he'd turned three times whiter than before.
The horse never knew someone could be so pale but as he stated before, it would do the boy good to have a summer off in Dol Amroth. Sandy beaches, swirling sea waves, salty and sunlit air...wouldn't that be a pleasure? Ah, it would be just what he needed. It would be a good way to distract him from all of this nonsense. Maybe he'd talk to his siblings about it and insist it would be a good "family reunion" theme. He neighed under his breath. BUT NO, he just had to be stuck here with this over dramatic elf and this equally dramatic boy during an extremely awkward situation.
Peachy. Just peachy.
The boy gaped at the elf, his face completely covered in disbelief. He frowned and then suddenly he opened his mouth to say five words. "You two look nothing alike!"
The elf was about to speak up when suddenly he frowned, as if fully taking in what he had just been told. His face looked taken back. "What?"
"I said, you two look nothing alike," exclaimed the boy, this Estel, immediately crossing his arms. "How can I know that this isn't a pretty lie?
"Pretty lie?" growled the elf his eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets, anger pouring out of them. "Alike? Of course we look alike! He's my son! How can we not look alike? He has my hair, my eyes..."
"-And that's about it! Your hair isn't even that alike, if I'm honest with you," huffed Estel, his arms still crossed despite the furious elf who looked ready to tear him apart. "Yours is more silvery and his has a stronger, more golden complexion. His eyes are even a lighter tone than yours. Other than that...I actually don't see many similarities. He is leaner, you're erm...more buff. He's expressive, you're sort of cold...no offense meant. He is kind and fun-loving and erm, I still don't know who you really are but I can slightly tell that you aren't exactly the most trusting person in this-"
The extremely dramatic elf harrumphed, rolling his eyes. "I am not insulted, human. Why? Because I don't care. I don't need your opinion to tell me who my son is. Now...do you still head to Mirkwood?"
The horse didn't really care either. But he swore that a faint flicker of hurt flashed through the elf's eyes...almost as if he doubted something. He neighed and dismissed, snorting it away and turning his attention back to munching his delicious grass, although he remained attentive. It was probably some mushrooms he'd had earlier...dangerous things, mushrooms. Very befuddling, they were. They were almost as mind-playing as that ale-tainted water he'd accidentally drunk as a young colt.
That was his piece of advice for the world: never trust a mushroom.
The Estel boy kept his frown, shaking his head in a very un-elegant manner and making his dark, messy locks flow. What a ridiculous hoping fool, thought the horse. No matter what he did, his hair would never be as fabulous as his. The boy with the hornet's nest as hair, he tried to hard. He really did. The horse was disappointed. He had potential.
"Yes I am. And you still have not told me how to get there and survive, despite the fact that I have answered your various questions," said Estel crossing his arms even tightly. "We had an agreement. I trust that you keep up with your word."
Thranduil sheathed his sword, calmly gazing at the boy with a petrifying stare. "There is no need. I will accompany and escort you there myself."
It was the boy's turn to look surprised. "What?"
"You think you are capable because of the experiences you've gone through, don't you boy? But do you know what? You wouldn't last a day," hissed Thranduil, with each word punctuated by a step forward until his angry face stood two inches away from Estel's. "Mirkwood is a dangerous place, rotting with vicious filths and a neverending darkness as black as the oncoming wall of the night-"
"Very poetic too."
"Shut up boy," snapped Thranduil. "Anyways, the elves from Mirkwood are warriors. They are strong and they are good survivors. You in the other hand, are just a little stubborn boy who will indoubtedly be killed by either 1. hungry spiders, 2. bloodthirsty orcs or 3. the very elves themselves, who will surely not trust you."
The horse snorted in disbelief to itself, munching some more grass. And you ask yourself why you're so bad at parenting. The horse was single now, of course. Although he'd had a few foals there and there. But at least he'd visited them and taken care of them once in a while. This dramatic elf thought he was perfection itself in a body! If this was how he treated a random child, then who knew how he treated his own?
"Fantastic," said Estel sarcastically. "But no thank you. I'd rather get eaten then travel with someone with the likes of you."
The horse smirked, biting in a laugh as he watched the elf's face get a light scarlet. He was liking this human boy more and more. At least he had a good attitude and decent amount of sense.
"Stop it, boy!" hissed Thranduil. "I am here for my kingdom, not for your skinny little hide. You're lucky I didn't behead you right now, get your map and dump your headless corpse into a river. Now, I will travel with you. And I will make sure that map gets to safety."
The boy zoned out and for a while, it was as if the horse himself could see through that window of gray. His glassy eyes, rimmed with tears, reflected memories. Unpleasant ones, the horse had to admit. A shiver ran through the child's body but suddenly he seemed to recover, looking up with a frown in his face.
"Map? I never said anything about a map."
Thranduil sighed, taking his sword again and circling the boy with a quick pace, occasionally swinging his sword near the boy. "I know you didn't. But...I should've known. I should've known Legolas was stupid enough to want to eavesdrop and stupid enough to set off in his fool's quest of his when I clearly had stated that-"
"So...you told your son to go alone on a nearly suicidal quest to get this one dumb piece of paper that is insignifcant but yes, has a lot of military importance?" frowned Estel, grabbing the map and shaking it in front of Thranduil, then stuffing it back into his pocket.
"Didn't you hear, boy? I said he eavesdropped! Of course I wouldn't have sent my son. He is too stupid for such thing. The idiot thought he was some sort of 'chosen one' and just went off, gallivanting towards the sunset because he thought he could do all of this alone when I was going to send a team of my best scouts to retrieve the map. It would have been more efficient and it would've had less bloodshed," he said, sniffing Estel's filthy, blood-soaked clothing at the end.
Oh, a big ego. What a surprise. I wonder who he got that from? thought the horse.
"Oh. B...But what happened?" asked Estel, the boy summoning his courage. "Why did Legolas eavesdrop in the first place? Wouldn't it have been better to actually include him in the meeting? I mean...that's just m-my opinion, but-"
Thranduil cringed, although it was so quick that nobody even saw it. He sighed, suddenly turning and flashing a pair of intense dark blue orbs, tinged with a few drops of sadness.
"It is complicated. I do not think you would understand. It was the same thing: Legolas makes a mistake, I get angry, he gets angry and a fight goes on. My other son lets slip the mention of the quest, Legolas gets a stupid idea, I deny his stupid idea, he gets angry once again and later he eavesdrops on the meeting that-but why am I even telling you this?" he snapped.
Estel only grinned smugly. "I happen to be very persuasive."
"You're even worse than my son," muttered Thranduil and then looked away to the direction Estel was going and humphed. "Well...at least you were going the right direction. Come on boy, make those legs useful and hurry up."
"Wait," frowned Estel at the elf. "Isn't there something else you should do?"
The dramatic elf turned a half circle and looked at him with the most bored look he could manage. Which was incredibly bored. He raised one of his thick, dark regal eyebrows as if in a question. "And what would that be?"
"Your son!" exclaimed the boy waving his arms, as if it were obvious.
The elf was either incredibly dense or just a very irresponsible parent, the horse thought. He kept his same neutral expression and remained with his thick eyebrows raised. The boy looked pretty frustrated though, his eyes wide in confusion and constantly moving his arms and head around to make his point. He was obviously very bothered by the elf's lack of attention on the subject.
"What about him?" the elf said curiously.
"What about him?!" exclaimed the boy. "How can you? How can you just abandon your son back there to the mercy of the orcs? Why don't you at least try to rescue him before telling your people? Don't you feel...remorse?" The boy paused, took a deep breath and at the end, said: "What kind of father are you?"
The elf finally turned a full circle, staring right into the boy's eyes. They had darkened significantly and they now looked more black than dark blue. They were like two dark chasms, drilling into Estel's soul with quiet icy fury.
"That is not for you to know," he hissed. "Besides, you cannot choose to do both things at once. You must choose one over the other. This map is of incredible strategic importance and if it doesn't reach my people in time, they will DIE. One life sacrificed for thousands? It doesn't matter."
Estel was shaking, looking with confused eyes at the elf. "D-Die? What do you mean? I thought that with the map they wouldn't have the advantage and-"
"Are you kidding me? You really thought that they'd stop a full-scale invasion just for a piece of paper?" snorted the elf incredulously. "Please! Has your head been in a hole? They are ready. And they are already coming, going on their way towards Mirkwood. They will be massacre it all the same. That is why returning to my people and warning them is a priority. Because you know what? They will be there in merely five days...I saw them in the way here. NOW GET MOVING!"
This is not good, thought the horse as he begrudgingly started trotting. Not good at all.
O-O-O
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Feeling like a piece of insignifcant piece of space was an understatement to what Legolas was feeling right now. He didn't know how much time had passed...had it seriously been hours? He couldn't tell. Everything was just dark. Dark like the night sky and the obsidian hatred he had for these beasts. And it was so damn cold...really cold. Cold like the icy weather of winter. How could it be this cold? Hadn't winter already passed?
The whip was like a snake, it had already almost swallowed his back and it hissed regularly at him. Legolas hated that feeling but still, he held his guard. He was going to live through this. He needed to. A gnawing feeling ate at the corner of his head, filling him with guilt.
Silad. Legolas simply couldn't believe it...it just couldn't be. Silad was too good of a swordsman, too good of a person. But despite how much he denied himself, he knew the harsh reality: he was dead and so would he ever be. Much to his remorse, he had no tears left for him now. His throat was dry from screaming and his eyes puffy and red from crying after the orcs had beat him, captured him and put him into a cell with Silad's severely mutilated, head-less body before being beaten again for days now.
Oh...and Estel. The poor boy was going through so much. Legolas almost sighed. He had no idea how important this was. He prayed silently to the Valar that the boy would succeed in the mission, although he didn't have many chances. He was injured, probably starving and alone out there in the wilderness. Did he even know the way to Mirkwood? Would he get lost or betrayed in the way? Legolas couldn't help wonder.
Then he almost laughed. Estel was now literally his only hope. Wasn't that sweet? He couldn't believe it! He didn't laugh though, it hurt his ribs too much, but he did let out a small chuckle, which shook through his body and made his muscles ache.
"Oh! Listen up boys, the pretty elf has somethin' funny for us! Don't ya, fella?" cackled the orc that was in charge of torturing him. He summoned all the other five orcs to come closer next to him and suddenly the leader orc crouched down, yanking his head up by one of his braids and grinning a sick grin at him. "Mind telling us what's so funny?"
Legolas flashed them a fake smile. "It's funny how much you're trying to get stuff out of me, when there is no way you'll ever do so before I stick arows through all of your throats."
However, instead of being scared by the threat they all just laughed. The orc leader smirked, holding his hair even more tightly. "Well, you got lucky princey. You'll do Lord Bulgan an awful lot better alive than dead...although I'd personally whip that smile off your face before swallowing you whole-"
"Peachy! I always thought I'd be a wonderful supper. With a nice bowl of soup of course, preferably mushrooms-"
"But Bulgan doesn't want me to damage your pretty face too much. There are many places where you'll fetch a high price for your face and body, princey. The Easterlings have always enjoyed playing with your kind and I'm sure you know what they do," the orc interrupted, hissing in satisfaction as he watched Legolas' face turned into an indignant scowl and a furious glare. "By the way, I heard the slave market's itching for a taste of elf blood...especially royal one."
"You wouldn't."
"Who can tell? Aren't we 'dirty, savage creatures' to your oh-so high elven society?" cackled the orc leader, making the others burst out laughing. "It's more of the opposite, I think. But then, you're right. In a way, you'll be more fun to your people. Lord Bulgan could either decide amusing himself by sending your dead head to your father or he could try to gain fun and profit, by bidding a high ransom for King Thranduil's prodigy son."
"That's actually my brother, but thank you for your moving vote of confidence."
The orc growled. "You know what I mean. Mirkwood's brightest archer. One of the youngest generals in the midst. The youngst prince...who saw his mother die in front of his eyes. You are the last thing left from the Queen of Mirkwood. You are the King's only weakness..."
Legolas did it. Despite the mention of his mother, which made his every muscle tense and made the anger boil inside of him, he couldn't anymore.
He laughed.
"Really? Really? Valar, are you all flattering me! I don't think anyone has made me blush this much before! First you call me a nice supper, then you call me a 'prodigy,' and then you say I am my father's weakness!" He burst out laughing, although his voice turned bitter. "You don't know anything about family...I mean, first of all because any spawns you'll ever sire will be too ugly beyond belief, but because my father has three children. He won't care if you kill one, especially if it's this one."
Suddenly, he coughed and doubled down, his face crushing against the floor. Legolas soon realized he'd been kneed in the groin and then, he felt a boot against his face. He was soon pulled up again by the hair and he soon came face-to-face with a crooked-looking knife and the scorched, closed-up face of the orc leader.
"Listen here princey. If you don't shut up this instance and start talking about useful things, I will mess up your pretty face so hard, you won't even recognize it-"
"No, it's not worth your time."
Suddenly, all orcs shrieked and stood up immediately. The words were calm and soothing, but still they caused fear throughout all the orc ranks. Legolas was immediately dropped against the floor but dragged himself up so he could sit, watching as Bulgan's muscular form entered the picture. He had more scars from the battle and look twice as meaner than before, if not angrier. Instantly, as he stepped in, in a split second far faster than anything he'd ever seen, he beheaded the leader orc and stepped in front of Legolas. He looked around with a questioning look, commanding a demanding presence.
"You haven't got anything from the runt?"
"N-No my lord. He remains uncooperative," stuttered one of the orcs backing off.
Bulgan only snorted. He stepped forward and kicked the former orc leader's loose head, making it fly several feet away. He made everybody flinch and then he looked down at the elf, using his sharp boot to tilt his head a bit upward so that he could face Bulgan, face-to-face.
"So, you're the son of the dirty Thranduil?" he snapped. Although Legolas found out that his tone was exceptionally calm for an orc, and especially since he, Silad and Estel had just killed 3/5 of his camp and burned it down.
"Yes," he said. His throat was dry from the lack of water and the beating up. But it had warmed up a little bit after the sassy confrontation he'd had with the orcs earlier, so he felt a bit better talking to the orc.
"You've caused me a lot of trouble, son of Thranduil," said Bulgan. He kicked his head down and managed to get a groan out of Legolas. He then ordered all of the orcs out, which they did rather eagerly, and he started circling around Legolas with his sharp blade out, like an eagle surrounding its vulnerable prey. "You kill my camp, you burn it down and you kill my son in the way. There is perhaps no reason for me to keep you alive."
"I know," shrugged Legolas, pushing himself until he finally managed to look up and force his rather swollen face to look at Bulgan's. Then he smiled. "Although I didn't kill your son. I am told my friend did it."
"Ah, yes. Your 'friend'...the traitor," he growled angrily, but then he flashed him a counterfeit sweet smile. He kicked him in the groin and laughed even louder and Legolas wheezed a little, making him laugh. Apparently his pain made him happier. "But I must admit it was clever. Not many can hide under my nose. Especially not filthy humans."
Legolas scowled. "He's filthy in the outside, yes. But he's got the best heart one can ever have, something you won't get, not even in a thousand lives. He's a special boy."
"You are fond of him," smirked the orc, his lips (Or were they? They looked more like toads) curled up together in some sort of grim satisfaction.
"In a way...why?"
"Listen to me, young one. I know what you did. I know what you took. And you know what? It doesn't really matter. Even if the boy survived the incident, he'll either die from his injuries out in the wilderness or he'll die by the scouts I sent to hunt him down. Either way, your land will fall and burn. My army will arrive there in two days time and I will be King!"
Estel, thought Legolas weakly. He wanted very well to ask him where his scouts were and when he'd sent them but he knew there were more pressing matters. His heart was torn apart, until his patriotism growled, screaming out the loudest.
"You? KING?" snorted Legolas in disbelief. "My people would rather fight to the death than let you sit in my father's throne. You are not worthy to be even alive, much less to hold a title."
"Let them die then!" smirked Bulgan even more widely. "Let them fight. I do not want to rule your people, although extra servants would do me nicely. Consider it a challenge, son of Thranduil. You will all die...but I have a proposition."
Angrily, Legolas glared and between gritted teeth replied: "I'm listening."
"I will let your people go. I will let them leave for a few minutes before I sack and burn your kingdom and your oh-so precious woods. Then I will rule my orcs there and I will spare them. I will also delay my scouts and let your fond little human boy get to Mirkwood in safety, if he even knows where it is. But there is a price for every proposition and every deal, of course. And for the safety of the boy and your people, I want you and your family's head on a stake. And I want to know where your father keeps his treasure."
Legolas hissed. "NEVER. Even if you offered them the choice, they would never do that. There is something you should know about my people, Bulgan. They NEVER give up. They NEVER cower. They NEVER flee from a fight. Kill me, kill my people, kill my family if you can even try to get close to them...but our legacy will go on."
"Oh, so the little princeling wants to play noble?" laughed Bulgan, cackling to himself as he grabbed his sword. "Well then, perhaps a few words from my friend here will dissuade you-"
Suddenly, he stopped. He craned his ear to listen and so did Legolas. His heightened senses struggled because of his injuries but then...he got it. The sound of whizzing arrows. The sound of agile boots slipping through the mud and performing flawless kicks. The sound of them running and the sound of swords slicing through orcs like butter. Of daggers digging into flesh. Of arms giving punches and of orc corpses falling down upon the ground.
The smell of death.
Bulgan scowled, making sure he kicked the elf a few more times with his sharpened boots in the elf's face and grabbed his sword. He got closer to the stairs, which led to a hatch that could open and lead them up. He looked up and then growled at the guards in charge.
"What the blazes is going on there?!"
Suddenly, the hatch immediately opened and a frantic orc guard looked in. His yellow eyes were wide with fear. His left arm was chopped off and was gurgling with blood uncontrollably, as were his both legs, who were both full of various knife puncture wounds.
"W-We're being attacked!" he shrieked frantically as he looked down at Bulgan. "T-They ambushed us, my lord! They came out of nowhere!"
"Who came out of nowhere?" growled Bulgan angrily.
The orc however, before he could even speak, suddenly stopped in place. Frozen in fear, he turned around as the hurried sound of footsteps came towards him and in a split second, he found an immaculate arrow lodged through his throat. For a moment, he stood there, clutching his bleeding throat when suddenly, someone came forward and beheaded him with one slash, unceremonially kicking his corpse out of the way. Behind him someone swiftly picked up the arrow and put it back into its sheath.
"He-llo, Commander Douchebag!" grinned the first figure with a loud, exuberant voice, showing two rows of cunning alabaster white teeth and swinging his bloody sword in the air, as if doing a demonstration. "Who are we?"
"We are your worst nightmare!" responded the second figure, stepping next to the swordsman and had an arrow nocked in his bow. "And you just happen to have one of our friends, so we want him back."
From the rim of his vision, which was becoming increasingly blurry in the moment because of all his injuries, he could see the orc leader facing the two identical-looking dark-haired elves, who were dressed in battle armor and drenched in orc blood. The orc leader flashed them a smug grin. "Ha! You're in no position to threaten me, elfling! Even if you can try to kill me when hundreds of others have failed, you will ALL DIE! Your race will fall, starting with the Mirkwood strain...then one by one, slowly...you will all be consumed by our armies!"
"What do you mean?" frowned Elrohir, the most insightful one of the twins. "Whose armies? What-?"
"I don't care. Come on Ro, go shoot him in the face!" exclaimed Elladan eagerly, brandishing his sword.
Elrohir sighed but he still fired a warning shot. It whizzed so quickly, Bulgan didn't even have time to blink and the arrow pierced his knee, protruding out from both sides. He let out a devilish howl but recovered quickly, yanking it off. Then, Elladan engaged in a cruel swordfight with him. Bulgan turned out to be a hard enemy, dodging and parrying easily and sending the elf flying a couple of times, forming some painful bruises there and there. Still, Elrohir always backed Elladan up, shooting his deadly arrows at the orc, although he was sometimes able to avoid them. Currently, after at least an hour's worth of fighting Elladan was still fighting and holding his ground, as was Elrohir. And although both brothers had earned a handful of new bruises and injuries, the most they could score out of Bulgan were a few tiny cuts and a limping knee. As Elladan and Bulgan simply became blurs of steel and body parts, Elrohir knelt next to Legolas. His brow was furrowed in concern, giving an uncanny resemblance of his father.
"Mellon," he said soothingly. "Can you hear me? It's Elrohir."
Legolas coughed a bit, specks of blood littering the ground as he slowly stood up with Elrohir's aid. Leaning against the wall, Legolas' dark and slightly blurry vision started to swirl and he could barely see Elrohir. However, he mustered the last of his consciousness and strength to reply. "I hear you."
"Good...we will get you out soon, brother. We promise. Now...your companion, a boy named Estel. Do you know where he is? We intend to take him out and escape with him as well," said Elrohir, worry seeping into his words.
Suddenly, Legolas' eyes widened in horror, not even thinking about asking how the twins knew the boy. Elrohir frowned, not liking where this was going. "Legolas...what is wrong?"
"I-It's Estel. T-They've sent scouts for him...he will be dead in minutes."
O-O-O
Thranduil tossed a stick into the fire absently.
The flames swirled as it fell with the other dry twigs he had told the boy to recollect. And while the boy annoyed him into oblivion, with his whiny voice, huge pride and unconditional sass, he turned out to be way more obedient than he'd expected and more efficient. They had a fire going now and Thranduil had gone hunting just a while ago, gaining more than enough food for both of them...oh yes, and for the horse.
Talking about the horse, he turned to his right. It had taken a few 'naps' during the day and he had let it rest for a while (and trust him, it was not a sight to remember) in a glade, so now it was full of energy. He'd left it roaming for a while but it had eventually returned, eating some grass just next to some berry bushes Thranduil had found and deemed non-poisonous. That was unfortunate. A dead horse would be a nice sight indeed, although it meant longer transportation time. He'd be willing to take that risk to abandon that stupid horse though.
He looked to his left. The boy had regained some color so that was a good sign. His skin had gone from pale to rosy pink and currently he slept in bliss, his breathing going through a steady rhythm. He had also cured the boy of his injuries and now most of them were either bound, non-infected and healing, giving him the scent of fresh herbs and crisp bandages. He was sound asleep, lost in whatever he was dreaming about and Thranduil knew it was perhaps one of the first times the boy had ever slept well throughout his journey.
He was probably not going to wake until late next morning, because of all the long tedious hours they'd spent traveling towards Mirkwood...but Thranduil was all right with that. He didn't mind taking watch, he wasn't that tired anyways.
Thranduil sighed, looking back into the fire. The words the human said still revolved around his mind, swirling like the flames in the fire. "How can you? How can you just abandon your son back there to the mercy of the orcs? Why don't you at least try to rescue him before telling your people? Don't you feel...remorse?
What kind of father are you?"
Perhaps this was why his stupid son had chosen him as a companion, despite his incredible annoyance...he was not a bad boy. Maybe it wasn't noticeable but he was special. He had good morals, a willing loyal heart and that power to move people. That power that could make you simply abandon whatever you were doing, sit, and think about yourself. It was enigmatic and yet...it was as if the boy could crawl into your heart, no matter how long you'd met him.
The King shook his head. If only the boy knew. Being a father was not an easy task and while his children had all turned out great, he knew it was only because of the unfortunate circumstances they'd all gone through. They'd grown strong from their pain...and Thranduil still had that guilt that he'd never helped at all. That he'd never spent enough time with them or shown them how he really cared.
But being a father and a king was an even harder task. How could you try to worry about your own flesh and blood when thousands of your other children were out there starving and dying? He couldn't satisfy his own children's needs because...his other children came first. His people. They were the priority. Nobody else. He had devoted his life to serving them, to protect them, to keep them away from the malice that crumbled his realm. Was he really selfish enough to just let them go while he took care of his own?
He could never do that.
But it was an interesting question, the one the boy had asked. What kind of father was he?
You're a terrible father, said one side of his conscience. You neglected your children when they needed you most. You abandoned them for your own selfish needs. And you would abandon them in the future when they ask for your help. You lack a heart for them, you lack time and you lack comfort. You barely show that you care for them, much less love them...They probably already hate you.
He flinched at that.
However, his other conscience said the following. You are a good father but you're misunderstood. You want to show them that you love them because you really do and if you had the choice, you would sacrifice the world for them. But you cannot, because duty calls louder. You need to help your people before you help your own. That's just how it's been. That's just how it will always be.
And then...it wasn't his mind or his conscience. It was his heart that spoke.
You're just a father.
Argh! He buried his head inside his hands. See? This was the very reason he'd told Miluneth he'd never wanted children. They were TOO confusing. You never knew what they wanted or what they would be or what they were thinking. It was so expecting. Did they think he was Galadriel? He couldn't mind read all his children to see what they wanted! In all parenting meant drama, and Thranduil just wasn't cut for that kind of stuff.
A wind blew through the air suddenly and he sighed. He couldn't feel the cold anyway so it didn't really matter. The wind was getting serious though, blowing with more and more intensity. Maybe they'd have to relocate soon. He checked the skies. It was dark and clear, so no signs of a storm were brewing yet thankfully. The fire was crackling though and tiny sparks were forming. The flames were dwindling, their dance fading and the dancers becoming thinner and thinner, until they were barely long fiery strands, almost about to be rid of all the warmth they'd provided.
He heard a chatter and he looked back to his left. The boy was chattering now and had huddled into a far more tight protective ball, trying to seclude himself from the cold. He had his arms wrapped around himself and he was unconsciously shaking, goosebumps forming all over his skin and his breath had turning ragged as well.
Thranduil cast a nostalgic look at the boy. With a slightly begrudging sigh, he clipped out his own cloak and walked quietly towards where this Estel slept. He took the cloak and carefully so to not wake him up, laid it over him.
He stood up and unconsciously smiled slightly, watching as the boy calmed down with the comfort and warmth and settled back into his former relaxed position. He reminded him of Legolas in a way. His youngest had always had trouble sleeping and before the incident, he'd often come and tuck him into bed. Miraculously...his son always claimed he'd slept well all the nights he'd spent with him.
Thranduil sighed, shaking his head as he relieved old memories. He was going to get more wood for the fire.
He walked away.
O-O-O
AN: So...the twins save the day! Yay! Good for them, they needed to have their little spotlight moment. Anyways, just wanted to thank those who've been continuing. I know some people kind of went into hiatus from reading my stuff but that's okay. But thanks for all the support guys! It doesn't matter if you read, reviewed, pressed 'favorite' or 'follow.' You guys are great and I couldn't have done this without you! This is nearly done...wow! Only about four chapters to go I think! That's amazing and once again, I couldn't have done it without you guys, so thanks.
Also, a teeny spoiler for the next chapter: it's reunion time!
Oh and by the way, has anybody seen or re-watched the BATTLE OF FIVE ARMIES? Because it is SO AMAZING! Everything was so flawless, although I expected some other things. Hopefully they will all add those in the extended...But if you need anyone to discuss with, or wherever you live there's nobody to talk to or fangirl/fanboy about, it's okay. My inbox will always be open for you guys! :)
Anyways, awesome reviews from awesome people:
Masked Man 2: Thank you! It was intense and it took me an awful lot to write. This chapter was a teeny bit more calm, emotional and humorous. The horse POVs helped a lot, I believe! So unlike what you thought, Estel is going to Mirkwood. Or well, is he...? Haha, I must admit I never expected for Estel and Thranduil to be such "travel buddies" but I suppose I come up with unexpected things on the way. Anyways, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Emi the Ninja: ProbablyNámo/Mandos felt very Christmas-y and wanted to give them a gift. LOL, just kidding! Not going to happen ever. But still, I guess that they both have the worst fate together...but they also have the most luck. Haha, anyways, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Guest: Oh ho ho! Aren't you a smart reader? Yes, you were right! It was indeed an elf as you can see, it was Thranduil. You pick up things very quickly, don't you? Congrats and thank you for your compliments! I will try to update more quickly though, my lack of free time is making everything very tiring. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
Schattenjagd: Haha, no problem! I understand how technology is these days. When they work well, you love 'em, when they don't work well, you don't. And haha, it's okay about the Valar. They're all so unique and interesting I recommend checking out the Silmarillion to refresh your mind. And Legolas' darker side will be discussed...after all, he stays like that for centuries. You ought to like that. But about the sword...you are right in a way. But I believe that Raknak sort of underestimated Estel, so he/I might've been careless. Oh and about that hug Legolas needs...very funny! Haha, I don't think so. Besides, how are my names complicated? Yours are really long! Like Eyeanne? Eyaenne? That's hard to spell. But anyways, thank you for all the compliments and Merry Christmas! Have a Happy New Year!
Guest: Aw, thank you! And I will always try to upload as quickly as I can. Time is as lacking as always. But regardless of that, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!
Guest: Thanks! Aw, that's so sweet of you. I appreciate it so much and I will truly try to do so! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!