After yesterday morning's brief confrontation between Estel and the angry, volatile Naiahim, the tension between the Wood-Elves, Noldor, and humans was growing unbearable. Although the Wood-Elves had finally relented into allowing the Noldor to help the Prince, it was only because Legolas himself, awake in short-lived interludes, had not balked at having the Noldor near him. The Ranger, too, was no longer banned from coming close to the Prince, for Legolas had reached for the human and smiled often at Estel during their breaks from traveling. Such friendly actions had left no doubts that Aragorn had not been the one to harm Legolas; and yet, the Wood-Elves held no better opinions of either the twins or Ranger, and remained wary of them nonetheless.
While they had stopped more often once Legolas was awake, they never stopped their fast-paced journey for longer than it took the ailing Prince to be treated and better situated. It had been clear since Legolas had awoken that he wished to ride with no one: understanding, Elladan assumed, from her experience with her sister's similar despair, Hanir had been able to convince Legolas to ride with her. The reason why Legolas did not wish to ride before any of the male warriors was obvious, but no one caused a fuss about the matter, for the Prince's sake.
He could never have ridden alone, the elder twin contemplated, watching Legolas' eyes as they slid closed again. The reprieve from consciousness would not last long, and soon the Prince would startle awake, only to be soothed by a few whispered words from Hanir. I am glad that the Wood-Elves showed when they did, for their help was needed.
The Prince was merely too weak to be kept busy. They had nothing for him to do to keep him active and awake. But it was not only physical weakness that prevented Legolas from participating in their brief camps – the Wood-Elf Prince no longer tried to speak with them, did not respond to their questions or pleas for him to remain awake, and not even Aragorn could draw Legolas from his stupor. He barely moved, save when his body shook from his constant coughing, or when his hand would fumble at the too loose cloth of his borrowed tunic to find there the leaf-blazoned gold medallion that hung from his neck.
That they could not keep the Prince occupied, and therefore keep in the Silvan's fading mind the sense of duty that had sustained him thus far, frightened Elladan. His chest ached – not from injury, but from the constant barrage of despair he felt from his twin, who he knew was accruing pain and misery from the dying Prince. At all times, Elrohir was connected to the Prince's desolate thinking, and Elladan could feel his twin's reciprocal despair.
Just a little while longer. We are almost there.
Patting the neck of his horse, Elladan thanked the beast silently for its cooperation. While Elven horses had endurance beyond the breeds that mortals rode, the band of weary travelers had pushed their mounts for days before this journey home, and now, when it was most imperative that they arrive in Mirkwood quickly, the horses were just as exhausted as their riders. But as if understanding the severity of the situation, the horses had refused to allow their fatigue to slow them.
They were passing the outer limits of Eryn Galen's main populace, and in a few hours, they would arrive at Thranduil's mountain palace.
Even had Captain Salneril not told them this only moments before, Elladan would have known. While anxious for the welfare of the Prince, and for the twins, who were anxious also for the welfare of their human brother, the moods of the travelers were more relaxed. Moreover, the feeling of being spied upon had slowly lessened until now, instead of the eyes of spiders, Elladan expected to be spied upon by Wood-Elves in the trees above. Indeed, no sooner had he thought this than he heard a shout of welcome from overhead to the warriors below.
We must be passing the guards' stations surrounding the borders. As he rode under from where the voice was emanating, Elladan looked into the tree above, but could see no one. Suddenly, more Wood-Elves called their surprised greetings overhead: Elladan heard the joy in their voices as they passed under them. The Silvan Elves were ecstatic to see their Prince returned, or so their merry calls of welcome intimated to Elladan. Legolas is much loved in Eryn Galen, the elder Noldo thought to himself, cheered by the show of love and affection for the Prince, for such adoration was exactly what Legolas needed.
The closer they drew to the palace, the more Silvan seemed to pour out from between the trees. As their homes were hidden in the boughs above or carefully shrouded by foliage on the ground, it seemed to Elladan that the Wood-Elves sprang from the trees themselves. He would not have been surprised if this had been true. The Silvan are an odd folk! Although he had met Wood-Elves before, those times were usually in battle, or as messengers – not within the Silvan's own habitat. Peering at the travelers with unabashed curiosity, they followed the ambling parade of horses, Noldor, men, and fellow Wood-Elves, all of them wanting to know of their Prince.
In addition to never seeing so many Silvan in all his years, Elladan had never been to Mirkwood in that time, either: the view of Thranduil's palace, carved into the mountainside and lit by the ocher light of the setting sun, was a sight that the elder twin would not soon forget. The mountain towered over the forest in an imposing display of natural, raw beauty. The effacement of the window shafts and chimney openings by phlox, vines, and carefully positioned rocks made the otherwise conspicuous evidence of habitation unnoticeable. Indeed, had one not seen the great, fabled magical gate or the ostentatious portico, which was made of stone carved to resemble the woods outside and inlaid with gold leafing, or had one never heard of Thranduil's mountain palace, the mountainside itself would appear as ordinary as any other, save for the occasional drift of smoke erupting at random from various flues along the verdant and rocky incline.
It looks as if the whole mountainside were smoking pipe-weed! Laughing lightly at himself, and feeling a millennium younger at the magnificent spectacle, Elladan turned to face his twin, who rode close beside him. But seeing Elrohir's downcast and worried face, Elladan kept his amused ponderings to himself.
"Legolas is home, brother," he whispered to his twin, his words no louder than the sonorous, lazy rushing sound of the Forest River.
It was to this very sound the Forest River was making that Aragorn listened as they rode over the bridge that spanned said river. The Ranger remembered quite clearly that Legolas had mentioned the Forest River in connection to his grief, but Estel could not recall how so.
"I am glad for it," he heard Elrohir reply to his twin's reassurance, the younger twin's enthusiasm lacking, though Aragorn knew his brother's words were true. "Legolas needs to be home."
As they passed through the enchanted gates, which were open at this time of night to allow free passage for the Silvan to make their way to and from the palace, Aragorn looked behind them. Still, the Wood-Elves followed them and more were amassing. In front of them, it was apparent that word of Legolas' arrival had already reached the palace, for throngs of Elves were already milling about the courtyard – cries of questions for the riders as they went by, well-wishing for the fading Prince, and fearful whispers over the somnolent Legolas' condition, were a sea of lilting, musical Elven voices. I wonder if King Thranduil has yet been informed that his son is home.
Estel glanced over at Legolas: the Prince was not sleeping, but his eyes were unfocused, his acknowledgment of the ruckus springing up quickly in the courtyard was nothing more than the occasional flicker of a frown of confusion. They were losing the golden warrior.
His eyes already tearing at the thought, Aragorn told himself, It is as Elladan says. Legolas is home, and at least he will be with his father and friends as he dies. It was cold comfort for the Ranger, who selfishly did not wish to lose his new friend, especially not when the vile deeds forced upon Legolas were the Adan's fault, by his own reckoning.
A sudden uproar manifested from the crowd, some of whom had turned to gaze up at the roof of the portico, which Aragorn realized was no mere roof, but a veranda for the level above the ground floor of the palace. Leaning over the handrail of the adorned patio, a fair, golden-haired Elf was peering down at them. A moment later, the Elda was gone, having fled across the veranda and to the doors that would lead the Elf back inside the palace.
He must be Thranduil, the Ranger told himself wryly. The resemblance between son and sire could not have been mistaken.
In the center of the courtyard, the Captain and his warriors stopped their horses, which still encircled the Noldor and humans. The twins sat in their saddles with their backs straight, for they were Elven Lords, after all, and were used to fanfare and diplomatic negotiations. The Noldor would not be dismounting until they knew that Thranduil would welcome them into his home, and the warriors would not dismount until they knew they would not need to escort the trespassing twins and humans out of the Mirkwood Forest.
Soon, the uproar of voices swelled and then calmed into a hush: the celestial-engraved doors to the King's palace were thrown open, and the woodland sovereign walked out, his grim disbelief dissipating as he saw his son sitting before Hanir on the she-Elf's horse.
Obviously, the King had not eaten or slept since his son's disappearance, and it well showed on the Elf Lord's face. Never had Aragorn seen an Elda looked so tattered and fraught. Well, Aragorn amended, never before Legolas. Were Thranduil's hair a shade lighter rather than darker, and Legolas a hand taller, he and Legolas could be twins. Heedless of whether his actions were unkingly or not, Thranduil hastened down the courtyard steps, his robe blowing behind him as he strode purposefully towards the travelers.
Thranduil had lost much over the years: the toil of being ruler in a land forsaken, it seemed, by all but those who remained there to fight the Dark forces corrupting it, and the losses of his fellow Elves, not to mention his wife, friends, and family to these foul forces, had incited the King's acceptance of his son's death. Aragorn could see it in Thranduil's surprise to see his son alive now. As he approached them, the ruler's downtrodden visage lifted, and he smiled even as he began to weep. With none in the courtyard daring to draw closer to the travelers out of respect for their King, Aragorn had a clear view of the sovereign as he finally arrived at his son's horse.
"Legolas," Thranduil whispered, reaching up to where the Prince sat in front of Hanir, staring lifelessly ahead of him. The sight of the weeping King and stricken Silvan finally caused the swelling moisture in Aragorn's eyes to well over.
As he had done the morning of the day before, Legolas beamed, his eyes suddenly lucid and his bruised and emaciated face lighting into a genuine, albeit harrowing smile. "Ada."
In trying to reach his father, Legolas climbed ineptly from Hanir's horse, a feat that Legolas could never accomplish on his own. The Prince only slithered down one side of the horse's belly, his body suddenly slack as his waning consciousness fled him again from vertigo, or perhaps because his chest became twisted in his fall and his breath shortened. Hanir tried desperately to hold the Prince aloft before he fell to the flagstones underfoot. Aragorn's breath caught in his own chest, and he nearly leapt from his horse to aid the Silvan.
However, Thranduil had already caught the young Elda by the time the thought to help Legolas had crossed Aragorn's mind. Falling to his knees in the courtyard as he lowered Legolas to the ground with him slowly, the King cradled the Prince to him as if he were a babe. Legolas did not move, did not try to speak to his father, nor did he seem aware of what was occurring, for his eyes were now closed and his breathing low.
"My son," the King whispered, smiling down at Legolas.
The King then stared up to the band of brothers, his tear-streaked face, so much like Legolas' fair and stately countenance, was filled with questions and fear of the answers. Thranduil looked at each of them, and perhaps seeing in them the same heartache as he felt himself, the King only pulled the unresisting Prince closer, standing with the young Wood-Elf's limp body still in his arms.
Taking the cue from his brothers, both of whom were dismounting to greet the woodland sovereign respectfully, Aragorn slid from his own horse, groaning a bit as his overtaxed and aching muscles were forced into carrying his weight again.
"King Thranduil," Elrohir began, "mae govannen, your Majesty." Glancing towards his twin, the younger Noldo explained, "I am Elrohir Elrondion, and this is my brother, Elladan." Again, Elrohir looked to Aragorn and Jalian as a means to indicating of whom he was speaking, and told Thranduil, "He is a Ranger, Aragorn, and this human is of Laketown, named Jalian."
Elrohir had omitted mentioning to the entire courtyard of onlooking Elves that he and Elladan were adopted brothers to Estel; the younger twin had also avoided telling anyone of Jalian's place in Legolas' disappearance. A courtyard full of worried Elves was hardly the place to be sharing such sensitive information.
Thranduil only nodded, returning the greeting with understandable half-heartedness. "Mae govannen, sons of Elrond, Master Humans." Hefting the unconscious Legolas in his arms, and looking very much as if he wished to run from the courtyard, rather than exchange inane pleasantries with his uninvited guests, Thranduil implored, "You will tell me what has happened to my son?"
It was not a question. "Of course," Elladan told Thranduil, bowing slightly as he added, "we will await your summons, your Majesty, and give thanks for your hospitality."
The King eyed the elder twin's bandaged arm and head, the Ranger's bloodied clothes, his pale, scabbed, and contused face and neck, and the weariness of the four travelers. Turning to Captain Salneril, who had come to stand beside his King during the stilted conversation, Thranduil told the Captain, "See to it that our brethren and guests are taken to the healers, and their horses to the stables."
Without awaiting Salneril's response, Thranduil hurried away. The Silvan parted like water beneath a blade – as Thranduil strode through his people, the Wood-Elves moved to let him by, and then closed the rift after he had passed, as if sealing off access to their King and Prince by a wall of Elven bodies. Up the stairs and then inside the massive doors to his palace did Thranduil go, his broken son in his arms.
"Come," Salneril told them, motioning with his hand for them to follow.
Quickly, the Ranger, twins, and Jalian gathered their bags, allowing their horses to be led away, and then were led away themselves by the Captain. They walked after Salneril, but not up the stairs to the main entryway. They walked to a side door, a simple wooden portal embedded into the bare rock of the mountain wall, hidden in the growing shadows as night fell upon the Mirkwood Forest.
Passing Wood-Elves as they went, Aragorn could feel their questions and instant distrust. Brought home on the brink of death by two Noldor and two humans, the Prince was in dire condition. Legolas' fellow Wood-Elves, Aragorn could sense from their half-veiled, hateful, and worried stares, were ready to blame him for their Prince's death; it did not make Estel feel guilty. He blamed himself already, and could not imagine feeling any more blameworthy than he did already.