Keeper Chapter 27

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Good news! Because of formatting and length and things, this is going to be 29 – yes, 29 – chapters long, not 28! Get pumped!

-XXX-

Seven days finds us at the edge of the Woodland Realm. My companions, being already weary, took their time, making our six-day-journey extend into seven. I ought to be more understand, but all I can manage is a niggling irritation.

We were fortunate not to have encountered any trouble along the way. At one point we thought we saw a pack of orc along the horizon – but it turned out to be a false alarm, thankfully. Aside from that, the most troublesome thing we encountered was rain. Sporadic storms plagued us the whole way. I never had a dry moment after the first day, never quite managing to completely dry out even when we were granted a few hour's break.

I often think of the Fellowship and Legolas, wondering how they are progressing. On foot, they've probably covered ground more slowly. I've no clue why they were sent without mounts, and I did not think to question Elrond or Gandalf before I left.

It is midday when we reach the western side of the forest. The elf who leads our pack, Dawric, decides that we will settle in after another hour of riding – by then we will be about a half day's from the palace. To journey on would risk riding at night. It is not a particularly safe option. Though I am loath to wait, I agree.

Once darkness falls (which is does quickly, night coming fast here in the wood), I make for bed. Apart from the group, I lay upon my pallet, staring up at the net formed by the branches overhead. Only a few stars strain through.

I remember taking Tauriel and Beriana high above the trees once, to the tallest point of our home, where you could see the entire sky from horizon to horizon. It was in the thirteenth hour, the darkest point of night. The sky, so large, sparkled with flecks of crystal. Tauriel had been transfixed, eyes wide, shining, mouth agape. It had been positively magical.

Tauriel had loved the stars. All elves held an affinity for them, but Tauriel more so than others. They shone for her brighter than anyone.

This forest feels different to me now. There are shadows I do not know anymore. Whether it is the years between us or my own nerves that affects us I cannot say. I simply hope the foreign feeling does not linger.

With a sigh, I roll onto my side and attempt to find sleep.

-XXX-

At night he dreams of the black slits of dragon eyes. Of the sound of steel slamming against steel. Smoke, blurring his vision. Thranduil can practically taste the blood in his mouth, smell the scent of death. It's the scent of a battlefield.

He hoists his shield with one hand, and his sword with the other, faltering to see his ungloved limb – it is sickening, without flesh, revealing muscle, sinew, bone. He only pauses a moment, however, before surging on to cut down man after man after man. He does not think. Only moves.

The motions are practiced. Mechanical. Automatic.

When he takes the time to note this, he hates himself for it. War should not be a natural thing to respond to. He should not have habitual motions. Plowing down souls ought not be so…easy.

When he wakes screaming Fortesbrawn is there, ready with a warm mug of something faintly bitter, smelling of cloves and chamomile.

"Is it she?" the healer whispers.

"No." The king settles back on the pillow. "No, not tonight."

-XXX-

"Ride on, my lady," Darwic shouts above the brute sounds of branches snapping and large feet crashing.

Instead, I steel myself, withdrawing my broadsword. I am unskilled, but it doesn't take much beyond a lethal blow to down a mountain-troll.

We were only two hours from the gates when Felir, a sharp-eyed elleth who has ridden to the back of our party, sends word up front the we are being pursued.

"A troll, sir, " she cried, breathlessly, yanking her reigns up quickly.

"Following us?" Darwic frowned. "They do not normally pursue prey."

"What kind of troll?" I asked.

"Does it matter?" Darwic snapped. "Come, we need to deter it. Let us go North, towards the river. They don't cross water, these trolls."

But it was not so easily distracted. The beast quickly caught up to us. All too soon, I heard the sounds of its pursuit.

We're nearly to the river when Darwic shouts at my, urging me on. But I cannot leave them. So I draw my rarely-use and mostly-decorative sword, turning my mount, rearing back with my weapon at the ready. Despite my inexperience, Legolas had taught me a few basics – but that had been on foot, not mounted on a massive horse. Nevertheless, I surge on, following my escort.

The troll roars when a flurry of arrows strike him. Several elves charge for his legs, slicing the air with the blades. The troll reaches for him, fat fingers skimming the horses' haunches. The poor beasts scream.

I charge past Darwic, hitting the troll's fingers. It withdraws its limb, screeching madly. Reaching for me, I can see the shadow it casts, and twist in the saddle, brandishing my blade. A series of arrows strike the troll's forearm. He sweeps a hand back, knocking over one of the archers before turning up to me.

Pulling up on the reigns I turn my horse back around.

"Go for his ankles!" someone shouts.

Without a second thought, I urge my mount toward the small space between the troll's legs.

With a fumbling blow, I strike a knee. The troll bends, straining to reach for me, knocking me over and off my horse, but he stumbles, collapsing to his knees. The threat lessened, Darwic and Felir move forward, blades flashing in the morning light. With a gurgling shrike, the beast is felled, his throat slashed open to spill grey-green blood upon the floor of the forest.

I slide off my horse to tend to the fallen guard. Once it is determined we are all whole and hale, we move on. We all limp towards the river, finding a place to sit on a rocky bar of the bank.

"What was it doing here?" one guard gasps. "We don't have trolls in the Greenwood."

"It must have come down from the Dark Mountains." Darwic's brows draw together in frustration. "I have no doubt this trouble Sauron is stirring up has displaced many of them. This one must have come searching for the mountains."

My heart aches a little. "Poor creature. He was simply looking for a place in the world."

Darwic is less sympathetic. "And he found us. Come. We've been delayed, but we can still make the gates by noon."

So we ride on. It is an uneventful journey for a time. Then, the peace is broken by a more welcome interruption. A half-hour from the village, we are stopped. A party of elves, on foot, surprise us, creeping out from the shadows. They are lead by Ulain.

My old friend's eyes are flat. He sports a jagged scar on one cheek – a new addition, likely a souvenir of the battle. I want to weep upon seeing him. He's a hollow elf.

"We did not expect you, Cala."

"I know. I should have come sooner."

He agrees with a short nod.

I reach for him, and he loosely accepts my hand. I squeeze his fingers so hard I can feel his pulse.

"I am so sorry," I whisper. "For everything, Ulain."

With the new addition, we are a party of nearly a dozen. Ulain walks beside me, silent. In fact, the entire group is quiet, with only the occasional murmur passing between friends.

I wince with each motion the horse makes – after I'd been dismounted in the tussle, I'd hit the ground pretty hard. It is likely that a few of my ribs are cracked or broken. I'd also been slashed in the face by a few branches as we'd ridden at that breakneck pace. All in all, I am a little worse for wear. I sigh, straightening the hem of my tunic. When we stop for water, I am forced to re-lace my boots.

"Not the grand and elegant entry I'd hoped for," I think, rolling my eyes. "Like the self-exiled queen would have had that kind of an entry, anyways."

I do not know what to expect of my people. The unit of guards I'd been traveling with had not given me any hint as to how my return shall be received. Though, if I must guess, I would say "not well." After nearly two hundred and fifty years away, paired with my tainted blood?

"I've just proved the nay-sayers right," I think bitterly.

As we approach the gates, I shove these negative thoughts away. Or, at least the ones focused on my citizens. Now only Thranduil looms over my thoughts.

"Soon, my love."

How will he receive me?

We pass through the gates, and I immediately begin holding my breath. I do not release it for what seems like hours. Wide eyes follow our party as we pass over the bridge, crossing the green – except, they are trained me, mostly. No one speaks to full volume. Hushed tones rumble throughout. I keep my head held high. I do my best to appear unaffected. It's a successful attempt, until I am met with a surprise.

Near a baker's stand stands Beriana. I pause when I see her.

She slowly turns, eyes moving up to meet mine. They are tired eyes. In fact, all of her looks tired. Old. "Tauriel's death has clearly affected her."

I offer forth a small, sad smile. In return, she grants me a tiny nod, lips barely upturning. There is a light in her eyes that is not exactly kind…perhaps curious? I cannot read her. Though we are only a few meters from one another, I feel an even greater distance between us. Heart aching, I let my eyes slide away.

I had known coming home would be hard. I didn't expect it to feel like this. I want to dig myself a hole in the middle of the road, burying myself in it, and never come out again. But that isn't an option. Not now, anyways.

We stop before the massive doors. I dismount slowly, smoothing my cloak as I look over the entrance to my home. The guards' mounts stomp their hooves impatiently.

"Do you require anything else, my lady?" Darwic asks in a low voice.

"No, thank you," I say, inclining my head. "You were excellent escorts. Please, go to our kitchens before you report to Ulain. I am sure Marnilieh will be more than happy to fill your stomachs before you leave."

"Yes, your highness." With a bow of his head, he tugs on his reigns, leading the party on towards the stables.

I am left to enter. With hesitant steps, I move forward. My feet stride over the smooth, ancient stones with fearful lightness. I am so distracted I pay the elves around me no mind. So when I am approached in the corridor near royal courtyard, I am startled.

"It is high time you slunk back here," a voice growls.

I glance up from the violet I'd been admiring, starting slightly. Fortesbrawn stands before me, arms crossed, brows high. He nears, lips downturned.

"What are you doing here, my lady?"

"We are friends, Fortesbrawn," I say. "Please, do not –"

His expression does not alter. "Why are you here? What compelled you to return?"

My gaze turns to the group. One of my toes traces the grout in the tile. I wish, briefly, that I had a skirt to hide this nervous quirk with.

"Legolas was in Rivendell last week. He informed me of the attack this summer and of my husband's condition." My throat chokes, and I must take a few moments before continuing. "I didn't know, Fortesbrawn. I swear it. Had I know, I would have flown here. I would not have lingered in Rivendell for a moment."

Fortesbrawn eyes me, but he does not speak.

"How does he fare?"

The healer's lips curl faintly. "He lives. In pain, but he is mending."

I close my eyes. "Thank Valar that he lives. And you, Fortesbrawn."

"I am merely thankful for your sake that he did," Fortesbrawn snaps. "So that you both might end this pigheaded estrangement. You've no idea how big of a torment he's been these last two hundred and forty years! Crashing about, looming, looking like some great grumpy git. While you were off enjoying the splendors of Elrond's kingdom, the rest of us were cleaning up the mess you left here."

With that, I snap. "You've no idea what I was dealing with back then. You speak out of turn, Fortesbrawn. I'll take some abuse, but you can't fault me with everything."

"No, just enough, I think. You've no notion of what it was like in those first few years -"

"No, you've no notion." I rise up to my full queenly height, anger welling in my throat. "Please, Fortesbrawn. For now, put this behind us. Being upset with me helps no one, merely hurts. Please, let us focus on the bigger matters at hand. I'm back for good. I'm here to help."

He opens his mouth, then shuts it with a sigh. We eye each other for a moment before Fortesbrawn contends that yes, we should probably focus on the more pressing matters – such as the gravely ill monarch we're bickering over. With a gesture, he slowly turns, leading me towards the royal apartments. I do not follow, but rather, match his pace.

This encounter has left me drained. I cannot imagine how I shall feel upon seeing Thranduil.

-XXX-

Poor Fortesbrawn. I can't blame the bro for being testy, really. Can you?

Yes, they're not reunited quite yet – but it's so close!

Reviews are very welcome!