Chapter 26: Too Close To Home (Legolas)

c/w: blood, violence, trauma

(~***~)

Hurtling across the fields between the human city and the edge of the forest, Legolas and Thranduil both glanced back at their pursuers and were relieved to see they did not carry bows. Without distance weapons, any fight would be limited to swords and knives. There were at least a dozen peacekeepers against the two fighters, however deadly they knew themselves to be. Killing a squadron of police in broad daylight would so blatantly violate the Valar's orders they could not do so without at least trying to flee first. And that weasel Eaben knew they were elves! This was a disaster.

It did not help that Lossrilleth still needed looking after in a fight, for all that she now had a skirmish with goblins under her belt. Thranduil was glad to see that she was keeping up at least, even on that ridiculous saddle they made women use.

The men gave chase without relenting all the way to the wood, although it was a long and grueling ride. The elves reached the edge of the forest and slipped off their horses, who were bathed in sweat. They really deserved better, but there would be no time to care for their mounts. Legolas and Thranduil had thought of loosening their saddlebags before they arrived so they could grab at least a few supplies before they fled. Lossrilleth was right behind them, getting off her horse as quickly as she could extract herself.

"Where are we going?" she asked, looking at Legolas for direction. Her mind had gone cool and analytical, while her emotions had gone numb. She could remember feeling so sharp only in a handful of situations in the past.

"Stay with me," Legolas replied. "If we move fast, we may be able to disappear before we have to fight them." He was pulling his bow out and getting ready to shoot if needed.

Thranduil had his back turned to the men, finding his bearings in the changed forest even as he pulled one saddlebag down. He was pretty sure he knew where they were. There should be an old entrance to the halls of the Woodland Realm close by. When they had left centuries ago, Thranduil and the Silvans had boarded up the entrances and hidden them, leaving the underground halls empty and lost to all posterity. The one he had in mind entered through a tunnel behind a waterfall, so they had not bothered to board it up as tightly.

The elves were not a moment away from running past their horses and into the thick woods when Lossrilleth looked back to see how close the men were and felt her herself go cold. As the men gained on them, one of them raised a musket and pointed it directly at Thranduil's back.

She glanced at Legolas – he was looking right at the man, but she could tell he was unaware the firearm was a threat. (How many times had she walked through stores eyeing men with their hands in their pockets too long, wondering if she was about to become a public shooting statistic – just to face a gun here, of all places?)

She saw the man's trigger finger move and did not wait for the telltale pop. With a speed she did not know she possessed she slammed into Thranduil, pushing him down. By the time they hit the ground the musketeer had an arrow in his chest and was falling off his horse. The elves' horses all spooked at the sound of the shot. They went running, causing chaos as the men's horses reacted to their fear.

Thranduil had turned as he fell instinctively. He did not know who hit him and was ready to break their neck. To his confusion, it was his daughter-in-law. He caught them both just as they hit the ground. To his dismay he noticed that her arm was bloody above her elbow.

Lossrilleth was probing the wound with her fingers as soon as she could think. She felt no pain – she was all adrenaline now. It had missed her bone and she could feel no bullet under her skin, that was all that mattered. She would figure out the rest later.

"We need to go. Where are we going?" she shouted as she stumbled to get up. She was unwrapping her belt and moving into the woods as soon as she was on her feet. The men were almost on them.

Thranduil was already up off the ground. Lossrilleth was urging them on even as the red bloom grew on her arm. Legolas was horrified at the sight, but she was right, they had no time. If she could run, they needed to run.

"The waterfall door," Thranduil said to Legolas and began leading them purposefully through the forest. Both of his swords were drawn, ready to cut down the men who had hurt Lossrilleth without mercy or regret if they caught up.

Legolas kept his bow drawn with the next arrow as he caught up to Lossrilleth. She had wrapped her belt tightly around her upper arm and was latching the buckle with her teeth.

Thranduil found what he was looking for up ahead, though it had been barely recognizable. The boulder jutting into the little river was distinctive at least. He looked back at his charges, pointing them down to the water. Legolas recognized the stone immediately. Behind them they could hear men shouting as the beginnings of their heavy footsteps crashed through the woods.

"Lossrilleth, can you swim?" Thranduil called back to her, keeping his voice down.

"Yes, it does not hurt yet," she replied.

She looked resolute enough, he thought. He was glad to see the tourniquet she had fastened tightly above the wound. The heat of the chase had to be working for her. It would keep her sharp – for now.

The elves fled down to the river until it reached a shallow area. The elf-men led Lossrilleth between them as they stepped into the water and began fording upstream until it got deeper and deeper and they had to swim. They wanted to leave no trail behind them that could be followed.

Legolas propped Lossrilleth's bloody arm on a floating log and swam with her, trying to keep the wound out of the dirty water. Finally, they arrived at a deep pool under a waterfall and swam through the sheet of water to the other side.

By the time Lossrilleth and Legolas made it up onto the ledge behind the waterfall, Thranduil was already feeling along the wall for the hidden door, ready to knock it in by force if necessary. Legolas had had to help her get up the ledge as she could no longer feel her hand for lack of blood. As soon as they were up, he began assessing her. He thought her lips looked too pale. Legolas took out one of his knives and began cutting her sleeve off just below the tourniquet.

Thranduil did not take long to join him in inspecting Lossrilleth. The waterfall offered them some cover – he wanted to look at this injury before they entered the passage, which would be dark for several floors in the boarded-up old halls.

Legolas's work revealed a flesh wound; but it was not small. It looked like something had taken a bite out of her and then burned her, deep enough that they could both see some shredded muscle at the deepest points. The tourniquet had done its job so it was no longer bleeding heavily, but Legolas was not confident it would not start up again once the emergency measure was removed. He felt like he had a wad of cotton in his throat every time he tried to swallow.

Thranduil was focused on field care, but his face was starting to look ominous. He used the dry part of the sleeve Legolas had cut from her dress to form a deep pad that he pressed into the wound, then released the tourniquet. He reused the belt immediately to fasten around the makeshift bandage, trying to find the right balance between letting blood get to her hand and creating enough pressure to prevent more bleeding.

"What was that weapon?" Legolas asked. If it had gone just a little deeper, she would have been in grave danger of bleeding to death or losing her arm. What could have done this?

"It was a musket – a gun. They use the same powder that caused the big explosion at Helm's Deep. I have feared we would encounter them all this time," she replied, her good hand tightened into a fist against the pain that was starting to shoot up her arm.

"I could tell you did not see the danger of it, Legolas," she offered as an explanation. "He was aiming right at you, lord father. I saw him take the shot. There was no time to explain. I did not want you to die."

Thranduil could not look her in the eye. He had already been fighting down pain and anger over seeing her bloodied, which reminded him entirely too much of how Legolas's mother had died. He kept trying to banish the insistent memories of his wife lying on the ground, covering their young son with her own body. The old king had reached them only to watch her struggle through a few last breaths before her spirit departed, leaving him to gasp at the sudden silence in his fёa even as their blood-soaked boy reached to him for comfort.

When his daughter-in-law said she had done this for him – she had let herself be wounded to save his life – maybe he should have felt grateful, but instead rage started to burn deep in his chest. It was familiar, he thought. This feeling, in these halls. He nodded curtly at her and rose to lead them into his old kingdom.

"It is going to be dark in there until we can reach an upper floor. Legolas, help her walk. It is better if her heart is not beating too quickly," Thranduil said to his son, still avoiding the elleth.

Legolas nodded at his father, who was already striding into the door. He knew that look, and it was not good.

Legolas let Thranduil get ahead of them in the dark passage, hoping his father would manage to get his anger in check. With the door shut behind them they were in utter blackness. Legolas knew this corridor like the back of his hand. With a palm on the wall, taking careful steps in case anything was on the ground, he was confident he could lead them up to the old main halls, or whatever was left of them.

He had his other arm around Lossrilleth's waist so he could guide her carefully and support her at the same time. "Are you alright?" he whispered to her.

"I think so," she answered. She was feeling every step in front of her before she let it land. "I am tired, I am not fond of this dark, and it hurts, but I think I will be. They cannot find us here, can they?" she asked. Her adrenaline was starting to wear off, leaving her feeling jittery while pain throbbed at her side.

"Truly, I do not think they will," Legolas replied. "We never suffered any intrusions through that door in the past. It is too well hidden."

Legolas stopped for a moment and moved his hand up until he knew where her face was. He leaned over and whispered in her ear, cognizant of the echoes that could easily make their way up to his father.

"My father will not thank you now, do not be surprised. Perhaps one day, but not soon. He is in a fury like you have never seen before. If he rages at you, I will intervene, I promise. If we can, we should leave him alone for some time," Legolas said.

He kissed her temple. "But that was bravely done, Lossrilleth. I am alarmed by this wound, but it would be wrong not to see the valor in that deed." For her sake, he tried to focus on his pride in her courage, and not on the tremors of panic that had been threatening to overtake him ever since he'd seen her dripping blood.

Lossrilleth leaned into him, accepting the praise and comfort to steel herself for whatever came next.

"What about you?" she asked Legolas. "I cannot imagine what it must be like to be here again."

"Do not worry about that now," he replied. He had not had a chance to think about it himself yet. "We will see later. Now I want to get you up into the light and handle this injury as best as we can with whatever supplies we managed to keep."

The journey upwards took more than hour, as they had to creep along in the dark. By the time there was enough murky light in the passage that they could see, Lossrilleth was depleted and dragging. Legolas finally picked her up, carrying her up the last level and into the vast open space that was once the great hall of the Woodland Realm.

Tree roots and fungi had grown down over the carven pillars. Streaks of green algae covered the walls. A few beams of the last fading light of the day fell from holes in the high ceiling, highlighting the old wooden walkways in varying stages of decay. Legolas immediately felt a stab of sadness as his old home, moldering with neglect, came into view. Lossrilleth pressed her face into his neck in sympathy, too fatigued to do anything else.

Thranduil was standing with his back to them, surveying the state of his abandoned realm, as Legolas carried Lossrilleth out of the passage. He had tossed the few soaked provisions he had managed to grab for them in a pile at the base of a vine-choked column.

"Is she well?" Thranduil asked. His voice was still hard and dark.

"She is weary Adar," Legolas replied. "She needs to rest so she can heal."

Thranduil turned to see his son settling her down on his cloak. Despite all efforts, the old king was still furious.

"She would not need to heal if she had not done something so foolish," he growled at Legolas. He would not stoop so low as to yell at his daughter-in-law while she lay on the ground in bloody exhaustion.

Legolas was not feeling tolerant of his father's mood coming down on them right now. His own anger was clear in his voice as he said,

"No, instead we would be here alone while that weasel Masterson desecrated your corpse for his own gain. If that weapon had not injured us as well while we fled. She saved your life, father - bravely. You owe her a debt. Giving her your rage will only deepen it."

"I did not ask her to," Thranduil snarled. "I have had enough of watching ladies bleed to death. I would rather have flown back to the Halls of Mandos and faced my own judgment."

Lossrilleth pushed herself up to sit on the cloak. A last drop of adrenaline fueled her as she felt her own outrage grow towards Thranduil's ridiculous tantrum.

"Perhaps I do not wish to spend my whole life a helpless female fanning my bosom and shrieking while those I care about take injury. Is that what you wish for us? Incompetence and weakness so you may feel better about yourself? It is a burden to be a burden, my lord."

Thranduil rounded on her, his eyes full of ice. She cut him off before he could yell at her more.

"If this is about the death of your wife think consider this – would it really have been better if he had died instead of her," she said, gesturing at Legolas.

"And then you both would have suffered from the death of your child? Surely she would have gone on blaming herself forever for failing to act. Do you not think she would have sailed West the very next day to find him in Valinor? She kept her own strength as she saw fit and so have I. No matter who you may have been in these halls in the past you cannot take that from any person. It does not belong to you."

Thranduil was stunned by her insolence. Who was she to lecture him, here of all places? But her words held a grain of truth that stabbed him in the heart, and the rage that protected him from such feelings reared its head once more, burning him from limb to limb. He took a step towards Lossrilleth and Legolas blocked him, ready to draw his weapons.

"If you so much as yell at her once more we will have blows, Adar, and I do not know if there will be any way to come back from that" Legolas warned him. "Leave."

Thranduil held himself still for a few dangerous breaths and then swept out of the great hall. Out of ancient habit he headed for his throne room. All around him the ravages of time and disuse showed in his once beautiful kingdom. So much dust had accumulated on the abandoned furniture that it had turned to dirt. Carpets of moss had overtaken whole rooms.

When he approached his old throne, the seat of the power he had worn like a familiar cloak for an age, he could see that it was rotten. It slumped to the side at the top of the stone stairway on which it sat.

Thranduil stormed up the steps and tore the antlers from the seat, hurling each one to the ground. He began to dismantle the entire throne in pieces, putting the weight of all his loneliness – all the grief, all the powerlessness, all the bitterness of his long life – into the strength of his movements. The sack of Doriath. The battle at Dagorlad, where his father had died and left Thranduil to lead what was left of the Silvans out of the darkness. His wife's sacrifice of her own life to save their son. The long years sitting under the shadow of Dol Guldur, alone and responsible for a grieving child and a kingdom surrounded by enemies. He did not think this pain could ever reach an end.

As Thranduil moved back and forth, the vial of his wife's perfume and her scarf had begun to shift without his notice. As he grabbed a particularly large piece of the old throne and tossed it to the ground, the precious items loosened and fell. They were beyond his reach before he realized what had happened.

He watched with anguish as they dropped, the glass shattering on the ruins of his old throne and releasing the last of the comforting scent that he would have until he could return to Valinor. The silk scarf floated in the air, downwards towards the jagged splinters of wood. Thranduil leaped down from the tall throne to catch it before it could be torn. He saved one favor, but the other was irretrievably broken.

The old king stood over the pile of destruction he had wrought, the tears he had not wanted to cry burning his eyes. It seemed he could not control what he destroyed with this wrath, he thought. It had seemed like a fierce protector from despair all those years, so he had embraced the energy it gave him to stay strong and hold up the Silvans against the breaking world they lived in.

But the image of the broken glass, and Legolas's hard, resigned face not an hour ago as he had stood between his father and his wife seemed to merge into one in the old king's mind. Facing the damage without the excuse that such flames were useful, Thranduil finally tried something else. He allowed himself to sink to knees and weep at the evidence before him – sharp and spoiled, even as it carried the last of his wife's fragrance, evaporating beyond reach.

(~***~)

Legolas sat down with Lossrilleth as soon as Thranduil left, putting an arm around her carefully so as not to touch her wound.

"I am sorry for you to see him like this," he said sadly.

"I am sorry for his pain and for yours if this is how he behaved for an age," Lossrilleth replied, leaning against her husband as her last energy faded.

Crashing sounds echoed down the empty hallways. Legolas let out a frustrated huff. "It is worse than ever with no court watching him whose good opinion he must keep."

"Forget it, he can deal with himself," Legolas said after a moment, moving on to his real task. "I want to fix your bandage and then you must rest. This is no small injury. You will sleep hard." As he tended to her, he was relieved to see that the bleeding appeared contained. He rung her cloak as dry as he could and cut a long strip of it to bandage her again.

"I will have no clothes at the end of this," she tried joking even as her eyes took on an unfocused look and she swayed a little where she sat.

"Hush, meleth, relax. If you feel sleep coming on just let it take hold." Legolas finished up her bandage and tried to get her to lie down.

She grabbed at his tunic unconsciously. She did not feel safe falling asleep while the sounds of Thranduil's destruction reverberated through the empty cavern, but her mind was getting fuzzy despite her resistance.

"Do not leave," she said breathlessly.

Legolas recognized her fear of unconsciousness in the presence of a threat. He felt disgusted at his father for frightening her right when she badly needed rest. He settled his back against the driest stone he could find and pulled her closer, where he could hold her against his chest.

"Will you rest like this? I will not leave, I promise," he reassured her. She slumped against him, curling her head into the space between his neck and shoulder.

"Has he ever struck you?" she asked. "Outside of a training exercise?"

Legolas thought back over all the years he had lived with his father. He had been scolded or ignored as often as he had been listened to or encouraged. But being struck?

"No, he has never done that," Legolas replied truthfully. "Rest, Lossrilleth. Please. You are not well. He is not going to hurt either of us while you are sleeping." She nodded against him, her hair tickling at his ear, and he could feel her finally getting still.

(~***~)