Chapter 28: Tindómion Part 1
Summary:
For Spiced Wine. Happy Birthday.
Tindómion is her wonderful character who makes an appearance in this and the next chapter.
Beta; Fabulous Anarithilien.
Chapter Text
It was late but Thranduil strode along the passageway that led from his audience chamber to his own rooms. He wanted to shut everything out, close the doors on the outside world and pore over maps, spread them on his study table, the maps of Eregion, with the teeth of the Hithaeglir picked out a spine that ran down the back of Eregion and Rhovanion. He wanted to pull them towards himself and stare unseeing at the blotched writing, the marks he had made himself, of Dagorlad, of Mordor, of the journey home…He wanted to immerse himself in grief, to drink to oblivion. To forget what had happened and block out the insistent future. It was where Legolas was heading, his sweet child of the woods. He knew it. He had known it the moment he saw the eagle circle once and plummet from the sky…
That day he had been gathering roots and nuts along with many of his folk, Galion was ahead of him and flirting dangerously with Tauriwen, a rather lovely woman whose husband had been killed long years ago in the South. Thranduil rather thought that Tauriwen and Galion had had assignations previously for both were widowed and their bodies not yet appeased. He smiled and watched Galion covertly when a shout drew his attention. It was not an alarm but a warning nonetheless...
...Above them an eagle circled. It shrieked once and then folded its wings and plummeted. The speed of its approach was both shocking and exhilarating and a horrid sense of foreboding shot through Thranduil. He could see the white markings that indicated the bird was one of Gwaihir's folk.
The Elves all stood and exclaimed. Its stoop would take it right amongst them.
'It is one of the eagles of the Mountains,' he said. His heart beat loudly, pounding in his chest like he had been running. It brought news of Legolas, he knew as clearly as he could see the eagle's feathers. 'One of Gwaihir's folk.' He kept his voice steady but knew that Galion had noticed the slight tremor and shot him a worried glance. Even now, Galion was making his way to his side. Thranduil stood ahead of his people to receive the eagle, as a King and warrior should.
The eagle was plummeting towards him at a terrible speed and he forced himself to stand still and not cover his head. Suddenly it propped like a shying horse and beat its wings back against the air so it gently dropped to the ground before him. He inclined his head graciously and assumed the mantle of kingship.
'Welcome friend,' he said. 'You have news of my son.'
The great eagle cocked its head and regarded Thranduil with its sharp, bright eye, a predator's eye. 'I bring message, lord, from over the Mountain.' Its voice was strange; a staccato, rasping sound and it lisped of course for an eagle with a beak had no lips to form the sounds as others would, and speech of this kind was strange to them. 'Mithrandir sends his greetings and thanks you for the news from your son. He is dwelling in Imladris.'
'Is he well?' Thranduil could not help now the tremble in his voice and stepped forward in his anxiety to know.
But the eagle merely cocked its head in the way birds do, and regarded him with its other eye. 'He dwells in…'
Thranduil stifled a sigh. The eagles had no real sense of wellness or safety. One lived or died. If one was sick, it was as one dead. He knew this from Gwaihir. They did not nurse the wounded though they would of course, fight to reach their allies and save them from Orcs. He had seen that himself at Erebor.
'It is enough to know he lives,' he acknowledged and that was true. 'Does he return? The snows will be falling on the High Pass and without your strong wings, he will not be able to cross the Mountains,' Thranduil said, hoping that the eagle might actually offer to bring Legolas back safely to him. But in his heart he knew even that was foolish for storms wracked the Mountains. He had only to wait until the Spring. Or perhaps Legolas would chance the Redhorn Gate?
'I have a message from Mithrandir. And another from the lord Elrond. It is of great import.' The yellow eye settled on Thranduil.
'Mithrandir's message if you will, my friend,' he said with steel in his eyes and voice but a terrible sense of loss in his heart, a father's heart. He would lose Legolas, his sweet child of the Wood, more Woodelf than any of his sons. He reached out and found Galion holding him by the elbow, keeping him upright so none would see his faltering. He blinked and caught Galion's eyes watching him with troubled concern.
'Give your message,' he said pulling himself upright once more.
The eagle's yellow eye was bright and piercing. 'Very well. This is what Mithrandir bid me tell you, Lord of the Wood: Legolas is well. He has given me your message. I grieve for your loss and as your duty to me not yet discharged, I ask a boon of you.'
Thranduil barely breathed. He cast his glance obliquely towards Galion, knowing he was there, knowing he would be watching intently. 'My duty to Mithrandir!' he murmured quietly, bitterly. 'My duty to Mithrandir left my folk grieving our dead…' He drew a breath for he knew too that Mithrandir had ever been a friend of the Wood. Galion shifted closer to him and Thranduil felt the warmth of his friend against his arm.
The eagle blinked slowly, and cocked its head again. It seemed puzzled for a moment and then it said, 'I am to say this from Mithrandir: I ask that Legolas stay in my service for a little longer. I will see him safe across the Mountains though I cannot guarantee when you will see him again.'
Thranduil threw out his hand towards the eagle as if to ward off the words, and closed his eyes. Nauriel's dreadful curse resounded from those months ago when they returned without her son, without delivering the milui-criss, without even his body for her to keen over and to bury with her bereft heart: I hope you find what it is to lose a son.
Thranduil clutched at his tunic then above his heart, and felt like doubling over for the pain that struck him...
He did not of course. He had shown none of his despair but thanked the eagle courteously, waved Galion away to pursue the woman he was flirting with earlier, and glanced back at his people who had heard the eagle's words and gathered behind him, concerned and distressed as they would be for any of their own who were far from them, for he had wished to speak to the eagle alone.
The somewhat cryptic messages from Elrond had merely confirmed what he had guessed; the One Ring had indeed been found as he had thought. It was the precious thing that Gollum had found, long long ago and he had lost it. Bilbo Baggins had somehow found it and that was what had unsettled him about Bilbo… there had sometimes been a ringing in his ears when the Hobbit was close. A whisper from the hidden resentment he buried in his heart, a desire for Power that was not his…It had been the Ring uncovering his weakness.
He had hoped that Elrond had had the wit to send for Bilbo and bring him to Imladris where he was safe, for a while at least… for a while…And then slowly the realisation had come upon him…The Ring must already be there, and somehow, as he foretold, Gollum's escape was bound up in its fate. Mithrandir's promise of seeing Legolas' safely across the Mountains was something at least, he supposed gloomily, but the Wizard's words were double-edged for once across the Mountains, what then?
Of course the realisation hit him not longer after; Mithrandir wanted Legolas to cross the mountains with him, with Mithrandir. It did not take a wily old King to work out why he wanted someone of Legolas' calibre with him for a simple mountain crossing. He would be taking the Ring.
Now he kicked open the door of his study, a decanter of old wine in one hand and a candlestick in the other. It was late, he knew but he could not sleep and looked for oblivion. He pulled and shoved at the maps that were scattered over his table, moved away the map of the Wood that tracked his folk's desperate attempts to hold back the Shadow, the villages and spider attacks… his sons. And the map he unrolled now was torn at the edges and stained, as if it had not forgotten the blood and mud of battle. As if it had not forgotten the dreadful loss…
He stared at it now but with unseeing eyes for his mind was turned inwards reading again Elrond's message. The Ring was indeed found and through his oblique references and coded words, Thranduil guessed what they intended. And it was the most foolish thing he had ever heard.
The Dead Marshes were marked on the map but he saw instead a terrible slaughter, heard the sound of battle, the clash and din of swords clanging, the roar of Orcs and Goblins, of wargs and finally, at last, the battle cry of Gil-Galad. As Thranduil stood amongst the bloody wounded bodies of his own warriors, he saw his own father struggling towards him with his arm about a wounded Elf who swooned and dragged him down. Thranduil turned, his hair plastered against his skin in the rain, blood washed from his bright sword, stained his light leather armour while the Noldor gleamed and held back, held back and did not come…until now. The shining steel of their sword and spears finally broke upon the ranks of Orcs that hacked and beat the Woodelves, a sacrifice so the Noldor could lure Sauron out of his dark tower.
Dagorlad.
Mordor.
Folly! he thought. Fools to walk into the Fire like this.
And amongst all this was the Heir of Isildur to reclaim his throne, he thought. For he knew well who Aragorn was. Even when the Man delivered Smeagol to the Woodland Realm, Thranduil had seen the resemblance to his forefathers and through careful questioning easily deduced the truth; fostered by Elrond, one of the Dunédain, the grey eyes that Thranduil could see held foresight.
But it was not Elrond, or Mithrandir, the Heir of Isildur or even the One Ring which he thought of now. It was Legolas.
I ask that Legolas stay in my service for a little longer. I will see him safe across the Mountains though I cannot guarantee when you will see him again.
Double-edged words indeed, he thought. Safe across the Mountain, with the One Ring amongst them. Safe was clearly defined differently amongst the Istari. And Legolas would not turn north once they had crossed the Mountains. He knew his child as well as anyone could; Legolas would go with them. It was not in his nature to turn away and Mithrandir knew that, relied upon it. Nine companions for the Ringbearer. One for each of the Nine riders, the Nazgûl, Elrond's message said. Legolas for the Elves. His mouth twisted bitterly. He loved Legolas dearly but he was no match for the Nazgûl, Thranduil thought tossing back wine and not tasting it. Elrond did not send his own sons, he noted. Or Glorfindel or any of the other great elven lords who dwelled in Imladris. He poured more wine into a goblet and gulped at it.
The door opened quietly and a tall figure stood in the doorway, framed and limned with torchlight from the passageway. The figure walked with a careful elegance towards Thranduil and lay a hand on his shoulder, looked down at the map spread before him.
'Why do you look at this?' Thalos pushed the map aside although Thranduil could not take his eyes from it. 'It makes you morose, Father…Here.' Thalos tapped a place on the map of Rhovanion and Eregion, split apart by the teeth of the Hithaeglir.
'This is where Legolas will cross Caradhras. It will be nothing for Legolas and Mithrandir, or any others who travel with them.'
'Caradhras the Cruel,' Thranduil said in a soft voice, remembering. And Thalos reached out and laid his hand upon his father's arm.
'That is true,' Thalos said cautiously, seemingly unwilling to stir yet more memories. He sighed for they could not truly forget any of the Past. 'Many an unwary traveller has been claimed by the cold and by stone, by goblins. I have heard that it was on Caradhras that Elrond's wife was taken…But it will not be so with Legolas. And not with Mithrandir at his side,' he said with confidence.
Thranduil shifted slightly and hoped that Thalos was right; it was Legolas, he reminded himself; stealthy, skillfull, his awareness of the Song was strong and he had Mithrandir with him.
'They will come down into the Dimrill Dale and from there Legolas will strike out North and back here.' Thalos smiled. 'Shall I go and meet him, bring him back?'
Thranduil pulled the old map towards him, his father's map, back once more. He drank the wine without tasting and stared morosely at the markings, the crossings out and where his own hand had written; the Dead Marshes, Dagorlad. Mordor.
It was not Caradhras he feared.
His hand trembled and wine sloshed carelessly over the glass and onto the map. He felt cold and touched the dark wine with his finger, seeing his sweet child of green and gold like sunlight on new beech leaves. He saw him standing, as he had done himself an Age ago, before the Black Gates and the Nazgûl roosting like gargoyles on the huge towers. He saw a red glow like fire beyond the gates and knew, without doubt, that Legolas would go with the Ring Bearer, would go with Mithrandir and stand before the Black Gate. His sweet child, in such danger that Thranduil could not think of it. He stood staring at the old map he had thought never to look at again. Mordor.
0o0o
When Galadhon and his small troop of anxious-looking Elves had arrived back at the stronghold, it became real. Thranduil found that harder than anything. Not only because they had not crossed the Hithaeglir to bring Legolas back with them regardless of any promise extracted by Mithrandir, but they also brought with them Legolas' horse. She had come to them when she heard the voices of the Elves and other horses. She stepped out of the brush, Galadhon told Thranduil, where she had been hiding, waiting for Legolas' return as they had intended.
Thranduil himself settled her in a stable, finding the brushing of her coat to a gleaming shine soothing, and her solid munching of sweet hay restful. Sweet Gwileth merely turned her head and regarded him when he brushed her flanks particularly hard and he clucked a small apology. She was a tough little thing, he thought, stroking her soft nose and she turned back to the hay he had heaped in her manger; she had survived on her own in the Wild waiting for Legolas. He loved her for that.
His sweet child was on his way to Mordor.
'We will both go and meet him,' Thranduil promised her. 'And this time I will not be persuaded by Galion or Laersul that it should not be I who goes. We will ride down the Western edge of the Wood and be waiting in the Dimrill Dale for him and then bring him back. And with any luck, we will come across plenty of Orcs and Goblins so I do not feel like killing Mithrandir when I meet him.'
0o0o
It was almost Yule and still they awaited the return of the scouts and messengers that Gandalf and Elrond had sent out to gather news. Legolas knew now that a messenger had already been sent to his father and wished with all his heart that he had known before, that he might have written a letter.
Gandalf's own message for Thranduil reassured the King that Legolas was safe and that Gandalf, would see Legolas safely over the Mountain. He chewed his lip, wondering how his father would receive the news and knowing full well that Thranduil was just as likely as not to cross the Hithaeglir himself and appear in Imladris to bring Legolas back home. He smiled at the idea, wondering what effect that would have on the serenity and peace of Imladris to have a host of Woodelves in their midst, led by his angry father.
It would not be so bad if it were Thalos, he thought longingly. And perhaps Galadhon. But already Legolas knew he would not simply abandon them when they reached the Dimrill Dale, not if they would have him. It was not in him.
And that would take him to the Black Gates of Mordor.
That news would drive his father into his study, with a half empty goblet staring down at the map of Eregion and another of Rhovanion, held down by whatever there was at hand, much to the annoyance of Galion. Then he would slowly unroll the map of Dagorlad and stare at it unhappily until he sank into misery, remembering the dreadful slaughter before the Black Gates.
Legolas found a loose thread on the sleeve of his tunic and tugged at it anxiously, lost in thought. He closed his eyes and found his chest hurt, and then lifted his hand to rub it for the hurt was physical and he wished again he had been able to send some small note of reassurance. But in truth, what would he have said? Reassurance that he was on his way home… if in a little roundabout way? That he was safe and well, and on his way to Mordor?
He sighed. Maybe it was better he had sent no note after all.
Gimli had seemed to know somehow that Legolas was bothered and had taken it into his head to teach Legolas to play the fiddle. He had scraped a scratchy tune that sounded more like a cat wailing than music, as Gimli loudly and cheerfully informed him. But the Dwarf was an immensely patient teacher and Pippin was supervising. Which meant Pippin would lie on a bench and smoke his pipe and bring along cakes and tea for refreshment. Legolas found that he enjoyed himself. His playing was dreadful and he had taken to practising on his own. But he had not realised he even had neighbours to his room until someone very politely knocked on his door and asked him if he was all right. Then the rather mussed looking Elf who had knocked had suggested he take himself to a more remote part of the Valley to practise until he was more proficient. And he had done so.
Elemé had been passing and he stopped her. She gave him a strange look when he told her his mission and she laughed but said, 'I can show you somewhere that will keep you from prying eyes and complaining neighbours,' se said with a saucy toss of her hair, which was long and glossy and chestnut brown, Legolas realised watching her pull her fingers through the curls. She had green eyes too and a pretty mouth that she pursed when she looked up at him like she wanted him to kiss her.
'There is a quiet wing of the House, and a lawn beneath it up over there.' She pointed away to the left towards the cliffs overlooking the Bruinen. 'Everyone is away so you will not disturb anyone,' Elemé told him smiling. 'Shall I show you where?' she asked coyly and fluttered her long eyelashes at him so he felt his mouth drop open and he stared. When she brushed against him as if by accident, her breasts were full and warm and he half closed his eyes thinking how soft, how smooth would be her skin, and how ripe her nipples.
Already he was filling with lust and his cock gave a little surge of interest. And he almost leaned down and kissed her right then and there except he remembered himself; she was in love with Berensul, and he with her. Or at least, they thought they were and Legolas decided he did not want to become more embroiled in that tangled knot than he already was.
'Thank you but if you tell me where it is, I will find it,' he said a little regretfully.
Her eyes widened and her eyelashes batted again, and she said breathily, 'Why don't I go with you?'
Legolas laughed and shook his head. 'I do not think I would practise the fiddle if I went with you.'
'If you prefer to fiddle on your own, then good luck to you, my lord,' she said archly and when she walked away there was a sway to her hips that had him regretting his resolve.
He smiled ruefully for she was more than a match for Berensul, he thought and for a moment he understood why Berensul acted as he did; trying to keep Elemé to himself was going to be impossible, he thought and wondered if those two would not be much happier in the Wood amongst the Silvan elves who had no such buttoned up and hide-bound morals.
He was considering this as he followed the general direction that she pointed in and walked slowly across a lawn that seemed less manicured and well kept than the others. A wide stone step curled up the side of the House and led to another terrace that was indeed away from everyone else, positioned on the West side of the House and overlooking the Bruinen. And the roar of the river was loud enough that his efforts were suitably dimmed. He smiled to himself and tucked the fiddle beneath his chin as Gimli has shown him and went for a light skiff over the strings that sounded liquid and heart wrenching when Gimli had shown him. It sounded like the cat Boromir had suggested it would when Legolas played it.
But he was nothing if not determined and if he could master one bow, he told himself grimly sawing away at the strings, he could certainly master this!
He had been sawing away at the strings for some time when he heard crisp footsteps coming towards him and he glanced up to see a tall Elf whom he had never met before, although his striking face seemed oddly familiar, striding briskly towards him with a set expression on his handsome face. Legolas faltered and let the bow fall to his side. The Elf's eyes were the strangest shade of light grey as to be almost silver, mercurial and intent on him and his hair was burnished bronze. Had he been any less himself he would have stepped back for the intensity of that silver gaze was fiercesome and intimidating. Even Orcs would fall back from that gaze, he thought to himself and wondered where he had heard something like that before.*
'Is that awful noise coming from you?' demanded the Elf and as he drew close, Legolas saw that he was tall and broad-shouldered. A swordsman he was for he wore a great sword at his hip that was of exceptional workmanship; the scabbard was some sort of black metal and mithril scrolled and curled about it. The hilt of the sword was set with the deepest ruby Legolas had ever seen and it was shot through by the sunlight. The Elf wore a black tunic with a five pointed star emblem on the shoulder that Legolas thought he should recognise but he had always been a lazy student. His face too was familiar but he could not think where he had seen him before and dismissed it as having seen him and not realised, although he was surprised he had not tasked more note of the striking face and the unusual and intense eyes. He was surprised because a surge of lust forced its way through his groin and belly. But he ruthlessly suppressed it.
'I'm not sure I would describe it as awful,' he defended himself weakly and without conviction. 'It is developing,' he said, trying to sound cheerful. 'It was much worse yesterday.'
The Elf reached out and before he could stop him, the Elf had taken the fiddle from him. Legolas lifted his hands in horror to stop the Elf from breaking it and putting him and the fiddle out of their misery when he stopped.
For the Elf lifted the fiddle instead and plucked at one of the strings, his head tilted to one side and eyes vague and focused on nothing. The fiddle twanged uncomfortably and the the Elf tutted and sighed. He muttered to himself under his breath and began turning the keys on the stem. Legolas blinked in surprise and watched as the Elf twanged the next string, shook his head in disgust and again, twiddled with the keys. Finally he tucked the fiddle under his own chin and drew the bow lovingly over the strings. Liquid, clear, the voice of the fiddle was heartbreakingly lovely, a melody Legolas had never heard but the Elf stopped abruptly and nodded as if satisfied and then looked at Legolas.
'Here,' he said less abruptly, handing the fiddle back to Legolas. 'It is tuned now. At least if you are going to murder the Noldolantë, it will not be the fiddle's fault.'
He turned and stalked back across the rough lawn, wide shouldered, lean hipped, the sword jutting. Legolas realised the tunic he wore was spattered with blood and rusty stains that Legolas knew was old blood, and his boots were muddy. His face was somehow familiar too but he could not think where he had seen him for it was certainly not anywhere in Imladris, he was certain. He would have remembered the handsome face and striking eyes, that fall of gleaming bronze hair. This was someone just arrived, or returned and he came to his senses.
'I beg your pardon!' he called after the receding back of the Elf. The Elf did not turn but lifted a hand dismissively in response. 'I will find somewhere else to practise, forgive me for disturbing you,' he called a little louder but the Elf still did not turn. 'My name is Legolas…' And though the Elf paused mid-stride, he still did not turn or even acknowledge him and disappeared behind shrubs that lined the path. Legolas heard the clipped footsteps striding up the steps and then a few moments later, a door slammed shut.
Legolas let the fiddle fall to his side, holding it loosely in his hand and stared at the empty space on the path where the Elf had gone. Then he had a positively good idea and decided to practise elsewhere and when he had improved, to stand here and play beautifully and so impress this warrior who thought of him only as a hopeless minstrel. He knew somewhere in the back of his mind that this idea was what Gimli would call Pippin-ish but he shook his head, no. It was a really good idea and would reward the Elf for his kindness in putting the fiddle right, however brusquely it was done.
He did not improve. He really didn't.
It was a few nights later in the Hall of Fire that he discovered the identity of the strange Elf. He had joined Amron and some of his fellow warriors lounging near the entrance. One or two had just returned from a stint at Amon Sul and Legolas was keen to hear news. Elrond had posted more watches there since Frodo had been attacked and the warriors were glad to have been relieved from their watch by the new patrol and Amron had dragged Legolas along to meet them. And there was the tall, bronze-haired Elf standing slightly apart from the warriors but speaking with them. His whole poise suggested command. He was taller than most, and the sculpted features of his face, the cheekbones, the full mouth and extraordinary eyes that were piercing, mercurial, striking against the bronze hair. There was a slight air of arrogant defiance about him that appealed to Legolas and he was listening to what one of the men was saying. Then he replied courteously, inclined his head.
Legolas hurried over but the tall Elf had already moved off before Legolas could reach the small group.
Amron turned to him, smiling and the group of men moved to let Legolas in for he knew them quite well now. 'Legolas! I wondered if you would join us. Are you ready yet to give us a tune on the fiddle?'
Legolas shook his head smiling in return. 'I would clear the Hall more quickly than your singing,' he said. He nodded towards the handsome warrior who had just left and said, 'He heard my awful playing and came out to protest. I wished to apologise for disturbing him.'
'That is the lord Tindómion*,' Amron had said in an admiring tone. 'He has been holding the watch tower of Amon-Sul these last few weeks since the attack by the Nazgûl upon it. He is a great warrior of very high birth, kin to Gil-Galad it is said. He came with my lord Elrond from Mithlond when Gil-Galad fell.'
'Ah!' Legolas suddenly realised where he had seen Tindómion's face; he had been faithfully depicted in the tapestries of the Last Alliance in the halls of Imladris, riding at Glorfindel's side and wielding a great silver sword with a ruby in its hilt. It had struck Legolas when he was looking for any representation of his own father or grandfather.
The song that was being sung by a small group of minstrels ended and there was a polite scatter of applause. Then Lindir, who was the most popular minstrel, stepped forward and was waving towards someone.
'I have just returned with Tindómion,' said one of the men with Amron. He frowned. 'It has been strange, this patrol. It seems the Shadow is on the move,' he said in a low voice. Legolas looked at him sharply. 'There were wights on the downs, and traces of Nazgûl on the watchtower.'
A low murmur went round the small group and Amron clapped the man on the shoulder, a slight warning. 'These are not stories for this place,' he said cheerfully. 'Look, Lindir has asked Tindómion to sing.' A ripple of excitement went through the hall.
Lindir struck his usual pose for singing, which Legolas privately thought rather exaggerated and pretentious, but Tindómion sat quietly, without fuss, and held a hand harp lightly in his hands. He leaned forwards and the firelight gleamed on his bronze hair, burnished it deeply and Legolas felt his impressionable heart give a little thump and his groin give a more assertive surge.
Tindómion ran his fingers lightly across the strings and a lovely liquid sound washed over them, and the hall went silent. Lindir's voice was, even Legolas had to admit, very pure, but when Tindómion 's voice joined his, he had one of the most evocative and rich voices Legolas had ever heard and he was spell bound by its power and wished with all his might that he were in the Wood and the strange customs of Imladris did not hold sway for he would have thrown all caution to the wind and taken a cup of wine to the harpist, suggested they find somewhere else to drink it…
He regretted his resolve to keep to the restrictive and harsh laws of Imladris…his head dropped and he sighed heavily. It was so hard. At that moment, Elemé brushed past him with a saucy look and he was hard pressed not to follow her. But he did not.
0o0o0o
The next days seemed to drag. Elrond waited for all his scouts and messengers to return but Legolas could not really see why that was necessary. The Nazgûl were gone, fled back to Mordor, and there seemed little to do unless they waited for Spring, which Gandalf and Aragorn both said they would not do. They wanted the secrecy and quiet of the Winter and it was clear they could only cross the Hithaeglir through the Redhorn Gate on high Caradhras. It was Legolas' own path anyway and he was impatient now that all trace of the poison was gone from his body and he felt his balance and harmony restored. The tinny ringing in his ears afflicted him now and again but seemed to be fading, although he noticed it more when in the company of the Hobbits.
Gandalf encouraged Legolas to spend time with the Hobbits and with Gimli, which he did gladly for he found their company restful. He had made sure he built his strength back up properly, sparring with Gimli and Boromir, and learned a great deal from both about fighting opponents with axes and swords. It had improved his own sword-work although it was never going to be his weapon of choice. Occasionally Aragorn wanted his company to talk about their trail, to trace their journey over maps showing the paths and trails that led to the Redhorn Gate. And though Aragorn had travelled the way several times, he wanted to make sure he had every landmark carefully fixed in his head. Legolas was intrigued watching him for he had never been a great pathfinder. That skill had been Anglach's, not his. And more than once Gimli, when he had joined them, had asked if Aragorn intended to go beneath the Mountain and through Moria.
The name itself brought a cold shiver to Legolas. He could not imagine anything worse than travelling beneath the Mountain through Khazad-dûm, even if Balin had indeed founded a new realm. But when he voiced his concern, Gimli had turned on him with a ferocity that had him puzzled and angry in return for he had made no slight against the Dwarf's kin. It was a comfort to him that Aragorn shared Legolas' view that they would not take the road through Moria.
At last nearly all the messengers and scouts had returned and Aragorn and Gandalf were much taken up in counsel with Elrond. Legolas knew they waited upon the return of Elrond's sons though none seemed to know where they had gone, and Legolas did not much care and so did not try to find out.
It was one dusk near Yule when the whole House seemed thrown into disarray and there were Elves rushing and flying everywhere. He caught Berensul as he passed.
'Have you not heard? The troop has returned with Glorfindel and Erestor. With them are Elrohir and Elladan. Elladan is much hurt and my lord Erestor beside himself. I cannot stop. I am sorry but we all have much to do.' He whirled and sped off leaving Legolas staring after him.
If Glorfindel and Erestor were returned, they would have news of Rhawion and the dreams he had suffered. Although he felt embarrassed now for the fuss he had made was clearly brought about by the poison and by the sound of things, his insistence had put two of the last great Elf lords of the First Age in grievous danger. He was sorry too to hear that Elladan was injured for he had been kind, even if Legolas thought he was as violent as his brother. Both had tortured the Orc and both had forced the crystôl upon Legolas himself…But he was nothing if honest with himself and he wondered now if he had behaved quite honourably in a realm that was not his own. Thranduil would take a dim view of anyone interfering with his justice, he thought wryly. But no Woodelf was so merciless, he argued with himself as he made his way to supper in the Great Hall.
He was greeted warmly by a few of the Elves now for he had made some friends amongst the warriors and their families though all thought he lingered until the Spring. The quest of the Ring was secret and none but those most in Elrond's council had any idea of the immensity of the terrible weapon hidden amongst them.
Boromir and Gimli were already there and had both heaped their plates with meat and bread. He sat opposite them and listened with half an ear to their small talk, which was of the qualities of axes against swords, but he listened too for news of Glorfindel, for he was desperate to find out if they had found anything at Phellanthir that could account for his strange obsession with believing Rhawion was somehow trapped there.
Pippin joined them later but he knew less than Legolas himself and so Legolas could only eat and listen to Pippin's description of his day. It was, as Pippin said, pretty much like any ordinary day in the Shire. It seemed to Legolas that the Hobbits spent their days in eating, telling stories, eating, sitting about eating, gossiping, eating, smoking pipeweed and eating. He thought it rather an idyllic existence.
'…resting peacefully now. Still I for one am glad they reached us when they did. It could have been so much worse in spite of….'
He turned at that familiar, resonant voice. Glorfindel walked through the Hall with another Elf. Tindómion's handsome face was turned towards Glorfindel and the two were deep in conversation.
'…and you say the evil has passed from him?' Tindómion asked in a low voice as they passed Legolas. His head was bent towards Glorfindel and his long hair gleamed bronze, caught copper and gold glints.
'I cannot tell…there is still a very evil presence there. I think the danger still exists and the …' Glorfindel lowered his voice then and not even Legolas could hear. He turned his head to try to hear for he wished with all his heart to hear news of Rhawion's fëa. The movement caught Glorfindel's eye.
'Ah! Legolas!' Glorfindel suddenly stopped and looked down at Legolas kindly. Tindómion too looked at Legolas curiously as if he had not really noticed him before. And Legolas thought he probably had not. Why should he? His very light grey eyes, almost silver, held a fire in them that seemed to Legolas very perilous, as if once stirred, would not be banked.
Suddenly the ringing in his ears began, a thin, high-pitched whine that put him off balance and the fork he held slipped and he just caught it before it clattered noisily to the floor. He saw out of the corner of his eye Gimli's startled look and Boromir reach out as if he could catch him. Embarrassed, he returned the fork to the table, not looking up.
'I am pleased to see you up and about!' Glorfindel said kindly, and finally remembering the manners that had been drummed into him as a child, Legolas stumbled belatedly to his feet.
'My lords,' he said, feeling gauche and rustic, a fool. Tindómion gave him a curious glance and he felt himself growing hot and was disgusted with his own foolishness; why it was that he was so afflicted with self-doubt only in Imladris he could not say. In any other place he was far from this clumsy idiot that he had become.
'I see you are not quite recovered,' Glorfindel was saying in a concerned voice. He let his hand fall upon Legolas' uninjured shoulder and the warmth spread up from his shoulder to his face and Legolas knew he was blushing like a maid. He cringed inwardly but thought that perhaps that was the case.
'I am almost completely recovered, my lord. Thanks to Aragorn, and you of course,' he added hastily.
But Glorfindel merely smiled kindly and said, 'I did nothing. It is Elrohir whom you must thank. Even if I still say I would not have given that second dose of crystôl, here you are and on your feet. When last I saw you, it was all you could do to hang on to Aragorn.' He turned to Tindómion and said, 'Legolas was the one who brought Rhawion's body from the Tower, and at great cost to himself. And he is one of the best archers I have ever seen.'
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Tindómion looked at Legolas with interest. 'Indeed I have heard already of your prowess as an archer. From Saeldir no less so it must be true.' Tindómion's gaze upon Legolas intensified. He felt himself scrutinised, slowly unpicked and he almost blushed. But then the lord smiled slightly, as if amused, as if pleased with what he saw.
'Well I will certainly wager you that Legolas is the winner of any competition,' Glorfindel declared and Legolas blushed with delight that Glorfindel thought so.
'Against all comers?' Tindómion asked wryly and the two lords shared a laugh that Legolas did not understand so he knew they were old friends..
'Yes. Against all comers,' Glorfindel looked down at Gimli. 'Do you not agree? We saw enough on the field to take that, do you not think Master Gimli?'
'It is because you have not seen the archers of Erebor,' Gimli declared but he was smiling widely and Legolas was secretly relieved at having the spotlight of the Elf-lords' attention elsewhere for a moment. 'Our friend is passable I suppose. But he does need someone to watch his back. Too busy talking to the trees and singing to the stars to be much aware of what is going on. It's a wonder he was not killed.'
'I hear that you two will be crossing the Hithaeglir together,' Glorfindel said amused. 'Will there be enough room in Rhovanion for the pair of you I wonder?'
'He has to have someone to look after him,' Gimli bellowed loudly so that other Elves and Men looked around, some smiling and some frowning. Legolas did not know if it was he that they disapproved of, or Gimli. 'And Boromir too is headed that way for his journey lies South.'
'Aye, and the sooner the better,' the Man said grimly. Legolas glanced quickly at him; Boromir had seemed to grow more distant and quiet over the weeks they had been waiting to set off and he had confided in Legolas that he worried that Gondor had been overrun and Minas Tirith besieged. Legolas too worried for his homeland though he had sworn in his heart that he would not abandon Frodo and that he would earn the trust that Aragorn said the people of the Wood had failed. But he still had no news of Rhawion and it burned in his heart.
'The High Pass is closed,' said Tindómion carefully, his extraordinary eyes were cool now and fixed upon Boromir. Legolas thought that if he had been guarding the Old Road above Amon Sul, he must surely be privy to the news of the Ring. 'Which way did you come?'
'I came by the Gap of Rohan,' said Boromir proudly. 'They are friends and allies of Gondor and will ever aid us in our hour of need. And that will come all too quickly if we do not have aid…' He paused and there was not one person present who did not hear the unspoken words of reproach that no aid was forthcoming from the Elves.
'Alas, all are beset,' said Tindómion and if his gaze had been cool, his voice was ice. 'Would that we could spare any to ride to Gondor's aid but the enemy even now seeks to move against us.'
Boromir said nothing but his face was hard and unyielding. It was into this uncomfortable silence that Legolas, unable to wait any longer for a suitable moment, said, 'My lord, I am almost ashamed to ask now…but did you find anything? In Phellanthir?'
Glorfindel went very still and a shadow crossed his lovely, fearless face. His grip on Legolas' shoulder tightened slightly. 'Yes. We did.' He breathed in and then glanced at Legolas' anxious face and smiled slightly. 'It was fortuitous indeed that you sent us back there. But of that I will not speak here.' He looked intently at Legolas then and Legolas almost forgot to breathe for the intensity of Glorfindel's regard was a physical sensation. 'You wish to know of Rhawion of course…Do not fear for him now. He is gone. At peace. You can rest too.'
Overwhelmed, Legolas felt such relief sweep over him that he thought he might weep so he sat down hard upon the bench. 'Thank you my lord.' Then he remembered. 'And Elladan? How is he?'
Glorfindel's face grew sober. 'He is very poor indeed. But it is kind that you ask. He is in the best possible hands and there are many who would give their life for him.' He glanced cryptically at Tindómion, who returned the gaze with a serious look of his own but they did not speak more for suddenly both threw their heads up and looked away to their left like a clarion had called them to arms, a trumpet.
Legolas turned to follow their fierce, intent gaze and saw that Elrohir had stalked into the hall from a far entrance and looked about him with what Legolas thought was disdain. But when the son of Elrond's eye alighted upon Glorfindel and then Tindómion, he looked almost overwhelmed with emotion and Legolas felt ashamed, for Elrohir's brother lay wounded though Legolas knew not how badly or what had wounded him.
Elrohir walked swiftly towards the two lords and Glorfindel went to meet him, taking him by the elbow and speaking urgently in a very low voice that no one would hear. Elrohir's head was bowed and he nodded once, then looked away as if overcome. Once his troubled grey eyes brushed over Legolas and paused, his lips parted slightly and eyes widened so Legolas thought he might throw an insult or call him out, but he did not. He looked down and bent his head to listen to what Glorfindel said in a low, urgent voice.
Tindómion turned his head to look first at Legolas, then to Gimli and Boromir. 'Forgive us. As you can see, we are awaiting news and our manners desert us. By your leave.' He bowed slightly and then he too joined Glorfindel and the three Elves went out of the Great Hall and Legolas was left with Gimli and Boromir looking at each other.
Gimli helped himself to a passing platter of rare roast meat and piled more onto his own plate. 'Well, I for one hope that Elladan recovers. He has a good heart and treated you fair when you were at the grave's edge, Legolas.'
Legolas glanced at him. He had not really known who or what was happening then, only that he had been stuck in that dreadful place, being swallowed whole by the Dark. He shuddered. 'I would thank him if I could,' he said humbly. 'You will have to guide me in making amends, Gimli. I remember very little from the time Aragorn saw the wound to when I awoke and was riding behind Aragorn.'
''Twas the sons of Elrond who treated you, although I would not let the other one near you unless Elladan agreed. He was very careful in his treatment of you. It is to Aragorn and him that you owe your life, whatever Glorfindel says.'
Legolas found a loose thread on his tunic, and as was his habit when he was upset and because there was no one there who knew him well enough to stop him, he tugged at it gently until it came lose. He knew that there had been a moment when he was truly lost in the poison that Elrohir had reached him and truly saved him from being overwhelmed by the poison. He owed both Elladan and Elrohir his life. 'I will seek a chance to thank them both,' he said contritely. 'And my heart is much eased to know that Rhawion has peace.'
Gimli grunted agreement and patted Legolas' arm kindly. 'I hope this means you can lay that ghost to rest. We will be leaving soon and I am glad that we have some resolution to this.'
But Boromir said nothing and merely stared morosely into his cup. He rubbed his eyes as if he had a headache and though Legolas and Gimli tried to engage him, he barely answered and in end, retired to bed.
O0o0o0
End of the first part of the chapter. Next part to follow quickly.