XIV

A Pair of Horse-thieves

Rules are for breaking, Maidh used to say, but then Maidh spent more time on kitchen duty than all the other palace guards combined.

Legolas glanced over his shoulder.

The woods were empty. There was no one there to see him. He could cross the fourth stream and no one would ever know.

The ice moaned ominously when he stepped on it, but it held. Legolas walked hastily over and went on without another glance back - if he thought too much, maybe he'd start thinking about that time he left camp in the shadow-wood, and Tinuhen slapping him. Those weren't good memories, even though it was a good thing they'd found Tuiw.

But it was different this time, because this wasn't the shadow-wood and he wasn't going to find a dead person. Dead people don't spar with each other.

Legolas stopped to listen. The sounds of swordplay were close now, but he could not hear any voices. He followed the sounds up a hill so steep he had to climb parts of the way on his hands and knees; perhaps he could have walked around it, but from the summit he might be able to look down without being seen, and he did not want to be seen. Legolas could think of three people who might have reason to be sparring to far from the house with its practise rangers: one of them had told him never to spy on him again, and the other two would probably kill him if they found him doing it.

Pulling his inconsiderable weight over the rocky ridge, he sank down beneath a thick spruce and made sure the fur cloak covered him completely. Before him, the ground sloped somewhat gentler to an opening in the trees, and he could see it clearly. It was as he had thought. Two people stood below the hill with the sleeves of their linen shirts rolled up and sweat beading their faces. It was the twins, of course. Their hair was tied back in leather straps and they faced each other, long-swords in hand, but for the moment they had paused. They must have come out here to be alone - away from all those who backed out of rooms when they entered, and those who looked at them sadly in the corner of their eyes. Maybe this was where they had been every day when they rode out.

Elladan had a dark bruise beneath one eye and Elrohir had a gash across his cheek that had bled for long enough to soak the collar of his shirt. They weren't using practise swords. Legolas had a feeling the twins did not care when they got hurt; maybe they'd welcome it, and so they could beat each other mercilessly the way they would beat on their enemies. But at the moment they were talking - arguing, maybe - and Legolas could not make out much of what they said. Elladan had lowered his sword and was gesturing at the blood running freely down Elrohir's face. Elrohir snapped something angry and took a step back.

Legolas backed too. He was desperately curious, but it was none of his business - and this wasn't really like eavesdropping on father or Tinuhen. Somehow Legolas could tell it was different. He'd seen what he had come for, and he ought to leave.

He turned to silently crawl down the ridge - he must be even more careful now, now that the twins weren't busy sparring and the forest had gone quiet. Well, not entirely quiet. A willow grouse lifted from the snow a couple hundred yards away; far enough that all Legolas saw was a shadow and the flurry of snow trailing down in its wake.

He paused. Something must have startled it.

It was too early for foxes to be up and about. Legolas himself and the twins were too far away for a grouse to bother about them. Warily he stood up to see better.

A twig snapped. Something moved through the snow past the place where the willow grouse had just been. Someone.

It could be a hunter returning, or one of the foresters.

It could also be the traitor.

Legolas looked around, ready to bolt but not knowing where to. He could not stay on the ridge. He dared not climb down the way he'd come, nor did he dare to go closer to the twins. Maybe he could hide...

He stood there, hesitating, until a cold hand closed around his waist and pulled him down in the snow.

"What - are - you - doing?" Elladan hissed. "You're not supposed to be here!"

"There's someone..."

"Yes, there is someone out there. And you are not allowed to be this far from the house. Didn't anyone tell you?"

"Well - they did, but - "

"Hush", Elladan said. "Before we know who's out there and what they want, we will not let ourselves be seen - or heard. Least of all you." With a glance that clearly said stay where you are or else, Elladan let go of Legolas' wrist and straightened somewhat so he could look over the ridge. He had sheathed his sword, but had a bow in hand, and a quiver flung over his shoulder. For a moment he sat still, then he took Legolas by the arm and started walking down the slope.

"Where are we going?"

"To get a better view. Stay quiet."

Legolas stumbled after the older elf, who walked very fast and didn't have a cloak to hinder his movements. They followed the length of the hill until they saw Elrohir on his knees behind a large boulder that proved a good shelter for looking over the ridge without being seen. He had a bow too, and an arrow to the string.

Elladan placed Legolas between Elrohir and himself, as if to make sure he didn't run away.

"Have you seen anything?"

"Not much", Elrohir muttered. "There's two of them. Both Men. One appears to be injured. They're moving slowly."

It was the most words Legolas had ever heard him speak, and Elrohir's voice was faint and slightly hoarse like one that isn't used very much. He was gazing over the ridge alert and shark-eyed like a hawk, with his lips drawn in a tight line.

Elladan put his bow aside. "Let me look at your cheek now, Elrohir."

Elrohir muttered something and did not move.

"You cannot go back to the house like that. Father will..."

"Never mind father! I'm fine."

"You're not."

"Someone has to keep watch."

"I can keep watch", Legolas suggested, but Elladan gave him a glance that made him shrink where he sat like a startled young hare. He supposed the twins must had understood that he had seen them sparring, and maybe that it wasn't by accident either, and they were angry. He wanted to tell them he hadn't meant to intrude, but he didn't dare to.

"Behind you", Elladan said, "in my pack. There's a water-skin. Give it to me."

Legolas obliged. Elladan poured water on the sleeve of his shirt, moved up to sit behind Elrohir, and dabbed his cheek with the wet sleeve to clean the blood away. Elrohir flinched first, then sat still.

Legolas wanted to see the men, but he did not dare to move from where he sat. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. It became quiet, but for the snapping of twigs and the rustle of dry shrubbery as the Men slowly came closer, and the flight of startled birds before them.

"There", Elladan said at last, and wiped his bloody sleeve in the snow. "That's all I can do for now. It's not bleeding too much."

"Thanks", Elrohir mumbled and went back to his sullen silence. Then, straightening, he said: "Here they are now."

Elladan moved further up so he could see, and Legolas, unable to contain himself, moved as well. No one said anything about it so he supposed it was alright. He sank down in the shadow of the boulder and looked down.

The men came trudging through knee-high snow in the glen between the ridge and the next hill. One was tall and broad-shouldered, with fair hair bound in a tangled pony tale and clothes that had been fine in better days. His tunic was thread worn and his cloak patched many times, and the gold chains and twin gold brooches keeping it together had lost their shine. The sword-belt hung too low on his hips as if he had lost a lot of weight since he had it made. He looked strong but weary to the bone.

The second man was short and lean and his hair was a darker blonde. He wore a cloak so worn the sunlight shone right through it, and he was shivering, stumbling on with his eyes on the ground and the taller man's arm around his waist to keep him up. Elrohir had been right about injured.

The tall one carried a pack that was way too big for one person, and he was talking - and endless stream of words that seemed to be keeping him up as much as it kept the shorter man up.

"What language is that?" Legolas asked, forgetting he was supposed to be quiet. He had never heard anything like it, but it made him think of something strong and vast and wind-whipped.

"It's the language of the éoréd", Elladan replied. "The horse-folk, you know, of Rohan. I wonder what business they have here."

When the men were right beneath the boulder, the twins stood up - simultanously, though Legolas had not seen them giving each other as much as a glance. Elrohir nocked his arrow again and stepped up to where he was visible, drawing his bow halfway. Elladan did not draw his bow, but he stood beside his brother and gave Legolas another warning look: stay where you are.

Legolas did not exactly obey. He left the boulder for a spruce that grew nearby and crouched down where he was visible, but only vaguely; a shadow that might be imagined, and might be real. Mother had told him that shadows always frightened Men the most.

"Hold!" Elladan called out in the Common Tongue, and the men stopped dead in their tracks.

The tall man saw the twins on top of the hill and went rigid. For a moment it seemed he was ready to bolt, but he must have remembered his friend, because he stayed where he was.

The shorter man sank to his knees in the snow as if he was grateful for a chance to rest whatever it may mean. Maybe he thought he would die then and there.

"Who walks in the valley of Rivendell?" Elladan asked. "What business have you here?"

There was a long silence. The men stood like statues. Elrohir raised the bow a little, though Elladan put his hand out to stop him.

"You will answer to the sons of lord Elrond", he said. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

"Speak!" Elrohir snapped, and the taller man flinched and drew a deep breath.

"We... we're from Rohan, my lords. From Edoras. We're travelling. We..." He wrung his hands and looked at his friend as if wishing that he would speak instead. "We were seeking the village of Netherford. My friend is ill and injured, but we're lost - I thought, I thought we were nearing the village but..."

"Netherford is over a day's walk to the south", Elladan said coldly. "How came you here? How did you find the valley?"

"We lost the way", the man said, his voice cracking. "There were goblins... we walked half the night and Scead became sick. We didn't know where to go - there was a path, a deer track, and we went down and down... please, my friend is sick. If he does not get help soon..."

The smaller man's eyes flittered between Elladan and Elrohir, and then towards Legolas, half-hidden in the shadow. He looked around as if wondering how many more there were.

Elrohir looked at his brother and mouthed: goblins?

Elladan crowned. He was quiet for a while.

"Please", the tall one said. "We meant nothing by coming here. Please, let us go."

"You will not reach the village before it darkens", Elladan said slowly. "They have little in the way of medicines and supplies. You shall come with us. Lord Elrond will welcome you."

The men did not understand at first. Then it dawned on the taller one, and he stammered thank you a dozen times over, then said something to his friend who nodded and tried to smile.

Elladan climbed down while Elrohir gathered the rest of their gear.

"Carry this", he said and handed Legolas a couple of water-skins. "And stay away. We cannot be sure they are to be trusted."

Their way back to the house was painfully slow. Elladan helped support the shorter man with his arm around his waist, but still he stumbled, and they had to stop twice to rest. Elladan asked if he had been poisoned, but the man only muttered something about 'too much of the damned leaves' and his friend looked guilty and said he'd tried to help but only made it worse. Elrohir walked behind the three and kept an eye on the Men lest they try something. Legolas followed through the tree-tops. He let the men caught glimpses of him between the trees, but never so they could be sure he was there - sometimes he was to their right, sometimes to their left, so they would think there was more than on elf in the trees. When they came to the first stream and the stone bridge, Elrohir slowed down a little to let the others go ahead. Legolas jumped to the ground beside him.

"You were seen", Elrohir said and took the skins from him.

"I let them see me."

"I told you to stay away."

"If we don't know if we can trust them", Legolas said, "why should we give them the impression that they can trust us?"

Elrohir hesitated. Then he lifted his chin in appreciation.

"Goblins?" Glorfindel said sharply. "How many and how close?"

The tall man wrung his hands. His friend had been ushered away by healers as soon as they reached the courtyard, and now he stood alone between the dark-eyed twins and the grim elf-lord and looked very uncomfortable. "Uh - five, I think, my lord, but we heard more of them in the hills. Maybe ten miles from here. It was last evening, and Scead got sick during the night, and then we walked and walked because I could not - I could not help him."

"Worry not", Glorfindel said, which would have been more reassuring if he had not been so fearsome. "Your friend is in good hands now. How about you? Are you well?"

"Only tired, my lord."

Glorfindel looked from him to the towering twins, and Legolas made himself small behind Elrohir so they would not send him away. He wanted to hear all about goblins.

"Ten miles", Glorfindel said. "That is too close. We must deal with them immediately."

"Elrohir and I..."

"You are needed in the south. I will ride out."

"You have not fought goblins for ages", Elladan said.

Glorfindel smiled and flexed his fingers. "Exactly."

Other elves had gathered around them on the courtyard, whispering and staring at the foreign man, though Erestor did his best to make them go away so they would not scare him. Echail was there as well, looking very important, and Glorfindel turned to him and told him to gather the warriors. Nodding gravely, Echail left.

Glorfindel turned back to the man. "What is your name?"

"Tilwine, my lord, son of Éadwine."

"I thought that might be you."

The man paled.

"You will ride with us", Glorfindel said sternly. "You must show us the way you took into the valley, and the way from where the goblins attacked you. Worry not, we will keep you safe and out of battle. There are a few villages along the river Bruinen, and they must be protected."

"Yes, my lord."

"Your friend is..."

"Scead, son of Dynne, my lord."

"Of course."

Legolas looked up at the twins, but they did not seem to know who Tilwine son of Éadwine or Scead son of Dynne were either. Only Erestor looked grave and a little sad.

"Come", he said and beckoned at the man to follow. "There is time for you to rest and drink while the warriors prepare. You are safe here, and welcome to stay for the time being. We will not drive you away."

Glorfindel looked after Erestor as he led the man up the stair and into the house. The other elves followed them or left, so that he and the twins - and Legolas, who still hid behind Elrohir - stood alone on the courtyard.

"They are outcasts", Glorfindel said. "I have heard about them. Horse-thieves - you can hardly commit a graver crime in Rohan, and I am surprised they were not hanged, but I suppose this is why word of them has reached us. By the look of them, I think they are harmless."

There was an odd feeling in Rivendell that day, of things being just a little out of place - like a break in a pattern so subtle you cannot pinpoint exactly what it is. First they waved off the elves riding south with the twins, then the warriors with Glorfindel and Tilwine at their head, and all of a sudden the House of Elrond was very empty.

Not that it was ever full. It had been built long ago, when there were more noldor left in Middle Earth; the dining hall had room for at least twice as many elves as there lived now - but that evening even the Hall of Fire was quiet, and there were not enough elves for every verse of the Valaquenta. Still they stayed up late. They sung songs of daylight and summer, and looked often out the windows, until at last a line of torch-light far away revealed that Glorfindel was on his way back.

"Finally", Erestor said. He had been wringing his hands a lot the past hour. "Echail, fetch lord Elrond."

Echail sighed and limped out of the Hall of Fire, setting his good leg down with a loud thump at each step. He was not in a good mood that evening, if he ever was, because he had wanted to go with Glorfindel but could not because of his leg. The other elves milled out on the courtyard to see the elves ride up the southern bridge.

As lord Elrond came down the stair, Glorfindel shook his head. "No trace of them, my lord."

"None?"

"They have retreated into the mountains. Probably fancied a swift and easy kill, and fled as soon as they heard of our coming."

Lord Elrond twined his fingers together and looked south. Maybe he worried for his sons, though Legolas thought that if the goblins ran into them it wouldn't be the twins that were in danger.

"I am very sorry, my lord", Tilwine said. He had dark circles under his eyes by now, but his voice had gained some confidence. "It seems we lured them down here, and put you all in danger."

Lord Elrond shook his head. "It is nobody's fault that goblins are what they are. You have done what you could to aid us, and I ask nothing more. Come inside. You are exhausted, and your friend Scead has asked for you."

"Is he well?"

"Resting, but there is no danger", lord Elrond said. "His wounds were not severe, but he thought he had ingested blood-root, and his symptoms seemed similar enough to me. Is that right?"

"I - I tried to help him", Tilwine said and blushed. "But I'm not very good with... leaves. So he got even sicker than he was."

"You could have done worse harm", lord Elrond said with a smile, then led him away from the courtyard. The other warriors dismounted and led their horses to the stables. Glorfindel tucked his helmet under his arm.

"Curse it", he said to Erestor. "I was hoping to bash some goblin skulls in."

"Glorfindel!"

"At least we are safe, though how those goblins could get so close without our notice is beyond me. And Tilwine seems an honourable man, for a horse-thief."

The arrival of the two men and the possible presence of goblins nearby was the only thing talked about at breakfast the next morning. People whispered and gossiped, but not even the warriors knew much, and the healers refused to say anything about their patient. So when Tilwine son of Éadwine entered the dining hall looking wide-eyed around, the room hushed and hissed into silence, and all eyes turned to him.

He hardly looked the same man as he had been yesterday - washed and rested, with his flaxen hair combed and his broad shoulders freed from the burden of the pack, he was now straight and proud and very much in awe. His tunic had been mended and washed, and the dark blue velvet shone again, though it was still a sorry piece of clothing with its embroideries ruined beyond saving. He wasn't wearing the cloak with the twin brooches.

"Come and sit here!" someone said in an uncertain Common Tongue, and pulled out the chair beside him.

Tilwine grinned. "Ah, uh - le hannon?"

"You're welcome, randir!"

The elves waited politely until he was seated, then exploded in welcomes and questions in a mix of Common Tongue, sign language and sindarin, the last of which Tilwine seemed to understand very little. But Tilwine did not mind. He smiled easily and had a hearty laugh, and somehow he managed to talk and gesture and eat and drink at the same time; the elves admired his ability to eat so much in so short a time, and he claimed that even the porridge tasted better than anything he had eaten in his life. Tilwine told them that he had served in King Eorl's household as one of his closet and most renowned warriors, but that he was an adventurer at heart, so he and Scead had left to see what luck they might find in the north. They had wanted to see the land where they were born, he said, the abandoned castles and estates in the north. If any of the other elves knew what Glorfindel had said about horse-thieves, they were tactful enough not to mention it. It didn't seem a necessary thing to bring up.

"And as any other adventure", Tilwine said, waving the jam-knife like a sword, "ours turned out exactly the opposite of what we planned! Bandit-raids, greedy lords, beautiful maidens and goblin-raids - and now, last but not least, elves!"

The elves cheered when he mentioned them.

"It does sound like an exciting tale", said Erestor from the High table, "but maybe more fit for the Hall of Fire tonight." He had a book that he had been trying to read for a while, but it did not look like he managed to concentrate on it very well.

"Oh! My apologies. You are right, my lord", Tilwine said, though most other elves protested. "Yes, my friends, the tale must wait. It will be all the better for it!"

Tilwine remained the centre of attention for most of that day, and he quickly befriended the warriors and Echail - they shared the same kind of slightly mean but good-natured humour. They made him teach him his own tongue, though none of the elves could get the sounds right that had made Legolas think of wind and plains, and Tilwine kept trying to convince them that sindarin was much more beautiful and they ought to teach him that instead. Then they went outside because Tilwine wanted to see elven weapons.

Legolas wandered aimlessly about that day, with Tales from Doriath in hand but not the peace of mind to read it. The House of Elrond was calm and quiet. It was a windy day and the sky was overcast with white clouds, but Legolas did not feel like going outside; nor did he really feel like staying inside. He found Lindir in the Hall of Fire, but the older elf was trying to learn something new on his lute and too concentrated to talk. Ninneth worked in the kitchen, where Legolas found it too hot to stay.

Not for the first time he ended up in the Hall of Artefacts. The stories of all those ancient things called for him, or maybe he'd unconsciously went there because he was thinking about the twins, and this was where they'd first spoken. The jewels and trinkets and weapons and tapestries shone like faint stars all through the hall, a myriad of little lights that were good to rest the eyes upon. Dust danced in the sunlight above Legolas of Gondolin's helmet. Legolas traced the golden ornaments with his finger, and his mind travelled to the long ages that lay between him and the time when this helmet was made. It made him think ofTales from Doriath, and in the silence of the Hall of Artefacts he sat down on a bench under a window to finish the tale about Amdir the Archer.

It seemed fitting, for though Amdir the Archer was a great warrior and not an elfling like Legolas, he was also alone; and though he was very brave he was also a little afraid when he walked into the dragon Urúan's lair to avenge his village. Legolas pulled his knees up to his chest and his heart pounded at the same rate he thought Amdir the Archer's must.

With only his bow and three swan-feathered arrows, Amdir the Archer stole into the dark. In the thin ray of sunlight that came from he opening he saw the coil of smoke, and the gleaming red eyes, and he readied his bow for the only chance he'd get. But just as he was about to shoot, the dragon Urúan started to speak, and Amdir was so startled he dropped -

Legolas flinched.

He'd been so concentrated on the story he hadn't noticed he had company. Scead stood at the end of the hallway, leaning to the door-post with sweat beading his hairline. He was dressed in a plain white tunic and soft linen breeches and looked like he should not have left the healing ward so soon, but when he peered into the Hall of Artefacts the weariness vanished from his eyes and they widened in awe. He walked slowly over the stone floor and stared at the gold-thread tapestry, the broken sword on its pedestal, and Legolas of Gondolin's helmet. He reached out to touch it, like Legolas had done not long before.

Perhaps he saw the finger-prints in the fine layer of dust. He looked up - and smiled. "So there are elven children after all."

Legolas frowned. "Why wouldn't there be?"

"There are so many stories about elves, is all. I am sure most of them aren't true."

"What kind of stories?"

Scead smiled again. It was not Tilwine's broad, freckled smile, but a softer one that made fine lines around his eyes. "May I sit down? I - well, I am not supposed to be up and about, really. I just cannot stand to be abed when there's so much to look at."

Legolas could not blame him. He moved to make place for Scead on the bench, and the man sank down with a sigh as if he'd been struggling just to stay on his feet. His hands were shaking. But when he looked at Legolas again he grinned like a small child that has successfully sneaked out of bed at night.

Then his eyes narrowed. "Did I... did I see you yesterday?"

"When?"

"In the forest", Scead said. "I saw your eyes. Dark as the night."

Legolas smiled.

"There were at least five elves out there", Scead went on. "Two tall and dark who looked exactly the same. Then all the elves in the trees. You were one, weren't you?"

"Maybe."

"You elves and your secrets."

"Is that another story of us?"

Scead grinned again. He let his gaze wander over the hallway, then leaned back, resting his head to the cool stone wall. He closed his eyes. "Elves are like trees, they say, for you can see how high the branches reach and hear the wind in the leaves, but you cannot see how deep the roots go."

Legolas was delighted. "I am a wood-elf."

"Here", Scead said and opened his eyes again to look at him, "I noticed there aren't many elves with hair like yours in Rivendell, and you don't look much like that elf-lord - Glorfindel. So you're from..."

"Greenwood."

"You cannot be alone here, then?"

Legolas explained to him what had happened, and Scead was very sorry to hear that. He knew how it was to be cut off from one's family, he explained, because he had left his own family back in Rohan to travel with Tilwine.

"At least you had a choice", Legolas said. "I was forced to leave Greenwood."

"Oh... well, to be entirely honest, Tilwine and I did not have that much of a choice either. We got into a bit of trouble. It's a long story. I doubt even Tilwine will spill that tale to anyone."

He looked sad as he said it, and Legolas wondered what had driven him to become a horse-thief, but he did not ask.

Someone entered the corridor, and Legolas looked up. Scead followed his gaze.

One of the healers stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. She did not look pleased. "My dear friend, I did not keep you warm through the whole night just so you would exhaust yourself on the morrow. Why are you not in bed?"

"I am terribly sorry", Scead said and blushed. "I did not mean to act so childishly -"

"Hah! How old did you say you were, twenty-six?"

Legolas' mouth fell open. "That's younger than I am!"

"Ye gods, is that true? I'm terribly sorry, my lady, I'll never do it again."

"I am no lady", said the healer, but she looked a little flattered, and walked over to help Scead stand up. Legolas tucked Tales from Doriath under his arm and followed. He wanted to hear more stories about elves.

"But if you weren't looking for Rivendell", Legolas said, as Scead half-sat against a heap of pillows in his sick-room, and the healer pretended to be irritated while she boiled water over the fire, "why were you around here?"

"We were looking for Netherford", Scead said. "Or, at that time we just looked for somewhere warm and safe to spend the night, but we had been looking for Netherford a couple of days already."

"Isn't that were there is a market?"

"Yes - the Midwinter market. Starts a couple days before the winter solstice, and ends with a feast on Midwinter's Eve. It's hard to be travelling in winter, especially when you are only two and have no horses, see, so we were going to stay there until the market, then perhaps take place with a merchant's company as guards."

"Are you a warrior?"

Scead made a face. "Tilwine is. A fine swordsman. Me? Not so much."

"Is that why you got wounded?"

"Ah... yes. But Tilwine is good enough for two, I'd say, and I can do other things. Chop fire-wood and the like. Netherford isn't a very large market, but someone has always need for a couple more mercenaries when they travel home with their gold. You'll meet all sorts of strange people there - dwarves, easterlings, wizards - some folk you don't know what they are or where they come from. I do not know about elves, though."

"There are elves", said the healer suddenly, and handed him a steaming cup that smelled of sweet herbs. "But you would not know it. We always ride to Netherford in the guise of men."

"Why?"

"Because elves draw attention. And because the villagers prefer to believe there are no elves in the mountains. Our warriors protect their borders, and our secrecy protect their peace of sleep. Now drink. I did not make that so it would get cold."

Things changed in Rivendell over the following days. With half the warriors gone, and the treat of the goblins Tilwine had told them about still hanging over them, lord Elrond decided that the valley must be guarded even more closely. The guards were doubled, although there were so few warriors left some had to take watches that were too high in rank for it. Three times Glorfindel led searches into the mountains, and every time they found tracks, but no goblins.

There lay a feeling of watching and waiting; of things brewing outside their borders, and threatening to spill over the edge and into the valley. Nothing unusual about that, with Midwinter marching closer, and the nights growing longer and darker.

But when things did spill over, it was not in a way that anyone had expected.

Thranduil walked through dark dreams.

He stood alone before the Black Gates and pillars of smoke billowed around him. The elves that had died in the marshes, the keening elves with their white fingers and their hair of reed were gone. The orcs were gone, and the fires were gone, and the sentient in the darkness was gone.

Thranduil looked for a way out, but whichever direction he went, the Gates emerged from the smoke and stood before him, dark and unyielding. He could not walk away. He dared not approach the Gates. He did not know what he dreaded most; that he would stand outside them for eternity, or that they would open and let out what was behind them.

There's nothing behind them, he thought. The evil in there was vanquished. It is only a dream, and I must fight it.

But he could not bring himself to go near the Gates. He still remembered the sight of them across the battle field; the sight of their opening and the sound of drums and thousands of marching feet; the black and red banners snapping in a wind that smelled of iron and blood. He remembered the bodies that lay before them afterwards. He remembered the black clouds and the foul rain that fell on his father's crushed body.

He needed to fight but he could not bring himself to try. Not here, not again. And he did not know what to fight; there was nothing there but the Gates, nothing that reacted to his presence.

You fool, his father said. He stood before Thranduil and a breeze touched his wet hair and his body was still broken beyond recognition. You should have done His bidding. You should have joined Him when you had the chance. Now He is gone, and perhaps you will be here forever.

You are dead, Thranduil answered him.

But his father only laughed because he knew Thranduil was dying, too.

Thank you for your patience regarding the change in schedule, I feel a lot better about this and actually did not proctrastinate so bad thinking I had enough time ;)

Thank you for reading!