Thanks to everyone for reviewing- it does encourage me to keep writing!
Happy Christmas everyone.
Special thanks to Nimruzir (realised its Alpha:) for a thought provoking review, and to Dimaranien who made me go back and look again at the previous chapter. I've tweaked bits so it is a little clearer and reads better. ANd Dewzelmis, always nice to hear these things and I'm glad you've come out of the shadows! Nako, freddie and lotrfn- you keep me going.
BETA: ANARITHILIEN
The yellow smoke refers to a vision shown Legolas in Deeper than Breathing (or Songs of Rohan on some sites) where Saruman shows Legolas a vision of Mirkwood overrun by orcs and goblins, and an elf with golden hair hoisted upon a lance by the orcs- in the way that Celebrimbor was.
Guhnâlzirâmuzbad - Celebrimbor, Lord of the Glass Doors
Narvi: The greatest of the dwarf smiths of Moria. He made the doors of Moria with Celebrimbor. The two were great friends.
Chapter 5: A conversation
Legolas leaned on one elbow and watched Elrohir sleep. His beautiful face looked younger relaxed, all the cares and guilt and pain rubbed from his face. He looked more like Elladan, Legolas thought and then quashed the thought as disloyal, for Elrohir had his heart as completely as he had his body.
He wondered what would happen when he turned for home, for he needed to. He needed to be amongst the heart of the Wood, to hear the Song of the Wood, to feel the strong embrace of his father and Laersul, Thalos. To see Galion and …and to feel the absence of Anglach. To mourn his childhood friend, his chosen brother.
What would you think of me now, Anglach? he wondered. And where are you? He wondered if Anglach and Rhawion were in the same place? If he too would go there should he be slain? And all those of the Wood who lost their lives in the battle beneath the trees of his home.
He could not help but drift back to the dreadful images shown him by Saruman, in the shadow of Orthanc.
You should see Mirkwood… Ruined and burned.' The wizard's face had transformed into something ugly and inhuman, eyes narrowed and cruel, mouth curled in a sneer.
Legolas' heart squeezed. He blinked, as if trying to clear the stinging tears from his eyes and put his hand over his mouth as if yellow smoke filled his lungs, even now in the luxurious tent. A roaring was in his ears that was the sound of fire raging, of trees crashing...
….The air was yellow and sulphurous, and from the dense smoke, he could see figures running, a glint of steel flash, and his foot touched something warm. He looked down. An elven warrior stared up, eyes open and mouth gasping. His dark hair was braided and his grey eyes were wide with shock and pain. Ceredir!
Legolas fell to his knees but his hands drew through nothing but air…The yellow smoke billowed and flowed about him and Ceredir's blood bubbled in his throat, seeped from his mouth….though he could not touch him.
Through the yellow smoke, orcs poured through the trees, black silhouettes against the infernal backdrop of the burning forest. Their grotesque shapes leapt over flames and suddenly a group of screaming children appeared, running for their lives. One child saw Legolas and pointed. He knew them, they were the foresters' children. They ran towards him desperately. One orc leapt forwards, grasped a child, and without pause cut its throat with horrible efficiency.
Then the smoke walls parted and a tall powerful warrior charged into the clearing, he raised his gleaming sword and struck down the orcs who ran from his fury. Legolas saw his hair was golden. It could have been Thranduil. It could have been Laersul. Legolas could not tell for the yellow smoke obscured his view.
There was a hiss and whine of arrows. The warrior, magnificent and deadly, wielded his sword and the light glanced off the blade, arrows falling away as he did so. He turned fiercely to face his foes but one stray arrow hissed past Legolas and pierced flesh, finding its mark. The warrior stumbled and slowly, unbelieving, looked down. His sword fell heavily to the ground and he sank to his knees, raising his hands to his chest. A slow red stain seeped where the arrow had struck.
The smoke shifted and swirled and Legolas' gaze was pulled back to the burning forest and the dying warrior. A spear flashed briefly and then, amongst the crowing, jeering orcs, it plunged down, a horrid sound of tearing flesh. There was a hoarse cry, and then another was ripped unwillingly from the throat of the warrior. The spear was hoisted up high and the weight made the orc bearing it stagger a little at first until others came around and steadied it.
Saruman's voice twisted around him, conjuring those terrible scenes. 'Your brothers are slain or taken. And you know what fate awaits those taken in Mirkwood by Dol Guldur.' Orcs gibbered and mocked, shrieking around the bloody banner with its horrid trophy.
'Mirkwood… bereft of its sons, bereft of its king…its standard broken, trodden into the mud. Oh, you should see what they have done in Mirkwood. You have abandoned her and now orcs rape the children of your dead warriors.'
…..Legolas twitched suddenly awake. His heart pounded in his chest as if he had been running and there was sweat upon his brow. Laersul? Was that Laersul he had seen? Or Thranduil?
He blinked. Beneath him, thick carpets lay over rushes that were cast upon the grass of the Field of Cormallen. He was here, in Ithilien. And beside him, Elrohir, Ráveyön, his beloved, slept.
Suddenly he wanted to be gone, running back into the trees, to the Wood. Home. Home and to see his father, walk into the hardness of his embrace, the boundless love. Tease Thalos, and hug Laersul for all his stalwart, kindly generosity.
He was on his feet and moving when Elrohir turned and murmured in his sleep.
He faltered, and turned his head towards the sleeping elf he loved. Firelight cast a warm glow and gleamed in Elrohir's hair. One hand cupped his own cheek and his eyelashes fluttered slightly as he dreamed.
Legolas paused. How could he leave now? Elrohir was vulnerable, he knew. He had felt the tremor of self-doubt in Elrohir's declaration of love, as if he did not believe that Legolas loved him. That he was so unloveable that he could not be forgiven.
Legolas sighed and went back to Elrohir, lay against him and smoothed a hand over his hair as his father did when Legolas was troubled. He closed his eyes and let his heart ache with homesickness, with the need to go home, to see that all was well. 'Home,' he whispered to Elrohir too softly to wake him, too softly for him to hear. 'I have to go home. I need to …Soon.' For he knew in truth he could not abandon Aragorn just yet. And there were the Hobbits too. And Gimli…whose path home ran with his and to whom he had made promises.
And there was Elrohir, who doubted himself so much and doubted anyone could love him even more.
But he could not shake off the images of the yellow smoke coiling about the trees of his home, or the terrible curdling moans of the elf hoisted upon a lance, and it reminded him bitterly of the Orc he had spared all those long months ago when he first had ridden out with Elrohir Ravéyön, Son of Thunder, and brought his attention, his wrath, his desire upon him.
0o0o
Still restless he rose after a little while and ducked under the tent door and into the airy cold of the night. Above, the night sky wheeled slowly overhead and around him were the hushed voices of Men on watch. One Man, a little drunk, staggered past and slurred something at Legolas, raising an empty tankard to him as if in a toast. Legolas nodded at him and wove his way between the fires, making his way towards the river.
At the edge of the camp, a small group of sentries ringed one tent he had not noticed before. As he passed, looking curiously, one of the Men greeted Legolas by name and he nodded affably though he did not remember the Man. Oddly, the Man fell in step beside him though Legolas did not wish for company.
'Right glad I am to be back here instead of the Morgul Vale,' the Man said unaware of Legolas' wish to be rid of him.
Legolas turned and looked at him more closely. It was one of the two Men who had clung to each other as they entered the grim and ruined Keep of Minas Morgul. He searched his memory briefly. 'Arduin,' he said suddenly.
The Man smiled with surprised gladness.'You remember me?' he exclaimed. He seemed to feel this gave him permission to walk on with Legolas and Legolas turned his feet towards Aragorn's tent instead, thinking the Man would fall away once he realised where Legolas was headed.
'I have heard tell the Elves remember everything,' Arduin said, a little awed, but pleased nonetheless. He walked silently beside Legolas for a while and then he said, quite suddenly, 'I wish we had not brought back that looking glass. It is a strange and haunted thing.'
Legolas stopped. 'You have brought it with you?' he asked, feeling the same strange lingering sensation that he had felt when he found the glass; cold, dread.
'We have, my lord. Lord Mithrandir commanded it be brought to camp and shut away. Hidden from view. And…we have been told we must not speak of it to anyone. But since it is you, I thought…' He faltered, perhaps considering that Legolas might think he had broken a command.
Hidden from view?
'Where is it?' he asked, almost in contradiction. He wanted to know. And found himself slightly veering alongside the edge of Aragorn's tent, towards the river once more…to keep the Man with him.
Arduin shot him a quick, relieved glance. 'It is in the tent where you found me. We have to guard it day and night.' He shuffled his feet nervously and looked at his feet. 'I wish I did not have to.'
'It is the lingering sense of the Nazgûl,' Legolas said and he felt as if he were standing a long way back and watching himself from afar. 'Fear was their greatest weapon and it is no surprise that something so ancient and so long in their possession should have some …lingering sense of them.' He smiled gently and patted the young Man on the shoulder. 'I was afraid when first I came upon it. But I no longer feel so.' He walked on again, drawing Arduin with him. 'If you feel fear, in the dead of night when you are alone with it, call for me and I will come and stand you company.'
'You will?' The young Man's face was lit by such delight that Legolas hesitated; he hoped Arduin had not mistaken what he suggested. 'Yes. Of course. And I will bring my troublesome friend with me for the fug of pipeweed will drive away any ghouls or ghosties, as he would say.'
'Thank you my lord.' Arduin clasped his hands and giving a small bow, he took his leave of Legolas, returning back to the camp. He looked back over his shoulder a couple of times, and nodded each time that he met Legolas' gaze.
Legolas turned and looked at the long, sinuous darkness of the river. It slipped silently over the grey stones, stretched out a wide expanse of water. It led to the sea. He found himself staring into the blankness and dark, and his face reflected pale and watery…. He was reminded briefly of his own appearance in the glass; the strange half-light had made his skin pallid and ghostly. Like a ghoul. Like a wraith. As if something had peered briefly through the mirror from the other side.
Suddenly Legolas found that he needed Gimli, the earth-deep song, the rumble of his voice and the square, clever hands that could smooth steel like it was silk. He took a breath and realised he had been breathing only shallowly, as if to take a deeper breath might open up the bones of his ribs and expose his heart…
He stumbled back, and shook himself slightly as if to rid himself of a cobweb of dreams, sticky and clinging to his thoughts.
What he needed was company. A drunk dwarf and the smell of pipe-weed, the warmth of friendship. He almost ran from the river, its still darkness like the deep dark within the mirror.
He walked swiftly between the campfires, barely acknowledged the quiet guards as he passed and nodded briefly at the sentries outside Aragorn's tent and ducked his head, emerging into a warm cosy intimacy with a fire burning merrily, the smoke curled upward through a hole in the luxurious tent. Thick carpets were laid over sweet smelling rushes and heavy tapestries hung from the tent frame.
Aragorn sat in a low, comfortable chair pulled up before the fire, with an old, battered field-desk on his knees. Half a glass of wine was on a small table at his elbow and the Man had managed to pull the neck of his fine robe askew and shucked it up over his knees. His boots were muddy. '…so it is abandoned?' he was saying. He stopped and looked up when he saw Legolas.
Gimli sat opposite him in the other low, comfortable chair, boots off, square feet towards the fire.
'I knew you would find us eventually. When you got bored.' Gimli showed his teeth and wiggled his toes. His socks were well darned. The stitches were tiny and neat and barely seen; the same neat stitches darned Legolas' own socks. And found himself smiling. Suddenly he felt normal again, like he had been submerged and now was breathing the air.
Aragorn's face softened and warmed, and Legolas settled himself on the rich, thick rug, stretched his long legs out, remembering his father's study with its own two chairs settled before the fire and a large table nearby, covered in maps held down by anything Thranduil had to hand, glasses, candlesticks, plates of cold uneaten food. And how Galion would tut and fish about in the delicate porcelain bowl for the silver and mithril clips that Galion had had made especially…
He realised that Gimli was watching him with narrowed eye. 'I am tired,' he confessed. 'I keep drifting off. It's all right,' he added quickly seeing Aragorn's concern. 'It is not the Sea-Longing. Just reverie.'
'You need to sleep more,' Gimli observed wryly. Legolas stretched his long legs out and leaned back on his elbows, slid him a smile and quirked an eyebrow cheekily.
Aragorn put the field desk onto the floor beside him. 'I also am weary,' he agreed. 'Almost to the bone. After so long it seems strange to sleep in soft beds and have clean sheets.' He fished about in the pockets of his robes and shook his head in frustration.
Legolas grinned and reached up onto a small table beside him where a long pipe had been left. He handed it to Aragorn with a smile. 'Have they not made these fine robes to your particulars yet? You must tell them what you require, majesty,' he said with a gleam in his eye that was not in the least serious. 'My father has his tailor make pockets in several places in the lining- mainly for knives. But he has also been known to collect small stones of different colours, and leaves. And once, a toad.'
Aragorn gaped and Legolas grinned. 'Perhaps he turned someone into it,' Aragorn blurted out, clearly without thinking.
Legolas laughed. 'No indeed! It was long ago. Anglach put it there when he was small. He thought Adar had said something about a pet toad he had lost and Anglach wanted to comfort him….' He laughed softly; Anglach had adored Thranduil with an uncritical devotion unsurpassed. 'It turned out that he said something entirely different, but for a while it caused an uproar in the Council until Adar gave the toad to Thalos who just quietly took it away.'
Legolas stared into the flames.
'I cannot imagine Thranduil needing comfort from anyone…' Gimli's voice seemed almost disembodied. Which was not true, thought Legolas. His father would need comfort now if…if those visions wrought by Saruman were true…
A soft snort of laughter. Aragorn.
When Thranduil was told of Anglach's death, he had been devastated. He had been silent at first. Then he had slowly risen from his throne and without speaking, cut a swathe through all protests and grief and ridden out, a stream of warriors following behind him for none could catch him up, and smashed his way through the attacking orcs, leaving a bloody mess in his wake.
He was magnificent in his fury. Crushed in his grief.
'Legolas?'
He tore his gaze from the fire and looked up. 'Forgive me my friends, I am in the past…only in the past,' he reassured them softly.
'We were speaking of that which you found in Minas Morgul,' Gimli said gruffly, as he did when he was trying to cover his emotions. 'A looking glass. Elladan is upset with Gandalf.' He sucked on his pipe and blew out slowly, pleasurably. 'Did you find out any more from his brother?'
Legolas shook his head. 'Not much. Only that he thought this mirror is similar to one in Phellanthir…' He slowed. 'It is much to do with Celebrimbor. Elrohir thought he had made them both.'
'Celebrimbor!' Gimli leaned forwards with interest. 'Now that is interesting indeed. So that old looking glass is made by the master smith himself…I wonder why he wasted time on vanity…'
'And why the Nazgûl would think it worth saving,' Aragorn added.
'I do not think this Glass has any worth,' Legolas found himself saying, again, as if he were standing a long way away from himself and watching his mouth move, words form. 'It is old and faded. There is nothing special about it.'
The firelight flickered in Gimli's eyes and he seemed to scrutinise Legolas shrewdly. 'Nothing special you say? Celebrimbor's mark alone is of incomparable worth. I would like to have a look at it. See the workmanship, even it is only a vanity glass…' He glanced at Aragorn. 'I'd quite like a look at that Palantir as well whilst I'm about it. Now that Sauron is gone.'
Aragorn shifted uncomfortably and Gimli quirked an eyebrow. 'I'm guessing that's a no then.' The dwarf grinned affably but Aragorn looked away and Legolas picked at at his fingernail for someone had mended the sleeves to his tunic and the loose threads were tightly sewn.
It was only a moment of tension between them for they had been through too much to hold their peace. Both gave way and Legolas inclined his head.
'Aragorn, you are the King here and must command. Speak.'
Aragorn laughed gently at the irony of being commanded to speak first; his eyes were soft as he looked at both his friends. 'Gimli, if you wish to look at the Palantir, then you must. For Sauron is vanquished and has no hold upon it. But let me speak first to Gandalf so he can agree. If Gandalf says you may, then do so with my blessing. As for the looking glass, if nothing else, it is a work of great antiquity and the last work of Celebrimbor, except for the Three, and those will vanish soon, into the West.'
Gimli laughed and rubbed his hands. 'I will be the envy of Erebor and all the Kindred, masters and smiths,' he chuckled. 'To be the one to unlock the secrets of Guhnâlzirâmuzbad!'
Too late he pressed his lips together but Legolas had seized upon it. 'That is the name you give Celebrimbor?' he questioned amused. 'What does it mean?'
But when Gimli did not speak Legolas cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. 'I can work this out,' he said cheekily. 'Ziram is silver. No! Glass,' he cried in triumph. 'Yes. I remember. You spoke of the Dwimmerdale as …Keled-ziram.'
'Kheled-zâram,' Gimli corrected fussily. 'Very well, it means Lord of the Glass Doors.'
'Ah,' Aragorn said wisely. 'Of course. The Glass Doors. Now we have seen the doors of Moria, I can see why…'
'Khazad-dûm,'Gimli corrected prickly. He pulled his bushy eyebrows together and frowned at Aragorn. 'Glass,' he said, jabbing his pipe towards Aragorn a little crossly. 'Glass,' he said again, a little more gently for Aragorn was staring at him, confused. 'Do you think the Doors of Moria are made of glass?' he asked kindly now. Aragorn still looked bewildered.
'Those were made of stone, Aragorn,' Legolas reminded him. 'And mithril was used to draw the runes and welcome,' he added slowly as if Aragorn were a little stupid.
'I know that,' Aragorn responded crossly. He pressed his lips together. 'I am not completely stupid.' But Gimli simply looked kindly at the King Returned and Legolas snorted. Aragorn tutted at both of them.
'Really Aragorn. You are going to have to work harder if our people aren't going to completely take advantage of you! Those wily old lords have been dealing with Denethor for decades. You are going to have to sharpen up.'
Aragorn stared at each one in turn, lost for words.
'Lord of the Glass Doors?' Legolas prompted. Then he sighed showily as if Aragorn was supposed to know whatever the secret was about the glass doors. 'Really Aragorn! Obviously there is a mirror like this one in Phellanthir.'
'Obviously!' Aragorn bit back sarcastically. 'Of course.' He didn't want to admit it- but how was he supposed to have made the leap from finding Celebrimbor's mirror in Minas Morgul, to assuming there was one in Phellanthir? Oh. 'There had to be a reason why the Nazgûl were guarding Phellanthir,' he realised
'Yes,' Legolas smiled encouragingly. 'And this one must have been salvaged from when Sauron destroyed the cities of Eregion. But Narvi was a great smith of M…Khazad-dûm and great friends with Celebrimbor. They must have talked all the time about what they were doing, hence the name. It wouldn't surprise me if Narvi wasn't up to his hairy little neck in it!' he said.
Gimli looked pleased. 'So some of my teaching has rubbed off on you after all!' he declared. 'It just goes to show you never can tell what's going in one pointy little ear and out the other and what sticks!' He beamed at Legolas proudly. 'It's the Mirrors, Aragorn ,' he explained slowly and carefully as if Aragorn had trouble keeping up. 'Narvi knew what your man, Celebrimbor was making.'
'Obviously!' Aragorn rolled his eyes. 'They were great friends. So they made them in Khazad-dûm as well?'
'Yes!' Gimli looked absurdly pleased with both of them. 'There are tales of a Hall of Glass, where the seer could walk upon and through light. The spectrum was like a tangible thing, Narvi's writing tells of this. And Azaghâl writes of the many mirrors that lined the hall and the light stretched. He wrote as well of the copper used to construct the hall and that mithril was smelted down to make an ore so pure it changed the very nature of the observed. …It makes fascinating reading. I must lend to to you sometime.'
Aragorn leaned forwards, intrigued. 'Do you think the halls survived the Balrog? It would be a wonder to see,' he said suddenly interested. 'Or do you think the Balrog's heat would have melted the glass?'
'Oh I am sure the Balrog never came there,' said Gimli cheerfully and, Aragorn thought, unreasonably optimistic. 'It would be worth exploring and seeing what remains'
But Legolas was silent. He suddenly felt like he was standing on the very edge of darkness and staring beyond into the chasm of Night.