Disclaimer: I own none of the recognizable characters in this story—they all belong to JRR Tolkien and New Line.
Wherever the Surge May Sweep
By Jame K.
Chapter Twelve: Desolate Shores
In the bitter waves of woe,
Beaten and tossed about
By the sullen winds which blow
From the desolate shores of doubt.
- Washington Gladden
Orcs had not made a concentrated attack on the realm of Lothlorien since the initial rampage following the collapse of Greenwood. Darkness spread and thickened through out Middle-earth, devouring towns and children. But despite the long shadows that such blackness cast over the forest, Lothlorien remained an island haven in the mist of the dark sea – in spite of the occasional orc raid.
It was these irregular raids that called for the large patrols that circled the border of the peaceful forest like clockwork. Tall, proud elven warriors who were not afraid to perish for the sake of their homeland battled the orcs and kept the forest safe from all manner of intruders.
Therefore, the contingent of twenty warriors that were currently moving on the east border did not think it out of the ordinary when a band of orcs came over the far hill and rushed towards them with their battle axes and crude swords raised high above their ugly heads. They readied their own weapons and sent a single messenger to alert the other patrols of the trouble.
By the time they realized that the band of orcs was an army – it was just too late and there was nothing they could do.
Legolas had bathed Estel in a starlit pond. When Glorfindel had asked in a sotto voice that barely rose about the rustling of the tress why he was doing such a thing, the blond elf had shaken his head and turned his face away. He could not speak – there were not the words in his heart to explain his actions.
He had scrubbed clean the boy's skin – scrubbed layer after layer of travel dirt away until the skin was pink and glowing and alive. He had rubbed soap into the boy's hair and then washed it out and brushed the dark strands until they shone dully in the starlight. And he did not allow himself to think.
Estel groggily awoke as Legolas carried him back to the talan the elves of Lothlorien had provided for them. He blinked sleepily for several moments and then smiled at the elf – a weak twitch of lethargic face muscles. He did not say a word as Legolas dressed him in soft, gray nightclothes nor when the elf laid him gently in the nest of blankets that served as a sort of bed. Legolas looked into the boy's eyes and knew that Estel felt – saw – the agony lingering in Legolas's heart. The boy did not know the cause of Legolas pain – there was no way that he could have – but he allowed Legolas to tend to him like a child instead of the boy of thirteen years that he was. And after a few moments, he drifted off to sleep again.
A chill was lingering in the still air so Legolas took special care to tuck the white blanket in around the boy's limp, warm body. He ran a rough towel over Estel's hair and squeezed the last moisture from the thick waves – humans caught colds so easily and Estel hated to be sick.
Then he sat with his back ramrod straight and hands tightly clenched in his lap. He did not move – did not look at anyone save the sleeping boy lying before him. His chest seemed to barely rise and fall.
When Glorfindel laid a hand on his shoulder, Legolas knew that the older elf found his own smooth skin to be very cold.
Legolas had not acknowledged the elf lord's startled concern and a sort of pity grew in his heart as the elf ran off in search of another blanket. Did not Glorfindel know the truth? The chill that consumed him came from within – there was no outward warmth that would cure this malady. And then, Legolas wondered just briefly, how cold he would be if Estel actually… actually died.
So Legolas did not allow himself to sleep. He watched the small chest expand and deflate with each breath and then modulated his own breathing to match. He traced each line – each wrinkle – each tiny imperfection and perfection of the boy's face. He had to memorize it. If the worst should happen, Legolas could not allow himself to forget the face that had come to mean so much to him.
Once – when the moon was at its zenith and the wood was quiet – Legolas dared to touch the still face, dared to run a finger over the rounded ears. And then he dared to allow a few tears to burst from his eyes and run to trickle off of his jaw line. But that was all of his emotions he permitted to escape. The morning would require strength beyond what Legolas had ever been required to give.
But – he – could – not – would – not – fail.
If failure did occur and if the next time the moon found him Legolas was alone – well, there was no emotion in the world that would aptly express what he would be feeling in the empty desolateness of the night.
When the moon began to descend – but before the Eastern sky began to turn a dusky blue – Legolas moved for the first time in hours. He stood and went to where his horse was tied. There was an odd automaton quality to his movements and his blue eyes were still and glassy – the calm before the hurricane. Any light that had been in his eyes the day before had faded to join the glowing of the sun.
Dew had begun to settle on the long grasses and Legolas spared a glance to their jeweled sparkles as he strapped his weapons onto his back and clutched his bow tightly in his pale-knuckled hand – they were stars fallen to earth but still glowing of heaven's majesty.
The knees of his leggings had been soaked when he kneeled in the grass at Estel's side but it did not matter. All that mattered was the spark of life in the boy's storm gray eyes when Legolas shook him into wakefulness.
"We must leave," Legolas said and he was surprised how much his voice rasped over the simple words.
Estel looked up at the dark sky then at the stillness of the wood around him. When he turned back to Legolas, his gaze had been full of trust. "All right." He stood and shivered mildly in the chill pre-dawn air.
Legolas saw the tiny movement and draped a thick wool cloak about the thin shoulders. "We will take my horse," he murmured and pressed a knife into Estel's hand. "We must be quiet. Keep close."
When they were both settled on the horse, Estel leaned back against Legolas's chest and the elf wrapped one hand around the boy's wrist. As they left, Legolas looked behind and saw the knowing eyes of Glorfindel watching him.
For a moment, Legolas panicked and his breath caught. He wildly tightened his grip on Estel and stared back with absolute horror.
Then the elf lord smiled with a tinge of sadness around his eyes and wrinkles creasing across his normally smooth, white forehead. He nodded to the younger elf and then raised his hand in a mute farewell – a silent acknowledgment of Legolas's duty. Without ever making a single sound, Glorfindel turned and disappeared into the lightening shadows of the Golden Woods.
Lothlorien was so quiet and Legolas found that lack of sound disturbed him more than he thought it would. His eyes darted into the boughs of each tree and he held Estel tightly at every discreet rustle nature made. Icy water had settled deep in the pit of his intestines and seemed to slosh up against the soft throb of his heart with every step the horse took.
Fear – Legolas was afraid because he had never gone up against two powerful ring-bearers before. Fear – Legolas was afraid because if this desperate escape attempt failed, Estel – hope – would be lost into the abyss of death.
And they almost made it.
They left Caras Galadhon behind as the dawn was beginning to glow. They were halfway up the footpath to the miles of wilderness that was considered a part of Lothlorien. With the coming dawn, a silver mist had descended upon the elven valley and Legolas had been inexplicably comforted by the concealing cover and the illusion of safety that the fog provided. Estel had fallen asleep against Legolas's heart and his even breathing was the only sound as the sun rose.
Legolas felt the icy water filling his innards drip away – he could hide in the woods with Estel for weeks if the need be. He was a wood elf after all. He knew more about trees and nature than any elf in Imladris or Lothlorien. Yes, he could stay hidden if he wished.
But he never made it to the woods.
Elven warriors materialized out of the mist – blond hair gleamed in the first rays of sunlight. Hands the color of ripened wheat held the thick, two-handed swords that had made the Galadhrim famous. Cold eyes stared at Legolas as he clutched the boy tighter – inadvertently waking him.
"The boy is all we require, my King," one warrior said formally, his hand outstretched. "No harm will come to you."
"Legolas…" Estel murmured.
The elf placed one hand on the boy's lips. Legolas wanted to cover Estel's eyes – did not want the child to see the gleaming of steel swords or the hardened faces. "Hush, just rest."
Then he turned to the warriors. "I am the king of Greenwood – and you forbid me passage into the woods? That is a cause for war."
"We follow the orders of the Lady. You will give us the boy."
Legolas touched the flanks of his horse. "You cannot command me, soldier." And the horse leaped forwards.
Under the swinging hooves, the warriors scattered – but only for a moment. As Legolas charged towards the dark green tree line, he could hear the sounds of bows being drawn.
"Legolas?" and Estel's voice was distinctly panicked as he reached across the bond for reassurance. "Legolas?"
"Hush, little one."
An arrow zipped by and imbedded in the ground several yards ahead. Then another. And another. Legolas ducked low. It was only a matter of time until they stopped shooting to scare them – and started shooting to maim. He whispered in elvish to the fleet horse beneath him. She was a good horse – she would obey him and she would go much faster with just one rider on her back.
"Estel," he said and his voice only shook a little. "I want you to ride for Archet, all right? As fast as you can. Stay with Idella and Bartmelou – they will care for you and Mithrandir will come for you. Do you understand?"
There was jerk nod against his chest. "But what about you?"
"I will see you again." And the calm that had been so carefully preserved in Legolas's eyes vanished in that moment. His false peace vanished in the same moment that the steel tip of an arrow thudded dully into his shoulder – slicing through thick muscle and sinew – slicing until it impacted with the bone.
A gasp was torn from Legolas and he leaned forwards – smelling Estel's hair – feeling the warm shoulders. And then he was falling. He tumbled to the ground and landed in the soft pine needles. His head struck the earth and a thousand bursts of light covered the growing day.
He groaned and rolled onto his side, just in time to see Estel vanish into the safety of the woods. Legolas smiled as the tension of bunched muscles fled and his eyes closed. He had saved his Estel – his hope. Warm scents filled his nostrils – pine needles, sap, heady pollen, and rich blood.
The boy reached across the bond and he sent back another urge for the boy to flee far away and never come back – not for him. A mental sob was the only response and the connection faded as Legolas created a wall around his pain.
Strong, rough hands gripped him, rolled him over, shook him, fumbled at his neck for his pulse.
"Your majesty? I did not mean…"
"Get the boy!"
Running feet and horses' sharp neighs.
Legolas shook his head as arms tried to hoist him into the air. "No!" He took a deep breath and forced the strength back into his limbs. It was just a shoulder wound – he had been through many a battle with worse wounds than this. So he stood and took a deep breath. He shooed away the reaching hands and stumbled in the direction Estel had gone – he had to see… had to see if he had succeeded.
He was just in time to see the horse come thundering back towards him – Estel clutching to its mane.
"Legolas!" the boy shouted as the horse's hooves dug into the soft ground as she came to an abrupt halt in front of her master. "Legolas!" The boy's hair was wild and dark. "You fell! I could not leave you."
Defeat banged upon golden cymbals in Legolas's mind. But, when he looked into the wide, honest, caring gray eyes, the elf could not bring himself to be angry. Sadness – rich, devouring sadness – filled him and he pulled the boy from the horse and held him against his chest.
Dull, meaningless thoughts crossed his mind as the warriors drew closer to him. The first time he had held Estel – the boy's first step – his first word – knife lessons – when their bond had been created. Good memories – and after today, all that he had would be just good memories of a life gone beyond recall.
He did not speak as the guards led him back to Caras Galadhon with Estel held tightly against his chest. He could not. The arrow still in his shoulder throbbed but the sensation did not even reach his addled brain. There were no words.
Legolas could not keep his eyes off Estel. The beautiful boy that had become like his son – the child that had been with almost every day for the past thirteen years – this amazing boy who's light would soon be extinguished in the darkness of Middle-earth. And Legolas felt that if he looked away – the boy would vanish and there would be no time for one last goodbye.
In the maelstrom of thoughts, he was only marginally aware of the white, fraying bandage wrapped around his throbbing shoulder and the gentle, but firm hands clasping his upper arms.
"For your own good," Celeborn had said earlier when he had brought the guards to Legolas, his hand, gesturing first to the guards and then to the sedative the healer had given to Legolas. "To make sure that you do nothing to harm yourself."
Legolas had not cared. His hands had twisted inside his shirt and his eyes had stared blankly ahead in the direction they had taken Estel after they had ripped him from his arms. His mouth held the nasty aftertaste of the medicine the healer had just forced down his throat.
"Legolas," Celeborn had said with a deep sigh, "if you do not cooperate, I will keep you locked in this room until it is all over."
The words had pierced deeply into Legolas's psyche and he had reared backwards, eyes wild with fear. "No. I must say goodbye. They do not know where the souls of the mortal men go. They do not know. No one knows. I may not see him again. This could be the last time I will see him. He may be gone forever. His soul could be lost in the stars. I could never…" his mumbling voice dragged off and he had shivered as his arms had gone around his chest. "I will cooperate."
"Good." Celeborn had walked away.
And now Legolas stood near the silvery white of Galadriel's throne and kept his eyes on the small boy standing before Galadriel. He could see the dim, grayish cloud of fear rise off Estel's shoulders.
Do not be afraid, he wanted to say to the boy, I am here. I will protect you as I have always done. Everything will be fine.
But he would not say it. It was a lie. And he had never lied to Estel.
Now and then, Estel looked back at him. Wide gray eyes and trembling mouth. Little hands clenched into fists – Legolas wanted to loosen the fingers and put salve on the little half-moon scratches he knew would be on the palms. And when their eyes would meet, Legolas would smile a little – encouraging.
If the end comes, he would say to the boy if he could, I will hold you. I will sing you to sleep. And you will be the lucky one for the world will be a much darker place once your light is gone. But do not fear. I will be with you to the end. I will not let you be afraid. I will not let you feel any pain.
Dull awareness of the rest of his surroundings lingered in the back of his mind. Legolas was aware of Elrond standing just to the right of him, watching him with concerned, fatherly eyes.
Yes, Elrond, Legolas answered the elf lord's unspoken question in his head. Yes, if this boy dies – I will depart over the sea, for my hope will have been murdered with him. And, yes, you will be a murderer and I will never let you forget that. And… someday… you will see how wrong you have been.
Galadriel spoke to Estel in that soft, deep, lethal voice of hers and Legolas made a half-hearted effort to lunge from the guards' hands and go to Estel.
Their hands tightened about him and his shoulder yanked in the restraint as the rest of his body surged forwards. Wounded fire spread down from the area and Legolas sagged in their grips with an almost silent moan breathing past his lips.
But, Estel – his Estel, the beautiful child that was so closely in tune with the elf's feelings – heard the bare noise that not even Galadriel with all of her elven hearing had caught. His head snapped towards Legolas and he took one step towards him. The magical white light had washed out his normally tan face and made his hair seem so dark against the paleness of his forehead and cheeks. "Legolas?"
Legolas bit his lip and took a deep breath through his nose. Control the pain, he told himself harshly, for Estel. And in the quiet desperateness of the moment, he realized that everything he had done since his father had died had been for Estel. His inhalation rasped loudly across his throat as he tried to gain his feet. One last deed for Estel and then Legolas would – could – do no more.
"Are you all right?" Estel's eyes were locked on his face and he darted forwards when the guards pulled a little too abruptly on Legolas's wounded shoulder. "Stop it! You are hurting him."
Small hands, slightly roughened from days of work, pressed into Legolas's back and arm in an awkward hug. The nut brown face leaned down so the mouth was level with Legolas's ear. "I do not know what they mean. They say I have darkness in me. I am not dark, am I?"
Legolas's knees would not hold him so he sank dully to the ground. His whirling thoughts calmed slightly as the scent of Estel drifted up to him. They had not done away with the boy yet. That was good. A lethargic smile crossed his face as Estel continued to look at him.
"Are you well?" Estel's brow puckered above Legolas and the dry, rough hands were on Legolas's forehead. He looked worried.
Dim acknowledgment of this fact filtered into Legolas's brain and he frowned. He opened his mouth to tell the boy that he could never be evil. He wanted to erase the lines of worry and doubt on the boy's fresh and smooth skin. But his tongue – the consistency of dry hay and cotton – was too heavy within his mouth. He tried again and an inarticulate grunt answered Estel's concerned eyes.
"You are not well," Estel said and Legolas was confused at the fear tingeing the quiet words. "He is not well." The louder voice hurt Legolas's sensitive ears. "What did you do to him?"
Galadriel's voice murmured somewhere in the background accompanied by Elrond's soft baritone but Legolas could make out none of it.
"Something to help him…"
"Relax… he was very upset…"
"You had no right!"
He was floating in warm, tranquil water – and the sun was touching his face – and the breeze was dancing over his lips. Hands gripped him harder and his brow furrowed just before a sudden shout cut through the idyllic paradise his mind had created. Warm water and gentle sunlight faded to be replaced by the harsh, white light and cool marble against his back.
His mind struggled to focus as the random smudges of color coalesced into the more tangible figures of Estel – clinging tightly to Legolas's arms – and two elven guards – trying to pull Estel away from Legolas.
And the raw animal was imbedded in his eyes as Legolas came alive, clutching Estel, bruising the boy's skin. He was a wolf and this was a member of his pride. He was a bear and this was his cub. Protective instincts were strong in animals and in this moment, they were strong in Legolas. But even he was surprised when a growl slid passed his lips as the guards yanked on the boy again. Mine.
He heard vaguely – as if the voices were from a deep cave beneath the earth and he was drifting high above in the clouds – gentle, soothing voices. They were telling him to just let the boy go – it would be all right – just release your grip – relax, Legolas – everything will be fine – we will take care of the boy – just let go.
Legolas tightened his grip.
Voices in his head. Voices in his ears. Hands pulling at his shoulders. And Estel's raspy sobs as he slowly was detached from Legolas.
His knuckles tightened as Legolas tried to pull Estel back to him. He could not see – could not see Estel's face! Streaks of yellow striped across his vision and distorted everything into dim, obscure shadows. What if this was the last time he saw Estel… and he could not even take one last look at his face? Legolas shook his head.
Then – just when Estel's fingers slipped from Legolas and Legolas felt his drug-addled brain begin to tumble into complete obscurity – there were thundering footsteps on the delicate steps.
A herd of oliphants? No – somehow Legolas knew it was Glorfindel. The way the smudge carried itself with a distinctly stubborn bearing. Glorfindel and… Elladan? Why had they come? Would they save Estel?
The tugging of Estel ceased and the boy sprang back into Legolas's arms. The elf's shoulder screamed as Legolas wavered backwards but he barely heard Estel's quick apology as Glorfindel's voice rose out of the muddle.
"There are orcs, my lady. Lord Celeborn and Lord Elrond and you are all needed at the outpost. We fear they will break our lines without the rings." His voice was quick and tense – so unlike Glorfindel's normally loud, self-assured voice that echoed across crowded, stifling meeting halls.
Legolas could smell Estel's hair again. He could feel the small muscles and smooth skin. He could still not see so he ran his fingers across the straight cheekbones and the soft curve of the jaw. He thought briefly about standing but ruled the possibility out as his muscles began to spasm within him.
His chin resting on Estel's hair, Legolas turned nebulous blue eyes – filled with desperate worry – towards where Celeborn, Galadriel, Elrond, and Glorfindel stood together. The guards were still at his back but – if he closed his eyes – he could imagine the forest on a bright day – just walking in sunlight.
But he could not close his eyes. Not when he saw a small vial filled with silvery fluid pass from Elrond's hand to Glorfindel's. Not when the three high-ranking elves swept from the throne room and left them alone.
The world merged and drifted in a mix of dull pastels – a silky mist that felt thick and heavy on Legolas's face. When the world once again sharpened, the guards were gone and Glorfindel was kneeling besides them.
"What is wrong with him?"
"I do not know." Estel had pulled back slightly and turned to Glorfindel with bright eyes. "He is quiet… I do not know if he even understands…"
Legolas grunted. One hand wavered outwards and then plummeted to catch Glorfindel's sleeve. "My friend." His voice rasped over his throat and a strange feeling – was nausea the word mortals used? – had settled in his stomach. "Do you intend to take him from me as well?"
Glorfindel did not answer. His noble face seemed to grow wiser and Legolas wondered if this is how he had looked when he had slain the Balrog so many centuries prior. "We come to take you both away, my king. An escape away from Lothlorien. Can you stand?"
A strong arm slid beneath his knees and shoulders. Legolas moaned and forced his head to lie still against Glorfindel's shoulder. That strange nausea rolled through him once again as he was hefted into the air.
"There is a horse," murmured the legendary warrior in his ear. "For you and Estel. Elladan and I will escort you to the edge of the forest. We have heard tell of rangers lingering Drimrill Dale. Their base is near the mountains, a one day ride from the Gladden River. Halbarad is among them – he will see you well."
The words flowed through and over Legolas – some making sense and others simply disappearing into the air. He nodded in bare comprehension. He would not question this chance at escape – he would travel across the Misty Mountains or crawl through the searing deserts of Harad if Estel's life would be the prize.
So, he held his body stiffly upright when he was placed astride upon a strong, wide horse and wrapped his trembling arms around Estel when the boy was set down in front of him.
But, despite his best intentions, as the horse began to gallop through the woods and Legolas could dimly see Glorfindel's flaxen hair as he led them both to safely, Legolas fell into drugged sleep. Even in the world of dreams, however, he still did not tumble from the horse.
Saruman roared in rage when the cowering orc informed him of their failure to capture Heir of Isildur. He roared again when he realized how soundly his orcs had been beaten by the elven forces.
The orc, however, did not live to hear Saruman's third roar of rage as the wizard discovered that the blasted Heir of Isildur had made his way into the welcoming hands of the rangers. And that elf was still with him.
Drastic measures would have to be taken if they wished to sway the boy to their own devious plots. And they would be taken – too much had been invested in this for them to stop halfway.
He would not allow his plans to fail.
But, meanwhile, there was still Rohan and Gondor to deal with.
to be continued.