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Author's Note: There are several aspects of this story which you may consider AU. For the most part, I try to stick to canon, but I have tried to throw in a few twists which I think can be considered inspired by and in keeping with canon though not directly in canon (if that makes sense). I also do not hold that ALL elves abide by Laws and Customs, as I think it unlikely elves divided by so much time and distance would have the same customs (we can see those differences in the wood elves in The Hobbit as opposed to Elrond's people). So I ask for some grace as I try to explore my own version of the Silvan people, who in my verse DO shorten long names like nicknames. Thank you. Never Alone Prologue Eryn Lasgalen 1 Gwirith, Year 29 F.A. The rain poured down upon the earth and newly green trees, driven in sheets by gusts of wind, drenching the elf standing motionless before the bridge that spanned the river. Beyond, along the opposite bank, stands of beech lined the path leading away from him. Lightning flashed, followed by the crack of thunder, yet he stood silent and unmoving, as he had since the last of his kin had ridden away from this place. That had been hours ago, and the sudden storm hailed the coming of darkness. Salty streams from once bright grey eyes mixed with the rain, flowing down his fair face in rivulets. His brilliant gold tresses, now dulled with the soaking downpour, hung in disarray around his shoulders, twisted and matted by the rain and wind. He paid it no mind. He simply stood, alone in the rain, in a land that would never be home again. Minutes passed. Or it could have been hours; he had no concept of time in the rain. Unable to bear the empty sight of the bridge any longer, he let his gaze slowly travel over the many trees that had been his friends since he had been old enough to walk amongst them. It was very likely they might never see an elf again or hear elven songs, for once he had departed this place, he would never return again. It would become a ruin, a place of legend, myth, and ghost stories to the Men in the surrounding lands. He had not thought his people would ever leave this place. Of if they did, it would be long after he had sailed West. Yet, it had happened. They were all gone, and he was alone in what had been his home for all the years of his life. A piercing pain shot through his heart, and he gasped out loud, pressing a long fingered hand to his chest. He had never liked saying farewell, and this time it was almost unbearable. He could not do this, did not wish to! And yet, he must. His head lowered in grief. He should never have come to say goodbye alone, but he had not wanted any of his friends to see him like this…as he knew he would be. Shaking his head, he turned to face the stone gates that led into his beloved halls – now empty of all who had once filled them. Unable to bring himself to enter those silent depths just yet, he sat against one of the pillars, dropped his head into his hands, and Legolas wept. To Be Continued... Gwirith - Sindarin for the what we know roughly as the month of April. Means "new/young/budding"
The early afternoon sun filtered through the new green leaves, dappling the ground with rays of gold. A soft wind rustled the leaves. Colorful birds chirped and sang as they twitted about, foraging for insects and seeds. A pair of bright-eyed squirrels chased one another through the branches, darting this way and that. An item of curiosity caused the smaller gray in the lead slide to a sudden stop, while its red playmate, unable to stop in time, slid into him, chattering angrily. The gray did not respond, but sat frozen, just its nose twitching towards the person lying supine along the branch before it. The elf was harmless to him, and the squirrel knew it, but it still darted away with its partner when the elf began to move.
Aware that he had been observed so curiously but ignoring the usually amusing antics of the squirrels, Legolas shifted slightly on the branch where he was lying, angling his face away from the bright sunlight which had broken through the leaves above him. He settled back into a comfortable position, allowing his eyes to slip back to their half lidded state as he attempted to find his way back into elusive elven dreams.
A horn blast pierced the air, breaking the peaceful stillness of the forest, and Legolas's eyes snapped back open. He sat up on his branch, annoyed at the disturbance. He had been haunted by frequent images of the sea, allowing him little rest over the past many weeks. Legolas coveted the chance to catch what rest he could during the day, especially when the gulls were farther south and the sea did not pull so strongly at his heart. In the night, with the stars adding their shimmering song, the sea's call was nearly unbearable.
Irritated, he turned towards the sound of approaching horses and rose to the balls of his feet, balancing lightly upon the branch. Out of long ingrained habit, he reached for his weapons hanging on the branch beside him.
As a group of horses came into view, partially concealed by the lower branches of the large trees, Legolas called out, "Halt! What business have you in Ithilien?"
But it was a familiar voice that responded cheerfully from the middle of the group.
"Legolas? Come down from there! Is that any way to greet your father?"
His eyes widened in shock, then a huge grin spread across his face as he dropped to the ground as the group of ten mounted guards became clearly visible as they rode into a slight clearing. And from their midst rode forth King Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen towards his youngest son, eyes sparkling as he dismounted.
"Adar!" Legolas was quickly pulled into a huge embrace. "What are you doing here?"
"Do you wish for me to leave?" Thranduil laughed.
Legolas shook his head and poked his father's shoulder playfully. "Nay, but you could have sent word that you were coming to visit!" When a shadow darkened his father's eyes, Legolas sobered. "What is it, Adar? Has something happened?"
Thranduil shook his head, but the shadow remained. "All is well…mostly." He sighed. "There are things we must discuss, Legolas, and I believe in private would be best."
Legolas nodded and joined the group as they continued on towards the settlement of Ascarnen.
— ~ —
"Your siblings and I are sailing West."
Legolas sat in stunned silence, watching his father pace the room, distressed by Thranduil's announcement.
They had ridden swiftly to Ascarnen, where the king's guards were given quarters. Then once everyone was settled, father and son had moved Legolas's talan. They had sat and talked casually for a time, exchanging stories of what had happened since last they had seen one another. Legolas soaked up the news of his old home and family, his siblings in particular. He had not seen any of them in over two years.
But after a time, they had fallen silent. Legolas had felt the growing tension and knew in his gut that the things his father had come to say would be difficult to hear.
But he had never expected to hear his father say those words.
Legolas sat speechless and listened to Thranduil explain the discontent among their blended people. With the Shadow of Sauron and the fall of Dol Guldur, the Silvan people wished to return to their beloved mountains farther south. They had no wish to mingle with other races, but would fade into the hillsides and dales.
The Sindar, however long they had lived alongside and as one with their simpler kin, had grown restless. The call of the sea had not limited itself to Legolas alone. Most wished to depart.
Once the shock started to dissipate, an intense pain began to rise in Legolas's heart. This was not what he had expected, not the path he had seen his family taking. No, it was he that was to take his leave of them and ride away. It had hurt to think of leaving his family, but the opposite was unthinkable, unbearable.
"Legolas," Thranduil turned and met Legolas's gaze. "If I were not king, I would not go, but it is my duty to lead our people. Know I would stay with you as long as you remain if only I were able, if duty did not bind me…" Thranduil's voice broke. "I feel I am abandoning you," he finished in a hushed tone.
Legolas shook his head. "Never would you abandon your people, myself included, Adar. You are correct; you are duty bound to lead them, even into the West – but why now? What has brought this removing to the West so suddenly among our kin? The sea did not awaken within me until I heard the gulls, but they do not travel that far north."
Legolas searched his father's eyes, desperate for some way to keep his people and family where he had always known them to be. To consider the Halls of the Elvenking empty and crumbling was unthinkable. But he found no hope in that gaze and turned away.
"I do not know, Legolas. I cannot explain it other than that they have grown weary. The long battle against Sauron's darkness held them there, gave them purpose, but with Sauron destroyed…" He released a frustrated breath. "With the fall of Dol Guldur, something changed. Those who fled Doriath have begun to be afflicted with a strong desire for the sea and the Blessed Realm. It is not the same as what I see in you, not as strong, but no less compulsive. Some, perhaps hear the call, if faintly, and their families will not allow their loved ones to leave alone. But it is more an unrest, a feeling we do not belong to this world any longer. I feel it myself."
Legolas's eyes widened. His father had always been dedicated to holding Oropher's kingdom, to living as elves were always meant to live, to defending and protecting the forest they called home.
"The wood itself embraces the Men and welcomes them into its domain. I do not understand it, unless it is as Elrond says: this is the Age of Men."
Legolas understood that. He had seen it in his travels and his friendships with mortals. The older races endured, mingled and cohabitated, but their numbers dwindled. The Fourth Age of the world would bring great change. "I agree, but that does not mean we must leave. Not all of us."
"And the Silvans will stay having never truly answered the Call. Most of my father's people and their families will sail," Thranduil continued. "But there are some who will remain. It is their desire to relocate either here in Ithilien or to Imladris."
"They will be welcome here," Legolas agreed.
"If any of your own people desire to sail, they are welcome to travel with us."
Legolas heard the unspoken request in that statement, but refused to acknowledge it. He had made his choice to remain when the sea longing had first come upon him, and family or no family, Legolas would stay.
Thranduil paused a moment, to take a deep breath. "And so the Sindar will depart and the Silvan folk will resettle in the Mountains and fade into memory. They no longer have need of a king." He sank into a chair across from Legolas. "I am sorry, little one. Truly, I am. It is not what I expected either."
Legolas cleared his throat. "I did not know we still distinguished between our kindreds."
"Neither did I," Thranduil replied, making no effort to mask his pain.
"When?"
"In one year's time. We leave in the spring. It will be a time of new beginnings for our people. Many of the Silvan even now relocate. By Spring, I suspect most will be gone from the northern realm."
Legolas's eyes drifted to the window and the green leaves fluttering on the branches outside. His heart ached within him at these tidings. There was so little time to say goodbye, and too much time that he must yet remain. The one thing he had counted on having during his self-enforced lingering as he fought the sea longing was his family. Although he rarely saw them, just knowing they were there gave him strength.
But now he would lose them.
"I would have you come home, Legolas."
Legolas's head snapped up at that announcement, and he saw his father wince.
"Just for a time," Thranduil clarified.
He met his father's gaze with astonishment, realizing that Thranduil was not going to outright ask the painful and dreaded question Legolas had feared he might. Or worse, demand his obeisance.
It was with a true, compassionate tone his father said, "I dare not hope you will change your mind and come along, for I know your heart and promises. But I will ask you to come home for this year. For your sake as well as ours."
That request, stated in such a manner, decided Legolas in an instant. That Thranduil would not ask or even attempt to persuade, but would respect Legolas's choice to remain until Aragorn's passing spoke volumes.
A sad, slow smile tilted Legolas's lips, and he nodded in agreement. "I will announce these tidings this evening, and seek out any who would wish to sail with you. We will depart as soon as arrangements can be made, and I will stay in Eryn Lasgalen until you go. I also would have these last months with my family."
Legolas made no attempt to stop the sudden drip of tears that trickled down his cheeks. They were quickly brushed away by his father's fingers.
— ~ —
In early summer, a small group of elves made their way north to Eryn Lasgalen. The following spring, the Sindar of Eryn Lasgalen departed for the West.
As they crossed the bridge and rode down the path, the trees whispered farewells to all save one.
Only Legolas remained at the gates of the Elvenking's Halls, now empty of life and all he had known.
— ~ —
Adar - father
Gwirith - Sindarin for the month of April
Ascarnen (AHS-kar-nehn) is the elven settlement given to Legolas's rule by King Elessar in my Undying Friendship Series. The name means 'rushing water' and the settlement is named for the large, rocky stream nearby.
Eryn Lasgalen is the wood previously known as Greenwood the Great and Mirkwood. Renamed after the fall of Sauron and split between Thranduil, Celeborn and the Beornings and Woodsmen.
It is my own interpretation that the elves of Sindar descent would wish to sail so soon after the fall of Sauron, and that the Silvan folk would remove to the Mountains in the middle of the Wood.
Northwest of the Elven King's halls, Eryn Lasgalen 15 Narbeleth Year 28 Fourth Age
"Caeri, you can not stay here alone! That is simply not possible, child." Besoneth was indignant. She had made it clear she was not going to allow her closest friend's daughter do something so foolish.
Lancaeriel lowered her head, but her chin retained a firmness that was lost on Besoneth. "I do not wish to leave my home," she whispered, tears blurring her vision.
Besoneth used a finger to lift Lancaeriel's chin, and she smiled sadly at her. "I know you do not wish to leave, Caeri, but you cannot stay here alone. Everyone is leaving. Everyone! Even that stubborn Elvenking and his kin. You have a choice to make, child, but staying here is unacceptable. Come with us to the Mountains, or go West and find your family, if that is what you wish. But you cannot stay here. I cannot allow it."
Lancaeriel was silent for several minutes. Wetness dampened her lashes, but she did not allow the tears to fall. She swallowed them back, a firm resolve filling her even as she turned and fled from the talan. She moved quickly northwest until she reached a stand of tall birch near a small, flowing stream.
There Lancaeriel lowered herself to the ground and wept as she had not done since her brother had been killed, some thirty years ago. When she had cried all her tears, she slowly sat up, brushed her mahogany hair from her face, and hugged her knees to her chest.
How could so many things in her life have gone so wrong? Lancaeriel had once been a happy, outgoing youth with many friends. Now, she kept mostly to herself, avoiding old friends or emotional attachments. It was easier that way, less painful.
She had barely been of age when her father had been killed by orcs. It had been brutal, and she had not even been permitted to see his body. He, who had been her hero, the one who had taught her about the forest and the animals she loved. He had helped her hear the trees, understand them! She had been his constant shadow, following him as he hunted or gathered, learning the way of the forest.
And then one day he was gone.
He had requested she remain at home with her mother to help with the sewing of new winter cloaks. He had gone alone, deeper into the woods to the south than he usually went. A patrol had found him, at least what was left of him, and brought the sad news along with his body, wrapped in a cloak.
Her mother had not long survived her father's death, grief slowly fading her will to live. She refused to eat or drink and became unresponsive. She just sat and rocked herself and stared at a spot on the wall of the talan. Then one morning, she simply stopped living.
Lancaeriel had been devastated. While she had been her father's shadow, her mother had been her steadfast rock, always encouraging, teaching and admonishing. To watch her mother fade to a husk of what she had been had been worse than receiving the news of her father's death. At least he had died quickly.
Lancaeriel had clung to her older brother, Anthir, and the two had comforted each other through those first few difficult years. He became her rock, the one she could count on to lift her spirits when it felt as if darkness closed in all around her.
Slowly, life had resumed some resemblance of normal. Her mother's closest friend, Besoneth, had taken them under her wing. Lancaeriel began to socialize with her friends once more, though many had bound themselves to their mates during those years after her parents' deaths and were often too busy with new families to have time to entertain her.
She was even pursued by a few males herself, though she never found one that stole her heart. She waited, knowing eventually the right one would come along. Her mother had always told her that was how it happened. But the right one never showed himself, and so she remained unwed as had her brother.
With Anthir and Besoneth's family, she was not alone in the world, and she filled her days by following Anthir into the woods as she once had her father, helping with the hunting and gathering as well as the sewing and cooking. Life was full, and she was content.
Then her world had crashed again.
Only thirty years ago, when the darkness was at its worst, her brother had been taken from her. Many elves had died in the assault upon Dol Guldur, when King Thranduil and Lord Celeborn had combined their strength and defeated the evil there.
But when the horrible battle was over, Anthir was among the dead.
The loss for Lancaeriel had been almost too much. She retreated into herself and the wood, pulling away from lifelong friends and those who cared for her. Even Besoneth could not draw her from the darkness.
The trees had comforted her. This place where she now sat had become a balm to her wounded spirit. It was home. She could not bring herself to leave, yet she had no choice. Besoneth would make certain that she either sailed West with the Sindar or the older woman would pack her up and make her go south to the mountains.
The thought of sailing West held little appeal to her. There would be no joy for her in Valinor, no peace or comfort, no familiar trees to sing to—no family that cared for her.
She did not believe that the dead could be returned to them. Her people had never seen those shores and many said that the spirits of the woodelves never left the wood of their birth. Lancaeriel had heard one of the Belain would call to the dead, but she feared that which she did not understand, and doubted any elf could truly find comfort with a being that collected dead souls.
No, she would find nothing familiar in the West.
Besoneth loved her, but she was not Lancaeriel's mother. No one could replace all that Lancaeriel had lost. Her withdrawal into the wood had cost her the friends she once had. None of them could chase away the darkness or fill the hole left in her heart by Anthir's death.
Only the trees of this forest had brought her any measure of comfort. Her heart was here.
But here Lancaeriel could not stay—and she could not, would not sail. So what other choices did she have?
There was always Imladris. King Thranduil had made it known that the Lords Elladan and Elrohir had opened their realm to any woodelves who wished to live there. That was an option, though an unappealing one.
"Prince Legolas has offered refuge for those not ready to sail…"
The words were spoken in a small voice, startling Lancaeriel, causing her to jump. She turned and discovered a little girl standing not far away. The child was clothed in a simple white dress and had light golden hair that framed her pixie face.
As there were no elflings in her settlement, Lancaeriel reckoned the child belonged to one of the families passing through. Whole villages had packed up and headed south, like a migration of birds fleeing the coldness of winter. Lancaeriel found herself smiling at the adorable child.
The girl smiled back at her shyly before asking, "Will you be my friend?"
Lancaeriel found herself enthralled by this innocent soul. Her heart was touched by the question, and she found herself wanting very much to know this little girl. "I would like very much to be your friend!" she told the child. "What is your name, little one?"
The girl hesitated, looking down at the ground and her toe that was making circles in the grass. She looked back up and answered, "I cannot tell you my real name. I still would like to be your friend, though."
What a strange thing to say. Lancaeriel looked searchingly into the girl's blue eyes. There was a flash of something ominous there that gave her pause, but the next moment it was gone, leaving a dejected elfling standing before her.
"I am very sorry, little one, but I cannot be your friend." The girl's eyes snapped up in surprise, but Lancaeriel continued, "You see, friends need to know how to address each other, so I cannot be your friend if I do not know your name."
The child peered up at her from under her lashes, and smiled softly. "I cannot tell you my real name," she repeated in a mysterious tone, then switched to an impish, "but you may call me Rani. Will that work? Will you be my friend now?"
"Is that your name?" Lancaeriel asked.
The girl shook her head but added, "No, but many call me that before they learn my real name." She looked up at Lancaeriel with wide pleading eyes.
Lancaeriel laughed at the hopeful look on Rani's face, despite the odd words. "Well, I know what to call you now, but you do not know what to call me! It does not seem fair for me to tell you my real name when you will not tell me yours." She watched as the child's eyes began to fall in sorrow. "But," Lancaeriel added, "I will tell you what my close friends call me, and then we can be friends!"
Rani looked up and smiled brightly. "I bet it is pretty! Just like you!"
Once again, Lancaeriel laughed at the look on the child's face. "Thank you! You may call me Caeri, and I think you are pretty, too."
Rani nodded and sat down close beside Lancaeriel and began telling her all about Prine Legolas's offer for any elves to move to Ithilien if they did not wish to live in the mountains or sail West. Lancaeriel listened patiently as the girl told her she should move there, where she could be happy.
"I am sure many elves will be happy living in Ithilien with Prince Legolas," Lancaeriel told her. "But I do not know the prince or any other elves living in Ithilien. I do not think I would be very happy there," she finished, sadness filling her heart once more.
Lancaeriel closed her eyes, knowing neither Ithilien nor Imladris was the answer to her dilemma. She made a decision, deep in her heart knowing it was the only way she would have peace.
When she opened her eyes, Rani was gone.
~ —
The following day, Lancaeriel went to see Besoneth and apologized for her behavior from the day before. The older lady pulled her into an embrace, stroking her long hair before releasing her.
"Well at least you did not disappear for days as you are wont to!" Besoneth admonished. "It is alright, child. I know this is a hard thing for you. Have you decided what to do?"
"I have decided that if I cannot stay here in my home, then I will go with those heading West. At least as far as Imladris. I have no desire to sail. This world is my home."
"I wish you would come with us," Besoneth sounded sad but accepting. "But I understand your need for a fresh start. How can I help you prepare for the journey?"
Lancaeriel gratefully accepted her friend's help. Together they packed all the belongings Lancaeriel would take with her, and Besoneth even saw to it that she have two horses to carry the load on her journey, first to the Elvenking's Halls, and then on across the Misty Mountains to Imladris.
"I feel somehow I am failing you," Besoneth said as Lancaeriel prepared to head southeast. No one else in her village would be going West, but rather south, before the snows completely covered the landscape in a deep blanket.
"You have never failed me. You have cared for me as well as Naneth ever would." Lancaeriel smiled, though it wavered. How hard it was to keep the truth from the one who had loved her as a daughter!
But she was determined and so she took up the lead rope to her pack horse and mounted her own. With a final wave, Lancaeriel took the path out of the village that led towards the Elvenking's Halls, where those heading West were gathering. They would leave for the trip over the Misty Mountains on the first of Gwirith.
Lancaeriel would not be joining them.
She rode for an hour, assuring she was out of sight of the settlement where she had lived her entire life. Then she circled back to the northwest, well away from the settlements in the area. She headed for a secret place of hers, further northwest. It was a place her father had taken her when out hunting for their winter store of food. There she could remain through the winter. Come spring she could move back into her talon and resume her solitary life.
Lancaeriel (Lahn kire' ee ell)
Caeri (Kire' ee)
Besoneth (Behs-ohn-eth)
Anthir (Ahn' theer)
Author's Note: It should be noted that elves did not use nicknames as I have used them. Please consider this AU if it so pleases you.
"I'm tellin ya, dey all left! There innit no elves dere no more. Dey awl sailed away or where'er dey go."
Brigus narrowed his eyes at the drunk trader sitting across the table. The wiry old man was little more than a peddler, traveling town to town. He claimed to have come from West of the Great Wood, headed for Laketown, Dale and the surrounding villages to sell his wares.
If what the trader said about the elves was true, then maybe Brigus had just discovered his key to an easier life, a life he would much rather have than the hard work forced upon him just to survive. And all because of bad luck. If only…
But wishing the fire hadn't happened would not change his life. Besides, he hadn't really enjoyed farm life either. It was still a lot of work, and Brigus would rather spend his time in other pursuits. And the only way to ensure that would be to strike it rich.
The elves had treasure. Everyone knew that. Loads of it. And if they'd abandoned their Halls, it was doubtful they'd taken it all with them.
He'd heard about the Lonely Mountain and the dwarves and how even the carved stones were plated in gold and set with precious stones. The elves weren't much different when it came to treasure. At least that Elvenking was rumored to love it. And if dwarves coated their walls with treasure, it was very likely the elves did too. And they wouldn't have taken the walls with them if they left, now would they?
He smirked. "How do you know the elves are all gone? Mebbe only some of them left, or perhaps it's a trap to lure people to them. I've heard tales of how they take lost people in as prisoners and hold them for ransom."
The drunk across the table took another long drink from his mug and set it down, wiping his mouth with the back of his shaking hand.
"I dunna know nuthin' about that ransom stuff, but I saw 'em leavin'. With my own eyes, I saw da wagons and da horses and da elves all headed West. Lots of 'em. Passed 'em on the Elf Path on my way to Dale, I did."
"Maybe it was just a few of them. I've heard there are hundreds of elves living in the Elvenking's Realm."
"I don't know about hundreds, but there was a lot of 'em I saw leavin'! Never seen so many people traveling altogether like, and I've traveled mah whole life." He took another sloppy drink of ale and wiped his mouth. "Now, mebbe there be one or two left. I ain't sayin' dere ain't. But I even saw dat king of theirs, too. So tell me, who would stay if even da king was leavin'? Hmm?"
"How do you know the king was with them? You could have seen anyone. I've heard they all look alike."
"Heard 'em, one of 'em, call him that. Tried to sell my wares to them, I did, but they brushed me off right quick. And one of 'em called another 'my king' and bowed and they moved along right down the path without buying so much as a single bar of soap!"
The trader went to take another swallow of his ale, but the mug was empty. He slapped it down onto the table and leaned forward. "Now, ain't that what ya wanted to know? Pay up!" He smacked his hand flat against the table.
Brigus would have rather learned more, but it was clear the trader knew nothing else. He tossed the man the promised coin, stood and left the drunk, who was even now waving for the barmaid to bring him another ale.
He strode across the room and out into the night, his mind awhirl with thoughts of departing elves, their treasure and never having to work another day in the blazing sun for a few coins. He deserved it, after all he'd done, working all these years beside their Pa, only to lose everything, including his Pa, to that fire.
His little brother had high hopes for a new life, wasting his time working for other men and chasing the girl from the farm beside theirs. Torel talked about marriage and family and rebuilding the place. But to do so would require money. More money they either of them could make as a hired hand.
Brigus had no desire to settle down with a single woman when a few coins could buy him a night with any of the tavern wenches. He worked, too, to earn those coins, but he hated every minute of toil in the sun for other men, the sweat pouring off his brow, stinging the various cuts and blisters he obtained from hard physical labor. There had to be an easier way to make money. He'd already tried gambling, and lost more than he'd won.
But if he had treasure, now, that could buy him whatever he wanted. Maybe even his own tavern full of wenches and barmaids. Then he could drink his fill and bed as many maids as he pleased and people would look up to him instead of looking at him with pity. He could even build Torel and their mother a nice house and let his brother have the farm if he so wished. He could save them all just by using his cunning.
He just needed to investigate a bit more, maybe ride to the next town over and see if they'd heard anything about the elves leaving.
And if it were true, and the elves had left, then he would round up a few men he trusted, maybe even Torel. The boy needed to become more of a man. And together they would find those Halls and take whatever the elves had left behind. Even a single large gem could set him up for life. He just had to find it.
And nothing would stand in his way of having what he wanted. He'd see to that.
Eryn Lasgalen
Northwest of the Elven King's halls 1 Lothron Year 29 F.A.
The sun hid behind a cloud, but it did not dim the beauty of the forest.
Legolas sighed and leaned back against the tree where he sat. His heart was heavy, but it had been lightened from the darkness that had consumed him when all his kin had left. A short visit from two unlikely visitors had reminded him that he was not truly alone; he had only been lonely.
Elfwine, Eomer's son, and Din, Gimli's second, returning from a trip to Erebor, had arrived at the Halls nearly two weeks after his family had departed. That short visit had pulled him out of the despair he had been in, and he had to admit the loneliness he felt was his own fault.
Legolas closed his eyes, angry with himself for what he had done. Gimli would be furious when he found out – furious…and hurt. Legolas squeezed his eyes tight. He should have sent a message to his friend, at least told him what was happening. He had left a letter to be sent to Aragorn, but the King of Gondor had been in Dol Amroth and would not have received it for several months. Aragorn and Arwen would understand his absence. Arwen especially would understand his pain, though she would also scold him for allowing himself to endure it alone.
Legolas opened his eyes and stared at the grass beneath him. The light wind brushing the blades reminded him of the waves on the sea. He swallowed thickly and pushed the longing back from his thoughts. A large part of him wished he had brought Gimli, yet Legolas wanted to say goodbye to the wood of his birth alone. Painful though it was, it brought a strange sense of peace to his heart. He was supposed to be here…alone.
The sun peaked back out from behind the cloud, shining back down on the wood. Legolas looked at the trees around him. A strange whisper grew in his mind. There was some task for him here, some reason that kept him from returning to Ithilien. It had not yet presented itself, but whatever drew him to this part of the wood would not elude him for long.
A sudden flash of white caught his eye from amid the trees. Legolas jumped to his feet, eyes widening. Something or someone was there, moving along the sun dappled forest floor. Legolas jogged towards it, curious as to what it could be. As he got closer he could sense it was no animal. But then, as sudden as it had appeared, it was gone.
He searched the area for several minutes, but found no sign of anything or anyone. Shaking his head, he told himself the fading light played tricks on his mind. Whatever purpose he was here for would present itself in time, so long as he did not get distracted by imagined ghosts!
Turning, he walked leisurely back the way he had come, through the trees towards the Halls. But he froze as a shriek pierced the air. He spun around and ran back towards the sound, back towards where he had seen the flash of white.
Gimli marched from his quarters in Minas Tirith, his anger emanating from him and sending servants and nobles alike out of his path. Even the guards avoided him, only opening doors to provide him passage where needed. If they had known him, truly known him the way Legolas did, they would have seen through the anger for the front it was…a way to hide his fear. But they did not, and the elf was not here.
Gimli had arrived an hour ago, only pausing to leave his things in the room he inhabited when visiting the White City. He had paused only to take note that the adjoining room was vacant and had been unused for some time.
Gimli shook his head in frustration as he walked and mumbled to himself. What had that elf done this time? Better yet, where was the confounded creature?
Legolas had not disappeared like this in twenty years. The elf had kept his vow, and the visits between the friends had increased. Truly there were times Gimli tired of Legolas's flightiness. But he would gladly put up with any elvish nonsense just to know his friend was safe and as free from the torment the sea inflicted as possible.
Gimli sighed, knowing there was not much a dwarf could do about the sea longing, but there was something he could do about the elf's absence for most of the last year. At least, there would be if he could find Legolas!
Two guards scrambled to open the doors to the King's Hall as Gimli stormed through on his way to the King's library. He only stopped when he reached it, pausing in the doorway as memories from twenty years past assailed him. He closed his eyes against the pain of the words spoken so long ago.
"…I am leaving in the morning, headed for the havens. So I suppose this is...goodbye."
"What do you mean this is goodbye? You can't leave."
"I cannot stay any longer, Gimli. The pain...it is too great. I have struggled against it and I can fight no longer.
"But Legolas, there is still hope. You could still remember. Did your father push you into this?"
"NO…There is no hope. I cannot remember. And my father has done nothing but support me in my anguish.
"You can't leave, Legolas. Not yet."
"I can and I will. Who are you to stop me?"
"I ask not for myself, Legolas…And I cannot stop you from going. But I beseech you to wait until you have remembered more. I fear once you reach Valinor... and you are healed there and remember...
"YOU KNOW NOTHING!...You can NEVER understand the torment I endure! I can remain here no longer! …
"Very well…But hear this, Legolas. When you reach the Undying Lands, and the Valar heal your mind...
The memories of the elf standing there expressionless haunted Gimli, and he feared what he would find when he entered the library this time. Had Legolas in a fit of sea longing taken himself to the Havens? Would he do something so daft as to leave without saying goodbye?
Taking a deep breath, Gimli stepped into the room and faced the opposing couches where that long ago conversation had taken place. But this time, there was no fair-haired elf in this room.
Aragorn sat half sprawled on one of the couches, the book in his hand dropping to his lap as Gimli entered, his boots loud on the stone floor. The man looked up, a smile on his face, "It is good to see you again, my friend! What brings you to Minas Tirith?" The smile on the king's face faded and he quickly sobered as Gimli met his gaze. "What troubles you, Gimli?"
Gimli closed his eyes for a moment, shaking off the memories, as well as the premonitions that something had happened to the elf. He opened them again and looked the king straight in the eye. "Where is the elf, Aragorn? Tell me you have seen him, for I have not seen him since last spring. At the time I thought something troubled him, but I tossed it up to the sea longing instead of pressing him to speak of it. Now, I am not so sure…" His eyes bored into the king's, silently begging for answers he was sure Aragorn did not have.
"Nay, Gimli, I have not seen Legolas since right after the thaw, as my duties have taken me south much of this last year. But surely Tathar would let us know if anything was amiss." Aragorn's eyes widened a fraction as understanding dawned on him. "Legolas missed a visit?"
"Nay, he did not," Gimli replied resignedly, sighing. That was the trouble with elves. They were masters of words and twisting them. "When last I saw him, the elf mentioned he was soon making a trip to Eryn Lasgalen, and that he would contact me when he returned. That was a year ago! Nothing! Not a message, letter, nothing!" Gimli emphasized his words dramatically with one fist slamming down into the palm of his other hand.
Aragorn frowned, his eyes moving to the window behind Gimli. "Surely he is just making an extended visit to his family, Gimli. Legolas often makes a long trip home every few years…" Aragorn paused as Gimli began to shake his head.
The elf always took Gimli with him on those long trips. Always. And Aragorn knew it. They planned their visits to family to coincide so that they might enjoy each other's company during the trip, before separating near Erebor. The fact the elf had not invited him along suggested a short trip, not an extended visit.
Gimli's agitation was increasing. If Aragorn had not seen Legolas or heard anything either, Gimli did not want to consider what their friend had gotten himself into this time. "Send a message to Tathar, Aragorn. If Legolas is there, I will personally kill him! If not…" He trailed off not wanting to consider what could have happened to his friend.
Aragorn stared at him a moment, silent concern filling his blue-gray eyes. "Yes. I shall indeed send a message to Tathar. Have no fear, Gimli, we will find him, and when we do, I will hold him myself so that you can knock some sense into him for his foolishness!"
Gimli's lips pursed and he nodded. In a short time, he would have some answers. At least he hoped he would. With that infuriating elf, one never knew.
Aglarond (Ah-glah-rond) is the Sindarin name for the Glittering Caves, the vast caverns in the mountains behind Helm's Deep that were given to Gimli's rule by Eomer.
Tathar (tah thar) is Legolas' second in command and lifelong friend.
Author's Note: The centered quotes in italics are words spoken long ago by Legolas & Gimli and come from the story Never Again.
2 Lothron, Year 29 F.A.
Seated on his balcony, Gimli looked out over the city of Minas Tirith. His pipe rested distractedly in the corner of his mouth, and every so often he would take a puff from it. He was lost in thought, his mind on the elf, when a knock sounded on the door.
He left his pipe on the stone railing before entering his room. When he opened the door, he found Aragorn standing in the hall. There was no mistaking the expression of concern and worry written on that well-known face.
Gimli frowned, "I take it you received news of the elf?"
Aragorn's eyes were hard as he nodded. "Yes, from more than one source, including his own hand."
The thought disturbed him, but he did not show it. He moved aside as Aragorn entered the room.
The man went straight out to the balcony without a word, and Gimli closed his door and followed. There was the possibility that if Aragorn had heard from the elf, then Legolas was fine. Perhaps, he himself had missed a message from Legolas in traveling here.
And Gimli could almost convince himself of that if it were not for the hard look in Aragorn's eyes. The stern silence was evidence enough that all was not well with Legolas.
Gimli picked up his pipe and settled back into his chair. He waited, watching the man standing at the balcony railing, knowing Aragorn would speak when he was ready. It was not always easy to be so patient, and once upon a time, he would have demanded answers. But if years of close friendship with a flighty elf had taught him nothing else, it had instilled in him a level of patience not common to his race.
Aragorn looked out over the city for a few minutes, where Gimli noted the white buildings now reflected the early afternoon sun.
It was a beautiful city. White stone built right into the Mountain. A dwarf appreciated it far more than an elf. He and Legolas had spent many an evening on this balcony arguing that point. The elf did not appreciate the starkness of white stone, though Gimli compared it to the stone of the Elvenking's Halls.
"Not so!" Legolas had argued. "Our halls are carved of living stone, of living places. This—" He waved his hand out over the city. "This is dead."
But Gimli had shaken his head. "Nay, tis not, my friend. Look." And he pointed to the pockets of green, the people moving about the streets, the carvings of kings long dead. It was alive with memory as well as the present. And while Legolas had scoffed, Gimli had seen the appreciation in his friend's eyes, the understanding. But yet he had argued, because that is what they did.
Aragorn turned around, and Gimli blinked away the memories. Without a word, with a firm tightness to his jaw, the man handed over several opened letters.
Gimli took them without a word and began to read the one written in Legolas's hand. It was addressed nearly a full year past!
Ascarnen, Ithilien
Gimli paused, glancing up at Aragorn in alarm. Surely the elf was not leaving? He was almost afraid to continue reading.
"He is not going," Aragorn reassured with a small smile. "Not yet. I also felt my heart drop as I read about the Sindar sailing. Keep reading."
Gimli inhaled deeply and let his eyes find where he had left off the elf's neat script.
Gimli looked up from the letter, many emotions swirling inside him: concern, anger, fear... Anger won out. "What was he thinking, Aragorn? To face that alone? On top of the sea longing? He has lost his mind!" His voice had started low, but grew louder as he spoke.
Aragorn shook his head. "I understand his need to say his goodbyes alone, Gimli. It is...an elven thing. However, I agree with you. This was foolishness. If I had received this letter earlier, I would have sent word to you…and perhaps even accompanied you to Eryn Lasgalen." The man took a deep breath and his eyes fell, "There is more, Gimli. Read the others."
His anger fizzled out as fear reared its ugly head. Gimli's eyes flew to the other two letters in his hand. He quickly opened the one from Tathar, Legolas' second in command, noting it must have been written this morning. Tathar had made haste in sending a message back.
2 Lothron, Year 29 F.A. Ascarnen, Ithilien
Of all the stupid, flighty, irresponsible things that elf had done, this was one of the worst! Gimli's stomach tightened into a knot at the thought of his friend, alone in the woods after having watched all his kin ride away. That foolish creature!
Yes, he would allow Aragorn to hold the elf while Gimli knocked some sense into that flighty head of his!
He glanced at the last letter, surprise filling him when he discovered it was written in the hand of Din, his lifelong friend. Din had also befriended Legolas, as had most of the dwarves of the Glittering Caves.
But Din was on a trip to the Lonely Mountain with Elfwine of Rohan. They were due to return and might have arrived at Edoras in his absence, but Gimli had not expected to hear from his Second until mid May. Of course, Din would not be happy to discover that Gimli had left Blákari in charge. Unless…
The air left Gimli's lungs forcefully, as he realized Din must have taken Elfwine on a visit to the elves. Only the elves would not have been there, except one.
He quickly began to read the terse, factual report sent by his good friend.
Edoras
Din knew him well…knew that Gimli would travel north immediately at receiving the news.
And Eomer had known the urgency as well, for along with Din's letter was a short note from the King of the Mark.
Gimli felt the letters fall from his hand and land lightly in his lap. A hand dropped onto his shoulder and he looked up into eyes that reflected his own concern, anger and fear.
"I must go to him, Aragorn. We both most, for I do not know that I can reach him on my own—or find him in those woods! We must leave at once."
For a brief moment, Aragorn's eyes shone with something Gimli had not seen in a long time. Then his eyes fell.
"I do not know that I can leave right now, Gimli. I greatly wish to do so as Legolas needs us, but I cannot just leave my kingdom…" He trailed off, obviously torn between the duty of country and the loyalty of friendship.
Gimli eyed the man for a moment, then nodded. "I understand. I must go, however. I will not leave him to suffer alone a moment longer than necessary. I leave at sun up, if you decide to join me."
— ~ —
Aragorn leaned against the window ledge on the uppermost level of the Tower of Ecthelion as he watched the sinking sun tinge the city below in various shades of gold. Anger and frustration filled him, making him feel every one of his years. At one time, this decision would not take more than a fraction of a second. Loyalty to friendship was dear to him. But he was no longer the Ranger wandering the wilds, free to make his own choices. Duty was as deeply ingrained in him as loyalty.
Aragorn sighed, lowering his head into his hands…his elbows resting on the ledge. His heart told him one thing, his head another. He needed another voice.
The rustle of silk skirts behind him did not change his position, though one corner of his mouth lifted slightly as the owner of that voice appeared as though bidden. He should not be surprised anymore, when she found him, and yet, he always felt his heart leap.
"Once again, I find you hiding in the tower from your councilors. Why do you linger here, my love? What troubles you?" The soft, yet ancient voice brushed over him, soothing his weary heart.
Without moving, he answered her, his voice full of bitterness, "Duty. Duty causes me to seek solace in the sunset. It robs me of many things that mean the most to me." Aragorn lifted his head and straightened, watching as the sun sank out of sight.
"Duty. Yes, as king, your duties require more of you than any other man. But your duty lies not only to your people, Estel. You also have a duty to yourself and those whom you love."
Arwen stepped forward and rested her forehead against his back, her arms encircling his waist. "If you ignore those duties, your duties as king will suffer as well. So which is truly more important? Sitting in court another week, listening to nobles bicker…or going to Legolas and easing both your hearts?"
He blinked. How did she always know?
"The sea pulls at him. He needs you, Estel."
He stood a moment longer in her arms before turning and gathering Arwen to him. Their foreheads came together and their eyes met and held. Then he smiled.
"Ever do you remind me why I made you my queen. Your wisdom far outweighs my own." He kissed her softly. "I would be lost without you, Undómiel."
She smiled and lifted a hand to his cheek. "I know you would, that is why I am here."
Her eyes shone and she turned him towards the stair, swatting him lightly on the backside. "Now go, get into those smelly ranger things and be gone from here. I will send for Faramir to help Eldarion deal with our dear, annoying nobles while you are away. It will be good for the boy."
Aragorn took one last look over his shoulder, feeling lighter than he had in months, before bounding down the stairs.
Behind him, Arwen shook her head and smiled to herself. He would be fit to live with again when he returned. Turning, she leaned against the ledge, watching the stars come out, one by one as the velvet darkness of night settled over the city she called home.
The next morning, before the sun had even breached the horizon, two riders left the city gates headed north.
In my UFS verse, Eldarion is the only son and oldest heir of Aragorn and Arwen. He is just over twenty years old.
Night had long fallen.
Most of the respectable people of the town were behind closed doors, resting in preparation for another hard day's work on the morrow. Those not so respectable could mostly be found in one of the two taverns. The Twisted Twig was the larger of the two, and had a large covered porch across the front, complete with a long rough hewn bench. The tavern also served as the town's only inn, and during respectable hours, served decent meals.
Brigus downed his drink and let his gaze drift from man to man seated at the table with him. His eyes lingered briefly on the hopeful brown eyes of his brother, then caught the speculative stare of Prem, Torel's closest friend. Those hazel eyes bore into him, and he smirked back, not in the least intimidated by the younger man. Both Torel and Prem were barely more than boys, but Prem had an air of maturity to him that Torel lacked, which was why Brigus had included him. That and the boy could keep his mouth shut.
The other men at the table were markedly older, more world-wise. Sirk and Nirk were identical twins, though the scar on Nirk's face set him apart. Both were hard and had spent time in the town's gaol for various crimes. It was rumored they had dwarven blood in them, but Brigus doubted it. For certain, they had skills that could come in handy on their quest and were as eager as he to find treasure. They would be useful opening any locks or in removing gems and gold from the walls.
Their last man slipped into the room and crossed it to sit across from Brigus. The others scooted away from him, and Brigus himself did not directly meet Jasper's eyes. This man was dangerous, cunning, and Brigus would rather not have him as part of the group, but Nirk had insisted they needed him. Reluctantly, Brigus had included Jasper, and hoped he didn't live to regret it.
With a glance about the crowded room, Jasper nodded towards the door. "Too many ears," He said, his challenging stare boring into Brigus.
Brigus grit his teeth in annoyance. This was his hunt for treasure! But the man was right. They didn't need anyone overhearing their plans. With a slight nod, he stood, turned and walked out of the tavern. The other men followed.
Outside, Brigus leaned back against the railing of the porch and watched his companions as they exited the building. The night was cool, quiet. They were alone.
"Well?" Sirk asked, standing to one side of him. Brigus looked at the boys, who had sat on the bench. Jasper stood to one side, his shoulder leaning against the front wall, but his eyes never still, always watching. Nirk took the opposite side in a similar pose.
"It seems the trader is not the only one to have seen the elves leaving. Rumors abound as far as Laketown."
Torel smiled, his eyes twinkling with youthful mirth. He wanted treasure so he could rebuild the farm and marry his girl. But the boy didn't understand just what all might be involved in getting it. "And if the elves have left, surely they left treasure behind! There's no way they could have carried all they had in a few wagons."
"But what if they didn't all leave?" Prem asked, his hazel eyes boring once again into Brigus. The uncertainty there was clear. "Surely you don't want us to go in there so soon? I don't want to fight any elves! And I'm no thief."
Prem glanced at the Sirk, then Nirk. Jasper stared with cold eyes at Prem, then looked to Brigus with a lifted brow, as if to ask why he had included children in this quest.
"What are a few elves?" Brigus asked. "From what I've heard, the Halls of the Elvenking are empty. If any remain, they are those that live in the woods with no desire for treasure. And in Laketown they say those elves moved to the Mountains!"
Prem considered this, then nodded but added, "I'm not stealing though. If it's abandoned, I'll take what I find, but I'm not fighting elves for a few baubles."
"It ain't just baubles we're going in for, boy," Jasper rumbled, his scratchy voice cold and hard. "It's gold and gems we're looking for."
"Right," Brigus added. "I'm not going to keep working my tail off every day in the hot sun when we could be living good on what we may find." Brigus held Prem's gaze, but it was Torel that spoke next.
"Come on, Prem. It will be easy. Brigus has looked into it. If the elves were still there, we wouldn't be going."
Prem sighed and the defiance went out of him. With a slight smile, he said, "Alright."
"So we'll set out in two days time," Brigus said. "Torel, you and Prem secure the food stuffs." He tossed Torel a small change purse with a few coins in it. "The rest of us will get the other things we'll need together. Maybe by week's end we'll have found us some treasure!"
That cheered all the men, and they parted ways. Torel and Prem arguing as to what would make the best food to take for the journey, and Nirk and Sirk discussing what tools they would need for opening locks or prying gems from walls.
Jasper glanced at him. "And what about weapons?"
Brigus nodded. "You and I will bring the weapons."
Seven Northwestern Eryn Lasgalen 11 Lothron, Year 29 F.A. What am I doing here? Legolas internally berated himself. There is something here you are supposed to do, his mind whispered back. Overdue to return home to Ascarnen, yet here he was, several days travel north of the Halls, in territory previously held by the giant spiders. But the arachnids had all been eradicated after the destruction of Dol Guldur, their webs removed, the forest healed. And nearly three decades later, the wildlife once again flourished. In the early morning light, he stopped to watch a family of deer in a small clearing. He smiled as the twin white fawns scampered across the grass in play while the doe grazed peacefully. He was reminded of Manuilos and the trouble he had put his siblings through. That fawn had also been a bridge between him and his father after his mother had died. These deer could very well be descended from her.* He watched a few minutes longer, then skirted the clearing, not wishing to disturb the doe. Once around the clearing he continued on his way towards where he had heard that disturbing scream. Legolas had searched for hours after hearing that scream in the woods. But he had been unable to find any sign or track of any kind and with no further evidence, he had given up and returned to the abandoned halls of his kin, almost convincing himself he had heard the vocalization of some new form of wildlife that had located to the area. But his attempts to pack up and head home had been thwarted by some inner need to check one more time. It had not been an animal he had seen and heard. And until he searched one more time, he could not bring himself to leave. He knew there was some purpose for his being here. He just had not discovered it yet. So ten days later, here he was, back where he had seen and heard whatever it was. It was silly, perhaps, but he simply could not head south until he had made certain there was no one here that needed him. He walked another ten minutes before he heard it. From ahead came a faint voice raised in a mournful song. He could not make out the words, and as sudden as he heard it, it ceased. He continued on and soon came to another small clearing. And from it came the sound of soft laughter, light and carefree. He approached, both cautious and curious, and peered from the cover of the wood to the sunlit carpet of wildflowers. There, in the center of the small space, sat a small girl wearing a plain white dress. Legolas searched with his eyes for any sign of an adult or family, but he could sense no other in the vicinity. He looked back at the girl. It was hard to judge her age, for he could not tell if she were human or elven. That by itself disconcerted him, for he had never had difficulty before discerning one of his own race. If human, she was perhaps six or seven summers. But no human child should be in this part of the wood. And the elves had all left… Legolas stepped into the clearing. The girl looked up at him, her face framed by long gold hair. She smiled and he returned the grin, walking towards her slowly, not wishing to frighten her. "Where are your parents, little one?" Legolas asked in the Common Tongue once he was a few paces away from her. She must be from one of the villages of men at the edge of the forest, though how she had found her way so far into the wood concerned him. It was a couple days' walk to the closest edge of the forest. She blinked at him in what appeared to be confusion, her deep blue eyes narrowing as she frowned at him. He tried again. "Who are you? Where are you from?" The girl tilted her head, and for a moment, it a flash of starlight filled her eyes. It vanished so quickly, Legolas was certain he must have imagined it. Still, she did not answer, but continued to gaze at him, almost through him, in silence. Could it be the girl had something wrong with her? He had seen such things in the race of Men, individuals whose minds were simple and could not comprehend. Such things were unknown to the elves, but it could explain how a young girl was alone here in the wood. Legolas knelt to her level and tried again, this time in his native tongue. It was improbable she would understand the language of the elves, but it could not hurt to try. "What is your name, child?" The girl's chin raised, and she smiled brightly at him, before replying, "You will know, one day…but that is not today." She giggled and hid her face behind her golden hair. Surprised both that she had responded and the manner she had done so, Legolas stared at her. So she was not human. He supposed it was possible that some Silvan families had remained north of the mountains, but he had been led to believe they had all left. And yet here was this elfling, alone in the wood. And what an odd response for a child so young to say. She peeked at him through her hair. "Are you afraid?" She asked him softly. "Nay, little one, there is nothing here to fear. If you will tell me where you are from, I shall take you home." From her question, Legolas assumed she must be afraid. A child alone in the wood, no family nearby that he could sense… "No, there is nothing here to fear, but you should be afraid or it will destroy you." Her voice… For a moment, did not sound childlike, but ethereal. Stunned, he looked closer at the small being before him, no longer at ease but on guard. Something was not right. But she giggled in the manner of a small girl and hid behind her hair once more. Strange. She acted as a child but then spoke like Galadriel. "What is there to fear, little one? What do you know? Why are you here alone?" "You will know, one day…but that is not today." She replied, repeating her words from before. "When will I know?" he asked. She grinned. "Not today." He decided to take a different tactic. One he had learned from Aragorn's children, Eldarion in particular. If you could not get the answer you desired, try distraction. Children often talked more than they realized if you could get them talking about something. "What is your name, little one?" She tilted her head, as if debating whether she should give him that information. Finally, she replied, to Legolas' frustration, "You will know, one day…but that is not today." He rolled his eyes, as she laughed brightly, then she said, "You may call me Rani, but that is not my real name. I will tell you my real name when it is time." He shook his head in exasperation. This child spoke as a wizard! "Very well, Rani. Now where do you live, so I may take you back to your parents? You should not be here alone." Rani shook her head. A slight breeze stirred the trees behind them, and the sound of a loud crack rent the stillness. Legolas turned to look, searching the trees for any sign of danger. But there was nothing amiss that he could see, so he turned back to the child—only she was no longer there. Legolas stood and searched around the clearing for any sign of where she had gone, wondering how she had moved so quickly and silently for one so small. But he found no trace of her, no track, nothing. She had vanished. – ~ – Northwestern Eryn Lasgalen Same day… The woods were almost silent this peaceful morning. A bird would chirp occasionally, or the trees would rustle softly in the slight breeze, but otherwise, all was quiet. Lancaeriel inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, taking in the peace and tranquility around her. She was home. She should be happy, except… She could hardly believe she had succeeded in her plans. No one knew she had not gone to Imladris. No one knew she was here. She was in her wood, alone as she had wished…and yet, she had no peace. She felt ashamed of her actions, for misleading Besoneth, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She tried to settle in her mind that she could live alone with her wounded heart forever, but she was not happy here. She hated to admit that she was wounded beyond what the wood could heal. But it was true. No longer did the songs of her people ring through the night. No longer could she hear the laughter of others as they went about their lives. The trees themselves grieved, saddened by the loss of her kin. They feared for her as well. Confused and hurting, she walked among the trees, and as she walked, Lancaeriel heard a soft song rise on the wind. Surprised, she moved in the direction of the sound, curiosity overwhelming caution. It did not take her very long to find its source. In a small clearing, she found the elfling, Rani, sitting in the grass, her fingers weaving long green blades into a chain as she sang a sad song in an unfamiliar language. Lancaeriel looked about for any others, but there was no one else there. The trees confirmed it. She was alone here, except for the child. She crossed to the girl and stooped to Rani's level. The girl looked up and smiled. "I knew you would be here…" "Rani!" Lancaeriel exclaimed. "What are you doing here? Where are your parents, little one? You cannot be here alone!" Fear filled Lancaeriel's heart as she desperately tried to figure out how the girl was left behind. It was not possible. She had been here many months and had seen no other in all that time. With a soft smile, Rani shook her head and met Lancaeriel's eyes. "I am not alone. There is another here, not too far away. Do not be afraid, Caeri, it is all right." Rani picked up the grass chain she had been braiding, her small fingers playing with the long strands. Relieved Rani was not alone, Lancaeriel lowered dherself to sit beside her in the grass. "Who else is here, Rani? And why did you not go south with the others?" "You will know one day, but that is not today." The child's illusive answer, spoken in a voice resounding of purpose and something else she could not name, stirred fear in Lancaeriel's heart. This child was unlike anyone she had ever met before. "Who are you…really? What do you want from me?" Lancaeriel asked, moving a bit away. She could sense that this girl was not what she at first appeared and that was a startling thought. But Rani smiled reassuringly, "You will know all in time. You do not need to fear me." But the words did not ease Lancaeriel's apprehension. "I just see things…in my mind…things to come. I…" the child sighed, lowering her eyes. "I just wanted to help you. Not many understand me. I thought you would." Rani finished in a whisper, a hint of tears in her voice. Lancaeriel then understood. "Oh Rani, I am sorry. You have a great gift, and one day I am sure it will cause you joy, rather than sadness. The other children must have been afraid of your knowing the future, of knowing things they had no way of knowing." Rani looked up at her, tears welling in her deep blue eyes, her small lips quivering. "I knew you would understand," she whispered softly, moving closer and laying her head against Lancaeriel's shoulder. Then she begin to speak of danger in the wood, shadows that even now headed their direction. Lancaeriel needed to leave and head southeast with all haste. "I can take you to someone who will help you," Rani told her. "He can take you to Prince Legolas's home, where you will be safe and happy. There your heart will not hurt so much. You need friends, Caeri, to help you. And there are those who need you, too." Lancaeriel listened without interrupting, knowing the child spoke out of foresight, a gift given to few. She could hear the concern and fear in Rani's voice. But although Lancaeriel knew the child spoke the truth, she had no interest in going to Ithilien so far away from the forest she loved, from the graves of her parents and brother. Besides, what good would come of growing close to others, making more friends that could be taken from her with no notice. She feared letting herself care but even more she feared losing another she cared for. Another such loss would destroy her. As to any danger, she knew these woods, knew how to hide. Anthir had taught her to defend herself. Completely forgetting about her earlier pain and lack of peace, Lancaeriel lifted her chin and decided she would not leave. She would not give up her home and wood so easily. Rani pulled back from her, as if sensing her decision, and stood. Determination filled the small face. "I will not fail to save you," she blurted. Then without another word, the small girl turned and fled, disappearing into the trees. Lancaeriel looked for her, but was unable to find any sign of Rani. She hoped the child had found the 'other' she had spoken of, and was now safe. She dared not consider to closely the words the child had spoken. — ~ — Northwestern Eryn Lasgalen Same day… Legolas awakened to the sound of birds singing in the tree around him. He had fallen asleep mid day, but now sat up and stretched the kinks from his back, the result of laying on an awkward branch in the old oak tree in which he was perched. He let his eyes wander the area around the clearing where he had met little Rani early that morning. There was still no sign of the child. That more than anything perplexed him. She should have left some sign of her passing, a track, a broken stem, but there was nothing disturbed in or around the clearing except where the girl had sat in the grass. It was quite unnerving, the child's sudden appearance and even more her seeming vanishing. No child he had ever known could move with such speed or silence, human or elven. There was something about Rani that Legolas could not explain and did not understand. There was also a nagging sense in the back of his mind that he should. Something about the girl reminded him of something, but he could not remember what it was. The sound of bright laughter from the trees further north, disrupted his thoughts. Legolas stood up, balancing easily on the branch where he had lain. He grabbed his weapons and pack hanging on the branch beside him, and moved with speed through the trees towards the sound. Several minutes later, he could see a flash of white through the trees ahead of him. There, in another small clearing, happily playing in the tall grasses, sat Rani. Legolas dropped from the trees and walked into the clearing, stopping several paces from the child. She did not seem to have heard his approach or notice him standing there. She continued weaving grasses into a chain, softly singing a song in a language Legolas had never heard before. As Rani sang the last notes to the haunting tune, Legolas cleared his throat, not wanting to startle the girl. She lifted her head, but did not look at him. "What were you singing about, Rani?" He asked quietly. Her head turned and she smiled at him over her shoulder. "You will know one day…but that is not today." Her answer irritated Legolas, and he sighed heavily. "I do not like this game you play, Rani. I do not understand why you are here alone, or why you will not tell me where you belong. I cannot stay here long. I must return to my home soon. Now, where are your parents, child, that I may return you safely to them and be on my way?" The girl's eyes flashed with strong emotion, before she turned her head back around and stared at the grass chain in her lap. "You cannot leave yet. You have not fulfilled your task," she replied, her tone more of someone issuing an order, than speaking a thought aloud. Her words and tone caught Legolas altogether off guard. He had felt himself that he had some task to perform before he could leave, but to hear it from one so young was disconcerting. For several moments, he watched her toy with the grass chain, feeling very ill at ease. Finally, he asked, "What task do you speak of, child? You know not who I am, let alone my purpose here." He waited and watched as she kept her eyes lowered. Slowly, she raised her head and turned to face him, starlight flashing in her eyes once again. "I know many things…more than you think." She stared hard at him for another moment, then lowered her head wearily. Legolas ran his hand over his hair and closed his eyes, confused. He was alone in the wood, with a child who spoke in riddles as a wizard. He did not understand what he was here for, but he could not deny that he had known before ever coming across her, that he had a task to perform before leaving the wood. Inhaling deeply, Legolas opened his eyes. He stared long at the place Rani had sat. The grass chain she had woven lie in the indentation left by her body in the grass. With strode forward, stooped and picked it up. Letting his eyes wander the area, he found once again, he was alone. Guess I am not leaving yet… To Be Continued… * Legolas's adventure with Manuilos can be read in my story Where Is It? Please be so kind as to leave a review?
Eight Small Village Northwest of the Elvenking's halls Evening had long fallen, and once again, Torel found himself at the Twisted Twig. It was a full house this night, loud and boisterous. He sighed and leaned back in the rickety chair as he watched the five other men seated at their table. They spoke little as they downed their ale. All of them looked as he felt: exhausted. Torel glanced at Prem and caught his eye for a moment. His friend inclined his head ever so slightly in acquiescence, the silent communication undetected by the other four men around them. Clearing his throat, Torel got Brigus' attention. "I don't think we should go back, Brigus." Brigus eyes narrowed at him. Torel had not expected his older brother to give up, but neither could he continue in this foolishness. "And why not?" Brigus asked. He glanced warily about, but no one was paying any attention to their table. "There're no elves in the forest, or we would've seen them by now. There is no danger, so it is only a matter of time before we find it." It was true. They had found no sign of any one or any thing. Only endless leagues of trees. There was not even any sign of any dwellings in the trees, and his Pa had said the elves that didn't live in the Halls lived in tree houses of some kind. But if that were so, either they had lived more to the south or they had dismantled their dwellings before leaving. "But we haven't found any sign of their dwellings, no trace of where their king's halls were— It's a waste of time, Brigus. We should return to work and accept that we'll never be rich." Torel met Brigus eyes evenly, aware of the agitation he was stirring in a couple of the men. He expected Brigus to lash out at him for that remark. He knew how much his brother hated working the fields. Even before their Pa had died, Brigus had grumbled about the work and would disappear at times into town, leaving the work to Torel and their Pa. It had caused their parents much grief. But Brigus turned in anger to Prem instead. "You put him up to this, boy? Fill his head with how we're fools?" Prem paled, but held his ground. "We talked about the fact we're losing money searching for something that might not be there, yeah. Almost a week we've been in the forest, and all we've seen is trees. Pretty and all, but I have chores at home. Ma and Pa gonna lecture me to no end when I finally show back up." Sirk snorted. "Should never have included these babies, Brigus. Barely off their mommas' breasts they are. It's men that will find that there treasure." Anger flared in Torel's chest. Always Brigus and his friends treated him as if he were still a child, when he was the one supporting his Ma and taking care of what was left of their farm! He pushed back his chair so fast it tilted over as he stood. He heard the crack against the wood floor. "I am no boy! I was twenty last moon!" "Don't make you a man, boy," Jasper rasped. "Bet you've never even bedded a girl yet." Torel's face flushed again. "I have a girl," he grumbled. "But you ain't bedded her, have you now?" That was no one's business but his own. Torel started to move towards the older man, but Prem grabbed his sleeve and shook his head. "Sit down, Torel," he murmured. "It ain't worth it." The other men just smirked, and Torel felt his face burn hotter. His outburst hadn't impressed them. But Prem's check had probably saved him from a pretty sound beating. Jasper wasn't one to start a brawl with. They had heard the man had killed three men in a tavern fight in another town before joining their group. Instead, Torel swallowed his ire, righted his chair and slumped back into it. "I still don't think we're going to find anything." "We started this together," Nirk said, "and no one's backing out now. Can't have you tellin' others what we're doing, or trying to claim a share after we find the treasure!" Brigus nodded. "No one's backing out. My brother's just upset we haven't found anything yet. We'll go in again tomorrow. I've gotten a good feel for those woods now. We just need to replenish our supplies." "Why don't we just go around and take the elf path from Laketown?" Prem asked. Torel blinked at the idea. Why hadn't they thought of that before? "Takes too much time!" Brigus barked. "All we gotta do is head southeast and we'll find that path." "Unless the elves left some kind of enchantment to prevent anyone from finding it," Prem said. Jasper snorted. "You really are just a boy if you believe in those fairy stories." Prem said nothing. Just sat back without any return barb at the man. Torel never could understand how Prem didn't let words like that bother him. But Prem didn't have an older brother that had taunted him as long as he could remember either. Prem only had sisters. Brigus continued. "We'll find that path and from there it'll be easy to find the King's Halls. Now, let's finish our drinks and be off. We'll leave at dawn." Torel felt his hope surge again at the thought of finding that path. That was the key. If they didn't find it heading south, then maybe he could convince the men to try Prem's suggestion and head to Laketown. From there, they could easily find the halls and discover if there really was anything worth taking from them. If not, Torel would go home. He had Dell waiting for him. To Be Continued…
Nine Along the banks of the River Running, south of Laketown 15 Lothron, Year 29 Fourth Age They had made good time, he and Gimli, which almost surprised him given the fact Halruin was an elvish-bred stallion, while the dwarf rode what he would term a large pony. He smiled to himself as he remembered Eomer had grown belligerent at that term and insisted Moroch, at fourteen hands tall, was a small horse. But to Aragorn, who had been raised in Rivendell with elvish steeds, and whose own Halruin stood a magnificent seventeen hands, Moroch was small and compact. Still, the dark brown pony had ground-eating strides, testimony of his Rohirric breeding, that let him keep up with Halruin's long legs. He and Gimli had had set out from Gondor on the third day of Lothron and had ridden as hard as they dared without exhausting their mounts. It had been some time since Aragorn had travelled with the dwarf, and he found himself truly amazed on that first leg of their trip from Minas Tirith to Edoras to see Gimli ride with such confidence, and dare he say, grace? When he had commented on the fact, Gimli had brushed him off. "What did you expect after that elf has dragged me over half of Arda on the back of one of these creatures? Near thirty years now! I should hope I can sit a horse without falling off." The long, hard ride north had proved exhilarating. Too often, Aragorn found himself cooped up behind the Citadel walls in seemingly endless meetings, or travelling with a large escort. How different his life was now from the life he had lived as a Ranger. While he knew he was blessed, there were times he felt a prisoner rather than the King of Gondor and Arnor. That was probably why Arwen had supported him in going to find Legolas. The walls of stone and Men had begun to take their toll on him. But here, in the fresh air, the trees of Eryn Lasgalen on his left and the River Running upon his right, he felt once again free. He was grateful for his wife's wisdom in sending him on this journey, as well as her support of his going without an escort, other than Gimli. Aragorn let a small smile cross his face as he thought of the Queen's adamant refusal to hear any of the council's objections to their king making a personal trip without a guard. He, himself, would rather face the Morannon again, than his wife's fury. The king chuckled to himself as he recalled the fear in many of his councilors' eyes. Those not fearful, were quite amused by Arwen's defense of her husband. But in the end, all respected her and none could refuse her. The smile fell from Aragorn's face, as he remembered his farewells with his family. He loved them dearly and doted on his children, although Eldarion was of an age he considered himself a man rather than a child. Aragorn had to admit that the boy was probably right. Had he truly been that young when he had first laid eyes upon his Undómiel and mistakenly called her Tinúviel? He must have been, yet Eldarion, with his elvish heritage, was in appearance younger, the lack of beard causing him to be ridiculed by the other boys his age on occasion. Aragorn worried about his son and the challenges facing him based on his ancestry. Yet, he was also proud of the man his son was becoming. Eldarion embraced both sides of his heritage and proudly proclaimed them. Even as an adolescent he had faced taunts with head high. He would be a worthy king in time, wise and patient. His thoughts turned to his daughters, Merilin and Glassiel. He would miss them both while he was away, especially little Glassiel, who seemed to grow taller every time he turned around. He loved Merilin just as much, but his oldest daughter, at the age of thirteen, had become moody and irrational, and he found her difficult to understand. Glassiel, on the other hand, at eight years old, was a joy. She loved life, people and nature, courtesy of a certain elf. She had been most upset before Aragorn had ridden out left, but not because of his departure. No, the child had overheard some conversation regarding Legolas, and she was quite fearful some evil had befallen 'her' Leg'las, as she had called him since she could form the word. Glassiel adored the elf, a feeling equally returned by Legolas. Few held such sway with Legolas as did the youngest princess of Gondor! Glassiel had pleaded with him to make sure he brought Legolas home, where she could 'care for him properly'. It would have been amusing, if circumstances were different. The care the elf might need could very well be beyond that of a young girl. Aragorn turned slightly and glanced down at his riding companion. His concerns for Legolas were reflected on Gimli's face. The dwarf was worried—very worried— and with good reason. If anyone understood Legolas and the affliction he suffered from the sea, it was Gimli. For thirty years, Gimli had stood by Legolas when duty had prevented Aragorn from being able to do so. The strange friendship between elf and dwarf had somehow managed to anchor Legolas. Yet he had left Gimli behind without a word, and that worried them both. In addition to that, Legolas, by his own admission, should have been in Rohan by the end of Gwirith, yet Din's message had stated he was still in Eryn Lasgalen. Aragorn had chosen to travel along the same route Legolas would most likely follow if he were headed south, but they had seen no sign of the elf on their journey north. They had stopped briefly in Edoras to rest their mounts, and again in Lórien. Celeborn had confirmed the elf had not traveled through his lands. Either the elf was trapped in grief still in Eryn Lasgalen, or something had befallen him. He glanced at Gimli again and noted the dwarf was chewing one his beard, a sure sign of the level of agitation Gimli felt. Turning his eyes forward once more, Aragorn urged greater speed from Halruin. By his calculations, they could be at the Elvenking's Halls in less than three days. Moroch matched the change of pace easily, snorting in delight and challenging Halruin to greater speed. — ~ — Halruinis Aragorn's elvish-bred, red chestnut stallion, a gift from his brothers, Elladan and Elrohir. Name is Sindarin for 'tall red flame' . Moroch is Gimli's second horse, bearing the same name as his first (it was a good solid elvish name after all, why would the dwarf think of a new one?) This small dark brown horse as was its predecessor was also a gift from Eomer. Name is Sindarin for 'dark horse'. We know Aragorn had at least two daughters from canon, but their names and birthdates are unknown. I have taken the liberty of assuming Eldarion was the firstborn. He is twenty in this story. Merilin is thirteen. Her name means nightingale and is a nod towards both Luthien and Aragorn's mistakenly calling Arwen Tinúviel at their first meeting. Glassiel is eight and has taken a shine to Legolas.
Ten Eryn Lasgalen 18 Lothron, Year 29 Fourth Age Legolas had been led on a strange trek, following the haunting sound of Rani's song. Sometimes he would come across her, and they would carry on another confusing conversation. More often, he would just hear childish laughter or soft singing, and he followed the sound without ever seeing her. On occasion, he found another woven grass or flower chain in a clearing. The previous day there had been no sign of her, so Legolas had settled on a wide branch and spent the night singing to the stars above, trying to drown out the ever present sea-song in his heart. A piercing sound roused him from what rest he could find, its sharp, clear note well known. He sat up, heart racing. The sound was not native to the woods of his birth, nor had he actually heard it with his ears. It was the sound that echoed through his memory, never releasing its hold on his heart: the cry of a gull. Legolas took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. It had been a while since he had experienced such a vivid memory of that day in Pelargir when he had first heard the cry of the gulls. The sea longing was bittersweet in nature, calling, luring, beckoning him to follow. Relentless! Legolas shook it off every time. He would not, could not sail West yet, and so he lived as one torn, always longing for something he could not yet attain, yearning to step foot on distant green shores. But at the same time he disdained it, for to heed it would cost him the friendships he cherished most. Neither the trees nor the stars could comfort him. It was as Galadriel had foreseen. Once he had heard the gulls, his heart was ensnared by something against which he could not fight, and yet he wrestled with it daily. This time was no different. He knew why the sea's call grew stronger. With his family gone, he had few ties left holding him here. But he fought it nonetheless, refusing to give in to the sweet song of waves crashing and gulls crying. The sun was just rising when he heard Rani's soft song join the chorus of dawn birdsong. The melody haunted him, unlike anything he had ever heard before. The words he could not understand. When he had asked her what language it was, she refused to tell him, saying it was her song and hers alone. Such a strange child… If she was just a child; Legolas was not certain. He was certain, however, that he was being driven to some task, some purpose he had yet discovered. Regardless, he could not just head home not knowing why Rani taunted and teased him, leading him onwards. He had not failed to noticed she led him on a direct route through the trees. She moved with purpose. Standing, Legolas followed the sad song through the branches, pausing at the edge of a small opening in the trees. Seated in the grass of a small meadow was Rani, long grasses trailing from her fingers as she wove them into a pattern. A finished chain complete with flowers encircled her golden head, which was bowed over her work. Legolas smiled at the innocent picture the child made, and lowered himself to lean against a tree, watching her work. After a time, she lifted her head and smiled at him. He returned the smile, which earned him a small giggle. Rani dropped the chain she had been weaving and skipped over to him. She stood studying him carefully for several moments, her deep blue eyes twinkling. Her head tilted to the side, and the tip of her tongue stuck in the corner of her mouth as if she were in deep thought. The manner of the innocent child changed. She reached out a hand and brushed her fingers across Legolas' cheek, much in the manner his mother once had done. "You are very handsome," she said, stroking Legolas's cheek. Her fingers dropped to smooth his golden hair, a mothering gesture Legolas had experienced many times at the hands of Arwen's little girl, Glassiel. With a smile, Legolas joined the game, reaching up a hand to her cheek. "And you are very beautiful, my lady. What a pretty dress you have! And your crown shines almost as brightly as your eyes." His playful flattery brought forth bubbles of giggles, and she plopped down into his lap, her back against his chest. As she snuggled in, Legolas reached up and tucked several strands of light golden silk behind her pointed ears. He had a sudden longing for Ascarnen and Gondor, for at times Rani reminded Legolas of Glassiel, Aragorn's youngest daughter. Glassiel was fond of inviting the Lord of Ascarnen to her tea parties, and Legolas could never refuse her little girl games. Often, he felt wistful whenever he indulged her latest fancy. Legolas had never had a younger sister, and as he had never bound himself to another, he had no children of his own. No amount of ribbing from his dwarven friend would keep him from playing with the little Glassiel, and he had even managed to include Gimli from time to time. He decided that when he returned to Gondor he would spend afternoon with Aragorn's daughters. But first, he needed to discover why he was still here. He felt certain it had to do with this mysterious child alone in the wood, for how could he leave her here alone. Until he solved his mystery, he could not leave. "Did your family decide not to sail, little one? Is that why you are here?" His words were soft, compassionate. She turned and looked up at him with sad eyes, and for a moment he expected her to tell him her parents were dead. He did not know why he felt that, but he waited, expecting her to speak. Instead, Rani blinked and scrambled up from his lap, her brow creasing into a small frown. She faced northwest, and she cocked her head as if listening for something. She looked back at Legolas before she spoke. "I have to go. Time grows short." She edged away from him, looking back to the north. "Time for what, child?" He stood, peering into the trees. He could sense nothing amiss in the near vicinity. The trees issued no alarms. "Remain here. I will return soon." She took a step away, then turned back, uncertainty on her face. "Rani?" "Stay," she whispered, her eyes pleading. He nodded, and glanced back to the north, unsurprised that when he looked back, she was gone. — ~ — Mid day… Lancaeriel hummed as she groomed one of her geldings. The two horses had been a gift from Besoneth, one she had felt guilty for taking, since she had no intention of going to Imladris. But she was glad of the company. The bay gelding she had named Dinnif flexed his head back to where she was brushing his withers and nosed at her, looking for possible treats. She stopped to scratch his cheek. "No treats today." She laughed at his sad expression. "I ate the last of the parsnips this morning. Perhaps we shall find some more today." He sighed and turned back to napping as she continued brushing. She worked quickly, using a carved wooden comb to detangle the long black mane and tail, then finished by picking out the horse's hooves. They were getting long in the toe, beginning to split and crack. Their state concerned her. She only knew the very basics of horse care, having never owned one before being gifted with Naurun and Dinnif. According to Besoneth, she did not need to know more than that, as there would be smiths who knew how to do such things at both the Halls and in Imladris. At the time, she had not given it too much thought, assuming the hooves wore down naturally. But now… A quick check revealed Naurun's hooves were in the same sad state. Nothing about living alone was turning out as she had hoped. It was peaceful, for certain, but quiet. While she had spent much time alone over the past years, she had always has Besoneth to talk to when she felt the urge. Now she only had the horses' ears, and while they listened patiently, she feared even they considered her a fool. And they could not speak back, not in the manner she longed to hear. Food was no problem. The forest was bountiful in its stores, and she had learned from an early age how to glean its offerings. Her people were mostly gatherers, forest folk who lived on the bounty of the forest and making due with what it presented. Even during the dark days, they had made use of the spiders that had infested the wood, using their silk to weave into cloth, and feasting on the spiders themselves.* What she had failed to take into account was her lack of knowledge in several key areas, the horses only being one. She had not had much success with tanning hides. While her clothing would last for a time, she knew she would have to replace it eventually as it wore out, but knowing how to sew did not help her if she did not know how to tan the hides into usable leather! And trading was not an option with her people gone. "I could trade for cloth," she mused aloud. A journey to Laketown would not be impossible. But a lone elven woman travelling might look suspicious to the Men of the Lake. Word would have spread that the elves had left these lands, with the Elvenking no longer trading with the Master. "But I could go anyway," she told Naurun. He eyed her doubtfully, and she ruffled his flaxen forelock, before pulling out the boar bristle brush and running it over his burnished red coat. When in motion, he looked like a creature on fire, thus his name. "Go where?" a small voice asked. Lancaeriel gasped, dropping her brush as she spun to find Rani standing a few feet away. "Rani! Where did you come from?" "There," the child pointed southeast. "Is your friend still with you?" she asked, stooping to pick up her brush and continued brushing her horse. She was not truly interested in the friend Rani had mentioned. He must be from Ithilien, based on what Rani had said, but why he was in Eryn Lasgalen confused her. Of course, he could have come to say goodbye to those in the Halls, but they had left over a moon ago! And she had no interest in Ithilien, so far from her home. "Yes, he is here. And you must come with us, please?" Lancaeriel glanced at the child, annoyed at the tone of command in that voice, despite the plea. Her resolve filled her once again. She could find a way to stay here! Laketown would have men who knew how to trim her horses' hooves. She could trade with them for the service, just as she could trade for other items she might need. She might even meet some of the women with whom she could converse. She could make this work! "Please, Caeri! You should not be alone. Danger is coming. Please?" But Lancaeriel shook her head, stubborn. If she ever left it would be herdecision, and hers alone. She could not bring herself to fear the visions of a young child. "I am fine, Rani. I can protect myself well enough. Besides, the danger is gone. There is just you, me and your friend in this part of the forest." "No, there are others…" Rani's voice broke off. Lancaeriel turned to look at her, and found the girl staring in horror to the north. "Rani?" Rani turned back to her, desperation in her small face. "Get on your horse, and ride! Ride fast!" Confused, Lancaeriel looked again to where the child had focused. She could see nothing, sense nothing. Turning back, she found the child had once again disappeared. "I tire of your games, Rani!" she called out. "They are not funny…." Her voice faded as the trees began to rustle in warning. Danger. Danger approaches. Shocked, Lancaeriel stood in place as carved stone, her hand gripping her brush. Naurun snorted, pawing a foot as he tossed his head and rolled his eyes. Fear filled her now, with Rani's warnings ringing in her mind. She did not know what the danger was, but she had long learned to listen to the trees. She ran to Dinnif and untied him before stepping up to a fallen log to leap onto Naurun's back. She did not know where she was going, and was leaving all her belongings behind her in the small talan above. But she needed to move. Urged on by the trees' warnings, she pushed Naurun into a canter, calling for Dinnif to follow. But her riding experience was limited, and in the dense wood she found it difficult to keep her seat. Naurun dodged a low hanging branch, but the end of it caught Lancaeriel just enough to unseat her. She fell to the forest floor, landing hard enough to knock the breath out of her. Her horses, full of fear of the unknown, ran on, leaving her to whatever doom came for her. And in that moment, Lancaeriel wished she had gone to Ithilien. To Be Continued… Author's notes: * A note about the woodelves eating the spiders: This plot point is taken from my story "What's For Dinner?" in which I introduced Gimli to the woodelves feasting habits. He was a bit shocked himself, but eventually caved in and learned to love the spiderlings. Ingesting insects is not uncommon in many parts of the world, and in South America they roast tarantulas and eat them like crabs. I imagine they taste similar. My horse characters tend to take on a life of their own. I suspect these two shall as well. As such, here is a bit of information about them. Naurun – means Fire Creature. Naurun is a chestnut gelding with a flaxen (light colored or blond) mane and tail. Dinnif – means Gloomy Face. Dinnif is a bay gelding. A bay horse is brown to reddish brown in color on the body with black "points" (tips of ears, muzzle, lower legs, mane and tail)
Eleven Elven King's Halls Aragorn found it very strange to travel familiar paths with no patrols stopping them, no sound of elf song in the wood, no sense of eyes watching his every move. There was no sign of anyone as they approached the Halls. Disconcerted, he hoped at least one elf remained here for them to find. Legolas had better be here, for despite Gimli's confidence in Aragorn's abilities as a tracker, he knew he would never find Legolas in these woods if the elf did not wish to be found. They came at last to the stone bridge spanning the river before the Gates to the Halls, and they crossed with only the sounds of their horses' hooves against the stone, both lost in their own memories of previous visits to the Elvenking's realm. Once on the other side of the river, they dismounted. Aragorn spoke quietly to Halruin, telling him to stay near the gate. As he turned to do the same with Moroch, he had to smile, for Gimli was speaking to the horse, telling him not to run off or get into trouble. Aragorn remembered a time such a thing would have been unheard of and considered teasing the dwarf, but the sight of Gimli's axe at his hip closed his mouth. He would keep his amusement to himself…at least until they found Legolas. It had been a long time since they had enjoyed some laughter at the dwarf's expense. Gimli gave a final pat to Moroch's neck, then turned and lifted a brow at him, nodding towards the gates. Not long ago, the gates would only have opened at the command of the Thranduil or Legolas, but that was no longer true. Gimli easily pushed them open, and found a couple of torches, which he lit. The halls were as deserted as Din had described. Once filled with laughter and song, they now echoed strangely as they walked the corridors, the red light of the torches throwing eerie shadows upon the walls. They found no sign of Legolas in the main caverns. By all appearances, no one had been in the place for weeks. Aragorn led the way around a bend and came to a stop at the great seal carved into a wooden double door, filling the corridor. Here should be a pair of guards, but again, all was silent and still. He glanced down at Gimli, whose puckered brow indicated the dwarf also felt the wrongness of the situation. "I don't know why I suspected anyone to be here," Gimli said, his voice echoing in the empty tunnel. "It feels wrong to enter without being detained. "Aye," Aragorn agreed. He had often been made to wait while one guard went to inform Legolas of his presence. But not this time. He pushed open one door and led the way into the living quarters that had once housed Thranduil's family. There was no one there. "Legolas?" Gimli called out, his voice carrying oddly. There was no answer. Aragorn exchanged a glance with Gimli, then moved through the common room to Legolas's private room. He paused then lifted his hand and knocked on the intricately carved door. His knock was met with silence. Uncertain of what they would find within, Aragorn lifted the latch and pushed the door open. Inside, the room was empty, but they found signs that someone had been here recently. Legolas's circlet, declaring him a prince of Eryn Lasgalen, sat on top of the elf's dressing table. Several items of clothing hung in the wardrobe and various personal items were strewn on the bed. The presence of those items proved to Aragorn that Legolas had not yet departed for Rohan and Ithilien. By contrast, Legolas's weapons and pack were missing along with the elf. Letting his eyes run over the room again, looking for any clues, he noticed the torchlight cast a mixture of shadows and light upon the wall. He focused for a moment on the dark shadows, his brow furrowing. "What is it, Aragorn?" Gimli asked, and when Aragorn turned to look at the dwarf, he noticed the deep concern etched on the Gimli's face. It was a concern he shared. "Being here reminds me of my first visit to Mirkwood when I was young." Aragorn answered. He watched in amusement as the dwarf's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. "Though I know you and the elf had been friends long before the Council, I was not aware you knew Legolas when you were just a boy." Gimli stated gruffly. "Neither you or he has mentioned that," he grumbled almost under his breath. "Has he never told you? I have know Legolas most of my life, though my first visit here was not until I was a young man past my majority. Before that, I was not allowed to leave Imladris, at least not without the company of my brothers and we never left Eriador." "Because of your heritage," Gimli correctly surmised. Imladris had been a refuge for him and his mother when his father had been killed in battle with orcs. Aragorn had little memory of the man his mother had loved. He remembered that terrible night Elladan and Elrohir had brought word of Arathorn's death, but after that, his memories of his childhood were filled with laughter and joy in the Last Homely House. Elrond had been a father to him, Elladan and Elrohir his brothers. The household had doted on him, trained and prepared him for where his destiny had led him. And then there was his friendship with Legolas. Aragorn nodded, smiling at the memories of his childhood. "I first met Legolas when he came to Rivendell as a messenger for his father. I was only four or five years old at the time. He and my brothers had long been friends, and he remained for awhile." He smiled as he remembered that first visit. * "He was not quite sure what to think of me at first, but we soon became fast friends." Gimli listened with quiet fascination as Aragorn continued. "Over the years, Legolas visited often, and I counted him as one of my closest friends and mentors. Many a lesson I learned from that elf, quite a few in fact that my tutors feared I would never learn from them. But Legolas was a patient teacher, using life and experiences to teach. Never was it boring. He made everything as fun as possible. Most of those lessons I will never forget. Many times, they have saved my life, or guided me through difficult paths."** Gimli eyes narrowed slightly, but a small smile twitched the corners of his mouth. "You almost make it sound as if the elf were actually full of wisdom." Aragorn threw back his head and laughed out loud at that. "You know that he is, Gimli! You just do not wish to admit it." His smile faded a moment later, as he dwelt further on the memories of his elf friend. "He was very wise, but also mischievous, playful. No matter how dark Mirkwood became, Legolas seemed to always remain bright and cheerful, as if the darkness never touched him. I know in retrospect that it did, for no one could endure what he did without being touched by it, but he rarely showed it. And even if he did speak of it, he did not dwell upon it." The dwarf frowned at those words, a touch of sadness reaching his eyes. "I only vaguely remember him like that, early in the Quest, when he teased Gandalf about finding the sun! "It no longer is a description that fits him." Gimli sighed heavily, looking away. "Now, though the darkness has been dispelled from his home and Arda, Legolas suffers, unable to fully enjoy that for which he fought for so many centuries." He paused, his brow wrinkling before he turned to Aragorn and said, "I would see him returned to us as you describe him, yet I fear it will not happen in either of our lifetimes, if ever." Silently, Aragorn agreed, his heart aching within him. Though the elf still had a playful nature and at times his bright laughter filled a room, a shadow frequently darkened his eyes. Melancholy had become the elf's norm, rather than joy. As he contemplated the changes in his friend, Aragorn studied the shadows on the walls absently. He missed the Legolas he had known as a child…the laughing teasing elf, with bright grey eyes. A flicker of light drew Aragorn's gaze from the shadows on the walls to the light of the torch. A memory sparked, and his heart lurched. Quietly, without thought, words whispered in Sindarin escaped his lips. "What was that, Aragorn?" Gimli asked. He repeated it in the Common Tongue. "Look to the sun, and the shadows fall behind you." ** A slow smile tugged at his lips. "I understand now, Gimli, what has happened to our friend, and more importantly, I think I know how to help him." To Be Continued… If you are reading, PLEASE leave a review! Just a few words mean a lot! Thank you!
Twelve Northwestern Eryn Lasgalen Legolas had followed Rani for over an hour. No longer childlike, her movements were deliberate and purposeful. She had been leading him somewhere from the beginning, but now she moved quickly, a slip of a girl sliding through the trees with effortless grace. He watched her carefully choose the path, then he followed, placing his feet exactly where she had stepped. He had waited patiently when Rani had left him in the clearing, sitting in the grass, his fingers running over a braided grass chain. His mother had woven chains exactly the same when he was a boy. Indeed, his father's use of a crown of woodland flowers or leaves had come from his mother and her love of them. She had told him once that it was a skill passed on to her from her mother and grandmother. His sister made them as well, but Legolas had been far more interested in bows, arrows and staffs to learn to make the chains. While he waited, his mind turned over all that had happened since he had bid his family goodbye. For that was truly when it had started, the events set into motion. Somehow it was all connected. He just could not figure out how. Rani had appeared before him suddenly. One minute she was not there, and then he looked up and she was standing before him, her eyes wide with fear. "You must come with me," she pleaded, her voice desperate. "I will take you to where you need to go. We must go quickly, time grows short." "Time for what, child? What is it that I must do?" Legolas asked her, his eyes searching hers for some clue as to what was happening, what danger they faced. He could sense no danger in the near vicinity. Rani looked at him with pleading eyes, "Please! We must go! It will be dangerous and you must be very careful not to get caught, but we must go now!" Her frightened tone troubled him, and Legolas rose to his feet. He moved to follow, but her eyes strayed to his bow, quiver and pack propped against a nearby tree. The message was unmistakable. He buckled on his quiver, and slipped the pack over one shoulder. She nodded, and he followed her through the trees, northwest. There was no conversation as they traversed, but Legolas did not mind. It had not taken long for his senses to pick up on the danger in the wood. The trees rustled in annoyance at first, echoing their brethren from further away. Something was not right in this part of the wood, and the further north they went, the more agitated the trees became. Danger… Beware… Rani stopped, frozen behind a wall of brush, her face paling. He could not yet make out distinct words, but he could hear the sound of men. She looked at him, determination written in her small face. Holding a finger to her lips, she continued on, slowly, silently. Legolas followed until he began to make out harsh words. There seemed to be several men in the forest, and they were arguing. Rani paused again, hidden in the tree line as a clearing opened up before them. He followed her lead, inching up to where she stood peering from behind a large oak. With long years of practice, he maneuvered to where he could see without being seen, and what he saw caused his stomach to drop. In the clearing, six men stood arguing. One of them held the arm of a bound Silvan woman, her hands tied behind her back. She bore signs of a struggle, her clothing torn, her hair mussed and a bruise forming over her left cheekbone. Legolas took a deep breath as he fought his rising anger. Anger could be a useful tool, but this situation called more for stealth. Glancing at Rani, he found the child looking at him with huge eyes. She swallowed and her lips began to quiver. Almost silently she whispered, "You must save her. That is your task…for your future depends upon the outcome of this day." Legolas reached down and drew the trembling child against him. He whispered, "Is she your mother, Rani? Is she why you are here alone?" To his amazement, she shook her head no and pushed back to look up into his eyes. Once again, some unknown emotion flashed in the depths of her eyes, and Legolas was unsure of just what he held. She was unlike any child he had ever encountered, elf kind included. Rani closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, Legolas almost gasped. The deep blue eyes of the little girl he held had begun to softly glow, as if reflecting pure starlight. Then she spoke once more in naught but a whisper. "She is not my mother, or any relation to me, though she is a friend. You are why I am here alone in the woods. Now, go! You must save her, or be lost." Raised voices in front of them broke the spell between them. Legolas released Rani and stood, peering once more into the clearing as he listened to the men shout at each other. The words of some of them infuriated him and gave him purpose. He would free this woman and see her to safety. Glancing down again, he was not surprised to find his mysterious child had disappeared once more. — ~ — Elven King's Halls Aragorn and Gimli stepped outside into the fading light of the sun. They had searched all of the Halls and found no sign of Legolas or anyone else within them. Standing before the gate, Gimli sighed. He had no clue where to start looking for their friend. Aragorn might have some idea. "So what now? Can you track him?" The man ran a hand over his beard and blew out a frustrated breath. "I am not certain, Gimli. There are some places I would look, places I know Legolas holds dear, but even I will be hard put to track Legolas in this wood. He was born here. He leaves no sign, unless he is mounted." Gimli's spirit lifted. They had found no sign of the elf, but neither had they seen any sign of his mount, Daehul. If Legolas had the horse with him, Aragorn could find him, of that he was certain. Feeling at least some measure of hope, Gimli turned his attention to his own horse. Móroch had stood patiently, waiting as Gimli had instructed. Gimli was not surprised, but it still rankled that the elf had been right about speaking to the beasts instead of treating them as dumb animals. He patted the dark brown neck, and began removing his packs and tack. Beside him, Aragorn did the same with Halruin, then they led the horses to the river to drink before turning them loose to graze. Gimli looked up at the sky, judging the sun would be setting in an hour or so. "When shall we start?" he asked, having a pretty good idea of what the man would say. Aragorn also looked up, then glanced thoughtfully at a path leading alongside the river. "I will scout the area and see if I can find any sign of him before dark. But it would be unwise to set out with so little light left." "Perhaps Legolas will return before dawn and we will have no need to search the forest for the dratted elf." Aragorn grinned at him. "Ever the optimist, my dwarven friend. You know Legolas will never make anything that easy." "True," he sighed, "but one can always hope." A strange look crossed the man's face. "Indeed," he agreed, but he seemed far away when he said it. The sound of a snort caught Gimli's attention, and he looked towards where Móroch had been contentedly grazing a few moments ago. His horse now stood alert, ears pricked towards the lengthening shadows from the sun sinking in the West. Halruin continued to graze, showing none of the signs of worry that Móroch was displaying. Móroch then gave a high pitched whinny, turning to look at Gimli almost pleadingly. "Stay yourself, Móroch. Whatever is there can come to us." As he spoke, he fingered his axe, waiting. Halruin raised his nose and snorted towards the trees. He took two steps and lowered his head to the grass again, clearly unimpressed by whatever had Móroch so upset. Móroch fidgeted, dancing in place, tossing his head and making rumbling sounds in his chest. "What troubles that creature of yours?" Aragorn asked, coming to stand beside Gimli, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "I know not," Gimli replied, watching his horse's antics. "Whatever it is does not seem to give Halruin any cause for concern." As soon as he had finished saying the words, Halruin suddenly jerked his head up, ears pricked forward. He raised his nose, nostrils fluttering as he sniffed the air. Then he gave a soft whicker, shook himself and resumed grazing, completely unconcerned by whatever he had sensed. Nearby, Móroch continued to act agitated, pawing the ground and shaking his head, all the while making the same rumbling whickering sounds. Gimli had only heard him make that sound when… Daehul appeared suddenly from the trees, slipping from the growing shadows like he was one of them. Legolas's silver stallion looked much like his sire, Celedae. And in the same manner Celedae had befriended Gimli's first pony, Daehul had befriended Móroch. The small gelding had moved quickly to the stallion, each horse nuzzling the other, nickering softly as they greeted each other for the first time in a year. As Gimli watched the horses with amusement, Aragorn stepped away, his eyes fixed on something beyond where Daehul had come through the trees. "Do you see something?" Gimli asked. "I thought I saw a flash of something in the trees. It may have been Legolas, but if he is here, then why has he not greeted us?" "Legolas!" Gimli called out, but only the breeze answered. "Fear not, Gimli," Aragorn reassured. "If Daehul is here, then surely Legolas is not too far away." But Gimli had come to another conclusion. "Aragorn, if he is not nearby, and Daehul is here, how can we track the elf?" Aragorn stared at him, then answered simply, "Most likely we cannot." To Be Continued… Daehul - Legolas' large silver stallion, son of Celedae who passed away a few years prior. Daehul is Sindarin for 'Shadow Wind'. Celedae is Sindarin for 'Silver Shadow'.
Thirteen Lancaeriel was frightened. Very frightened. And she had good reason. Falling from her horse had knocked the wind out of her and she had pain in her lower back, where she had landed on a rock. She had laid on the ground, trying to breathe, knowing she needed to move, but unable to draw a breath. Her horses, frenzied, had run off without her. It had taken her what felt like an eternity to be able to draw in a breath. She lay gasping for air, trying to figure out how badly she was hurt, and wondering what she would do now, when she heard the noises coming through the trees. She had tried to still her frantic breathing, but it was too late. The men had found her. They had jerked her painfully to her feet, tied her hands behind her back and forced her to walk through the trees with them. She had tried to tell them she was injured, but the big man who seemed to be in charge of them had shouted at her to shut up and walk. Still trying to catch her breath, hurting and sore from her fall, and frightened, she had no other choice. She limped along, half dragged through the trees until they came to a clearing, where the men stopped and began to argue. From what she had been able to piece together as they had walked, they were in the woods, searching for something, when they had heard her horses and given chase. Now she stood, held by one of the men, while the others argued over what to do with her…and what to do to her. She began to shake, the horror overwhelming her. What a fool she had been to remain alone, thinking she could protect herself. Now she would suffer a fate worse than death, followed by death, for their kind did not endure such a violation or the grief it evoked. The dark-haired man, who appeared to be the leader, was shouting at the others to be quiet, to let him think. But she had heard what a couple of the men had said, what they wanted to do to her. Lancaeriel felt ill. The pain in her lower back throbbed with every frantic heartbeat. There was no way she could escape! She could hardly breathe. Two men were demanding they had gone without a woman long enough and fate had given them a pretty prize. Another was yelling that it was wrong. But the one who really frightened her was silent. The oldest of the bunch, he just stared at her with a dark hunger in his eyes. The man grasping her arm was angry. He listened for only a few minutes before easing Lancaeriel towards a tree and eased her down. She started to fight, wondering if he would take advantage of her while the others argued, but he shook his head. "Just sit here," he said, his anger directed at the others. "I won't hurt you." With her wrists bound behind her, and her back throbbing, Lancaeriel could only sit as instructed, tears streamed down her cheeks. The young, hazel-eyed man who had been holding her strode towards the others, lending his voice to the arguments. "You cannot allow this Brigus! I will not stand here and let you do such a thing!" He shouted. The other young man continued his own protests, "This is wrong, Brigus, and you know it! I will not be a part of this! We never agreed to come here to rape some innocent woman!" Two other men began to violently protest, saying they had not found anything for all the time they had spent searching the wood. They deserved some 'payment' for the time lost. This started a whole new round of arguing, the men completely focused on each other. Suddenly, two arms encircled her from behind, and Lancaeriel gasped. Terrified, she looked up into the face of a fair-haired elf, his grey eyes darkened in anger. Sudden relief poured over her. This must be the one Rani had spoken about to her. He wore the weapons of a warrior of Eryn Lasgalen, but his clothing was marked with a different emblem. Rani had said he was from Ithilien. Without a word, the strange elf lifted her to her feet. "Come," he whispered, urging her towards the thick undergrowth in the wall of trees. She tried, but the pain in her back was not lessening. She took a step and nearly went back down. Seeing her distress, he lifted her up in his arms, turned and fled. Their escape was not without notice. The man called Brigus had turned just in time to observe the elves slip into the underbrush. With a shout, he pointed and all six men charged after them. With her rescuer's movement restricted by her bound form, Lancaeriel knew their chances were slim. The men chasing them drew closer, and she watched in horror, over the elf's shoulder, as the older man threw something in their direction. A second later they both tumbled to the ground. — ~ — Elvenking's Halls Aragorn struggled within himself. He knew it would be pointless to start a search so soon before nightfall, yet his heart bid him to find his friend. Something stirred, some premonition deep within him that he had not felt in some time. Gimli stood beside the horses, staring off into the trees as he stroked his beard. Aragorn knew the dwarf was frustrated. With Daehul's appearance, and no sign of Legolas, their hopes of tracking the elf were diminished. But despite his earlier remark, Aragorn did not give up hope. He would search for some sign of their friend, but it would be wise to wait for morning to begin. His decision made, Aragorn turned to tell Gimli, when he saw another flash of white out of the corner of his eye from where he had seen the first. A feeling of apprehension filled him and he began to move towards it. Could it be Legolas was indeed close by? That he was perhaps injured or unable to answer them? He strode purposefully through the trees and nearly tripped over his feet when a small girl in a white dress appeared from behind a tree. She looked up at him, and Aragorn caught his breath. Her eyes… The deep blue were lit with the light of the stars. "You must come with me," was all she said. She watched and waited as Aragorn stood in shock. "Who are you?" he asked, knowing at first sight that the child was more than she appeared. He had spent his life among the elves, and while elven children had an uncanny ability to appear seemingly out of thin air, their eyes did not glow with starlight. There were few left in Arda who held such light in their eyes. Aragorn had known two in his lifetime. Galadriel had sailed West with Elrond, and Glorfindel dwelled in Imladris with Elladan and Elrohir. "You will know in time," she said, her voice grave. "But now is not that time. You must come with me." Behind him, one of the horses whinnied. He glanced back to where he had left Gimli. Daehul was standing at alert, his ears pricked towards the northwest. Aragorn turned back to the girl…but she was gone. Whatever was happening here was disturbing, and Aragorn began to be concerned that Legolas was in danger from more than himself. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and waited. "I am here," he said softly, knowing she could hear him. "What is it you wish of me?" As suddenly as she had vanished, she reappeared from behind a tree not fifteen feet ahead of him. She stared at him a moment, then turned and looked towards the northwest, her pose not dissimilar to that of Daehul. Then she turned back to him with that heart stopping look in her eyes. Starlight. Pure starlight filled her eyes. "You must come with me…" she repeated, catching him in her midnight gaze. Aragorn stood transfixed for a moment, until she spoke again, pleading as she walked back to him. "Please, you must come with me. I know where your friend is…and he is in trouble." Aragorn sighed. When was Legolas not in trouble? He stared at the small being before him, debating within himself, then glanced back at Gimli once more. A small hand found his and he looked down, for some reason accepting what he knew he should not be seeing. She implored him with that gaze to act, and addressed him again, her voice ethereal and light. "Yes, summon the dwarf and bring your packs and all three horses. You will need healing supplies. Then, come back and follow me. I will lead you to them." Aragorn moved woodenly back to the dwarf, pondering why he was following the orders of such a strange being. Yet, his heart told him this was the path he should take, so he explained to Gimli in haste what he had seen. Gimli stood frozen, looking at him as if he had lost his mind. "Aragorn, where is this child?" the dwarf asked. Aragorn pointed to where she stood in the trees, waiting for them. "She is right there before you, Gimli! Now hurry, we must move quickly. Halruin!" he summoned his horse as he lifted his saddle. "But Aragorn?" the dwarf's voice sounded strange. "Aragorn, there is no one there…" To Be Continued…
Fourteen The ground is hard, was the first thought that went through Legolas's mind after he landed on it. His second thought was to wonder how the men had brought him down, followed by immediate concern for the woman he had attempted to save. He had not been able to control his fall, but he had somehow managed not to land on top of her. He found himself on the ground, face down, the woman off to his right. He could hear the men approaching, and he made a desperate attempt to scramble to his feet and continue his efforts at escape. His legs, however, would not cooperate. He rolled over and found his legs were trapped with a length of crude leather attached at both ends with weighted leather pouches. It was a primitive version of the Silvan corodhraph*, but still an effective tool at bringing down prey. Or him. He reached for the cord that had wrapped around his legs, managing to remove it just before the men reached them. There would be no running now, slipping through the trees and disappearing. Now, he would have to fight. He stepped in front of the injured woman, noting her eyes were squeezed tight in pain or fear, perhaps both. Her breath was rapid, frantic. He reached down, not taking his eyes from the men, and gripped her arm, lifting her to her feet. She gasped, one leg nearly going out from under her again, but he needed her up and able to move if necessary. He wished he could remove her bindings, but the men were now circling him, blocking off escape routes. It would be easiest to use his bow, but it was strapped to his back and unstrung as his plan had been stealthy escape. With several of the men holding drawn daggers, and the woman injured, he opted instead to draw his long knife. His eyes darted between the men, searching for the leader of this ragtag bunch, and finally settled on a tall, dark-haired man with brown eyes narrowed in anger at them. "Thought you'd just take our prisoner and escape, did ya?" The man crossed his arms over his chest smugly, the dagger he held sticking out from one fist. "Not today, elf. Now we have you both, and we'll finally get what we came for." He smirked. What they came here for? Legolas had no idea of what the man referred to, but the words still angered him. They had no right to come into the woods and attack one of his people. He cast a glance about at the other men, focusing his anger on each as he caught their eye. He watched in satisfaction as several of them looked away, unable to bear his furious elven gaze. But there was one who not only bore it, but returned the look with cold, almost dead eyes. The eldest of the group, the man was full of darkness. Legolas could feel it. He turned his attention back to the one who had spoken. "What did you come here for?" The tall man appeared amused and rubbed his chin with the back of the hand that held the knife, the other still across his chest. "What've we come here to find? Why, treasure, of course!" The man's laugh was echoed by a couple of the other men. "Then you are a fool," Legolas told him coolly. "You think the elves would leave their treasures here, when they have departed these lands forever? There is nothing for you here." The man's eyes glittered in anger, then subsided as a thin smile quirked his lips "We'll see about that, elf." He turned his gaze towards the woman behind Legolas. Legolas narrowed his eyes. "I will not allow you to harm this woman, no matter what the cost is to myself." He heard her gasp behind him, but he kept his eyes on the tall man, waiting. "Whether she comes to harm or not is up to you, elf. Mebbe if you help us out, we'll leave her untouched." Two of the men, identical except for a scar on one man's face, started to grumble at those words, but the man held up his hand to silence them. "What do you want more?" he asked them. "Treasure or a few minutes of pleasure? I'd rather have the treasure. Then I can buy a night with whatever woman I choose!" That seemed to placate most of them, though Legolas noted the eldest man's eyes had yet to leave the woman. That man would not settle for a night with a whore to placate his lust. No, men such as he wanted more. Legolas had seen it before among the race of Men; those few who fed on the weak, reveling in the power of forcing another to do their will. "I'm Brigus," the tall man stated, drawing Legolas's eyes back to the supposed leader. "Who are you, and why have you not left with the other elves?" As Brigus spoke, several of the men began to move forward, closing the circle. One of them held a length of rope, but Legolas would allow himself to be bound. He tilted his knife in the men's direction, while in venomous tones, he replied, "I will answer none of your questions, for our business is our own. You trespass on our land, seek to defile one of my kin and you seek things you will never find." Legolas smirked at the men, "I will tell you nothing!" The man called Brigus and the older man stepped closer, and Legolas tensed, waiting for the attack. It came quickly, the older man and the twins brandishing knives as they advanced. Legolas gave the woman a quick shove towards the space between the younger men who had stood uncertain in the face of the standoff. Those two were out of place with these hardened men, and she would fare best with them. She stumbled forwards, but managed to keep her feet, lunging herself now to the opening and possible freedom from the circle. Legolas, satisfied she was out of harm's way for the moment, fought off the efforts to disarm and restrain him. He might be outnumbered, but these men were little match for a warrior of Eryn Lasgalen! He ducked under the older man's arm and brought his blade up and around, connecting with the man's shoulder. He quickly drew the knife out again and danced away from another who lunged for him. Brigus motioned the two younger men forward. "Torel! Prem! Help them! We can't let him escape again or we'll never find the treasure!" The younger two men hesitated a moment, but seeing one of their own injured, they moved into the fight. They tried their best to try to grab him, but Legolas was an elusive warrior, and they were young and inexperienced in hand to hand combat. Legolas had mercy on them and danced around them just out of reach, engaging only the three older men with blades. He lost sight of Brigus as the fight drew Legolas away from where he had shoved the woman. He needed to find a way to end this insanity and get her away from these crazed men, but their numbers were against him in that they were able to angle him away from where he had last seen her. He could not pull his eyes from the attack to locate her, but he could sense where she was. The trees were screaming at her. Run! Run! Legolas continued to elude the men, shoving away one of the younger, then blocking the arm of another with a knife, but he could not manage to get back around to where he knew the woman was. Then as suddenly as they had attacked, it stopped. The men pulled back, and Legolas saw Brigus with his hand upheld to get their attention. He had the woman by one arm, as he glared at them. Legolas let his gaze slide over the other men quickly, using the respite to catch his breath and take stock of the situation. The younger men were breathing hard, looking mostly confused. The older one Legolas had stabbed was pressing a hand to his shoulder, blood oozing through his fingers. The other two were also winded but eyeing him with hatred. Brigus glared at him, then turned his eyes to the terrified woman he held. The man grabbed her and lifted her, swinging her easily over his shoulder. He grinned at Legolas, backing away. Legolas's anger blazed at the man's bold move. Then, with a slight shrug Brigus said, "It's up to you, elf. Come willingly and help us, or…" He shrugged again, bringing one hand up to caress one of the woman's legs. Nothing could have angered Legolas more. Momentarily distracted from those surrounding him, he took a step towards Brigus…and was tackled from behind by one of the men. He hit the ground hard and lost his grip on his dagger. It skittered across the bed of leaves and was snatched up by one of the men. Before he could roll the man off, there were several more on him, holding him down, tying his hands behind his back. He cursed himself inwardly. His mistake had been a crucial one, and yet, it did not mean this was over. He decided to bide his time. Instead of fighting, he could cooperate, or at least seem to do so. It could buy him some time to come up with another way to get them away from these men and into the safety of the wood. He ceased struggling and allowed the men to drag him to his feet and back to the clearing. Brigus laughed, the woman still draped across one of his shoulders. To Be Continued… If you are reading, please leave a short review! Author's Notes: * Corodhraph – Sindarin for "ball rope" Based on the bola, a primitive hunting tool that was used by the gauchos in Argentina. They were also used in battle by the Inca armies. But the tool was not limited to use in South America. The Inuit also use a tool with three or more weights called a Kiipooyaq. And the surujin or suruchin is one of the traditional weapons of Okinawan Kobudo. It is a weapon of war. Basically, the bola is a throwing device made up of weights on the ends of interconnected cords, designed to capture humans or animals by entangling their legs. Depending on the exact design, the thrower holds the bola either by one of the weights or in the middle of the cord(s). The weights are given momentum by the thrower swinging them and then releasing. The bola is usually used to entangle the intended target's legs, but if thrown with enough force, they have been known to break bones. The bola used by the men in my story is a simple braided leather cord with two leather pouches weighted with stones attached at either end. My version of the Silvan elves had a much more refined tool called a corodhraph, made of several strands of braided spider silk with heavy weighted balls at each end.
Fifteen Evening was approaching as Legolas was shoved to the ground in the middle of the clearing. Brigus dumped the woman beside him. She cried out as she landed on her back, her eyes closed, her jaw clenched tight. It was clear she was in pain, and Legolas doubted she could gain her feet with her hands bound. Brigus must have come to the same conclusion. He left her lying there without further bindings. Then he stepped over to Legolas and looked down at him, hands on his hips as he frowned. Legolas glared back, but said nothing. "Prem!" the man finally called, and one of the younger men approached. "Tie his legs too." The younger man swallowed hard, but complied, tying Legolas's legs together at the ankles. Brigus checked the bindings, then with an nod, he called the men together to one side of the clearing where they could easily keep an eye on their captives as they decided what to do with them. Legolas scooted back, closer to the woman. She lay on the ground where she had been dropped, frightened and in pain, but she did not weep. That lifted his spirits. He needed her to be level headed, not hysterical. He wished to ask her how badly she was hurt, but he felt it more important to listen to the men and try to come up with a plan. He could do nothing for her injuries at the moment in any case. The men were back to arguing about what to do with the elves. She shuddered at some of the suggestions, and Legolas offered comfort to her in the only way he could, by placing himself between her and the men as they continued to talk. Even as he listened, he became aware of eyes on them and scanned the trees, searching for the source. He could see nothing, yet something out there watched them. He could feel the gaze, curious, inquisitive; there was no malice in it. The wind blew, rustling through the trees, similar in sound to waves of the sea. He closed his eyes, and willed the song aside, forcing himself to focus his attention on the men and their arguments. As he listened, several things became apparent to him. Brigus might be the leader of the group, but he did not have complete control of the men. One of the younger men named Torel appeared to be Brigus's younger brother, and he did not agree with raping the woman or harming anyone. The other young man, the one Brigus had called Prem, was of the same mind. But neither of the two could be a day older than Eldarion by Legolas's estimate, and neither were any match for the older, harder men of the group. The twin brothers were named Sirk and Nirk, and they had definite opinions of what to do with them…at least to the woman. They argued ardently that they be allowed to take their pleasure before going on to the halls of the elves. It was only fair. But what disturbed Legolas the most was the dark look in the eyes of the man he had stabbed in the shoulder. Jasper, one of the men called him, managed to bandage up his shoulder unassisted, all the while casting glances their way that made Legolas's blood run cold. It was just after dusk when Brigus approached them with Torel at his side. It seemed they had finally come to some sort of an agreement. The two men stopped before Legolas, and Brigus was the one to speak. "You will lead us to the halls of the elves, and she," he nodded at the woman… Legolas did not let the man finish his words. "I will do nothing to help you if you touch her." He paused and looked Brigus dead in the eye. "But if you do not touch her or harm her in any way, I will lead you to the King's halls and show you what I know." He held the man's eyes and watched as Brigus looked away after a few moments. "That's more than fair, Brigus," Torel agreed softly. Brigus turned and studied his men for a moment, then he nodded. "You'll tell me what I wanna know, and you'll lead us to the treasure. I'll keep the men from touching her, as long as you do those things." Legolas inclined his head in agreement, but voiced one more thing. "Her bonds are causing her pain. Tie her hands in front so she can sit more comfortably, then, I will answer your questions." Brigus stared hard at him a moment, then nodded his head at Torel. The young man moved forward and knelt beside her, easing her to a sitting position and untying her wrists. He gave her a minute to hug her arms to her chest, to wiggle her fingers and restore some feeling in them, before retying them in front of her. She cast Legolas a grateful look, meeting his eyes for the first time, and he blinked in surprise. Her eyes were the same blue-green as the sea off the shores of Dol Amorth. The irony was not lost on him. Only he would see the sea in the eyes of a forest maid. Gimli would be amused. He smiled back at her, then turned back to Brigus, who still loomed above them. "Thank you," Legolas told him. Then the questions began. "Who are you? Why did you not leave with the others?" Legolas blew out a breath, stalling as he scrambled for a story that would sound convincing. He would never give his true identity to these men. From beside him, he heard his fellow captive whisper so softly only another elf could hear. "Caeri." She had offered him her name, or a portion of her name.* That pleased him, for the less untruth he had to tell, the easier it would be to remember his story. When he addressed Brigus again, he had pieced together a convincing and mostly accurate tale, at least for his part. He had no clue why Caeri was in this portion of the woods alone. "My friends call me Lass, and this is Caeri. Our family departed, but we did not wish to go West yet. I was going to Prince Legolas's realm in Ithilien, but Caeri did not wish to go." Legolas looked dryly at the woman who managed to look at him in surprise and blush on cue. Perhaps the tale was true for her as well. "I have been searching the woods for her for several days, as I cannot leave her here alone. There seems to be dangerous men in the wood, after all." The last line was spoken with much sarcasm as Legolas smirked at the man, but found to his surprise Brigus had believed every word. "And you know where the halls are?" Brigus asked. His only concern seemed to be to find elven treasure. Legolas nodded. "I do." "And there is treasure there?" That gave Legolas pause. He supposed to poor men, there were things that would be of value, perhaps even considered treasure. But if they were looking for gems or gold, they would find little. Even the thought of these men rummaging around the home in which he had been born rankled. Yet, if that was what it took to save Caeri, then he would take them there, unless he could manage their escape between here and there. And if escape proved unsuccessful in the wood, it would not elude him in the Halls. He knew those caverns like the back of his hand: every niche, every secret tunnel. "You may find things of value there, but I do not think you will find what you seek." Brigus smirked. "We will see what I will find. You will lead us there at daybreak." The man did not wait for an answer, but strode off to inform the men of what had been said. There was some more arguing, but in the end, it seemed Brigus convinced the others that it was better to have a guide to the halls and the treasure than to touch Caeri. With darkness upon them, they set up a temporary camp by laying out some blankets and lighting a fire. Legolas took the opportunity with the men scurrying about to move closer to where Caeri had managed to find a somewhat comfortable position lying on her side facing him. Her eyes were closed, but the slight movement of her head as the men bustled about gave away that she was aware of all around her. "How badly are you hurt?" he asked softly, not wishing to draw any attention from the men. She did not open her eyes as she answered, "I am not certain. Badly bruised, at the least. I have never fallen from a horse before." He blinked. "A horse? You fell from a horse?" He glanced about the clearing again, but saw no animals with the men. "Yes, I have two of them, but I am not used to riding so fast through the trees. When Rani told me to get on the horse and ride fast, that is just what I did! But a branch knocked me off, and I landed on my back and could not breathe for several minutes. And then the men caught me!" She brought her bound hands to her face, shaking her head. "I was such a fool!" Legolas glanced back at the trees, searching for any sign of little Rani in the twilight. But if she were out there, she had made herself scarce. He focused back on his companion. "Tell me what hurts." She took a shuddering breath, but dropped her hands and opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. "Everything is a little sore, but there is a sharp pain in my lower back, just above my hip. I landed on a rock." "Is it near your spine?" he asked, concerned. If she had injured that bone their circumstances could prove far more complicated. But she shook her head. "No, It's more to the side, above my hip and below my ribs. It hurts terribly to move. Even laying like this is painful." But her words caused him some relief. The area she had described could take a blunt blow of force. There was no bone there, unless she had fractured her hip, which was possible he supposed, given the way her leg kept collapsing from under her. "Is there sharp pain in your hip itself? Can you walk on it?" "No, my hip does not hurt. It is higher. I can walk, but it hurts…a lot." That was good news to Legolas. "If your hip does not hurt, then it is unlikely you have broken any bones." "I broke my arm when I was a girl. This does not feel the same. It is deeper, in the muscle, probably a fist above my hip." Legolas winced. He had once taken a blow to that area from an orc's club. He knew how painful and crippling such an injury could be, but in dire enough circumstances, it was possible to make the body do what it did not wish to do. He was no healer, but in their current situation he had to draw from what he knew of his own experience. "I have injured that area myself. I think you will be fine with some rest," he told her. "Unfortunately, I am not sure you will get much. I will see if they will get my blanket from my pack for you to lie on." Brigus grunted at his request, but complied, moving the elves closer to the fire and having Prem spread Legolas's blanket on the ground. They were given a few sips of water, but nothing to eat. Torel took the first watch, and the rest of the men settled down around the fire, their snores soon drowning out the rustling sound of the trees. The sound annoyed Legolas, and yet he was thankful for it. The snores reminded him of Gimli, and helped him keep the faint sounds of the gulls he always heard in his heart in perspective. He would find a way out of this predicament and get back to where he belonged. He would even welcome the angry lecture he knew would be forthcoming. To Be Continued… *In my verse, it is common for the Silvan people to shorten a longer name to a form of nick name. I am aware some people believe the elves did not do this, but I am of the opinion that elves, separated by great distance and time, would NOT have the same customs. So in regard to the use of elven nick names, I ask for some grace and creative license.
Sixteen Lancaeriel managed to find a semi comfortable position by laying on her uninjured side, facing the elf who called himself Lass. He could not be comfortable with his arms tied behind his back and legs tied at his ankles, but the men were taking no chances. She watched as he sat, knees bent, head tilted back as he looked at the stars overhead. His loose golden hair reflected the starlight, and she found herself staring at his handsome visage. He impressed her as someone who was kind, full of honor, and judging by his skill fighting the men, a trained warrior. In a way, he reminded Lancaeriel of her brother, Anthir. Just the thought of her dead brother made her heart ache with the loss. Anthir and she had been close friends as well as siblings. The thought of never seeing him again still brought a crippling agony to her soul. She focused back on Lass, studying his profile in the darkness. She was sure Lass was not his full name, even as Caeri was not hers. She had once heard that the elves in other realms considered it foolish to shorten one's name. But her Silvan kin took pride in their own customs, and one of those was to shorten long names into a manageable mouthful.* Most of her friends had simple wood names: Lothinn, Aellad, Lalfain.* But Lancaeriel's mother had named her for her blue-green eyes. 'Sea-eyes', her mother called them, and so Lancaeriel was named for something she had never seen. Her companion, however, had a typical wood-elf name: Leaf. She would like to know more about him. Where was he from? Had he remained as she had, unwilling to leave the wood? As she watched him, Lass glanced her way and finding her eyes on him, smiled. Lancaeriel returned the smile, thankful she was not in this situation alone. Of course, she would not be in this situation at all, if she had only heeded Rani's warning. Lancaeriel lowered her eyes from her fellow captive. The thought of the elfling caused her to wonder if Lass was the one the girl had spoken about. Who was he? How had he just happened to be where she needed him? She lifted her head and found his grey eyes were still on her. "Are you feeling any better?" he asked. His eyes drifted to the man named Torel who had taken the first watch. The man watched them curiously, but made no move to separate them or command them to silence. Lancaeriel appreciated his concern. "I'll live…thanks to you." One corner of his mouth turned up, and he glanced away, almost shyly. He had spoken so boldly to the men, expressed such concern for her injury, that she found it odd for him to seem shy. She knew nothing about him, other than what his actions had spoken for him. "How did you come to be here, to rescue me from this terrible fate?" she asked. He looked back at her and she searched his gaze, catching a brief glimpse of a dark shadow within him. He hid it well, but she knew what she had seen. She had her own shadows that she hid. Lass lifted his head to once more gaze at the stars. Without looking at her, he began to tell her his story. "I live in Ithilien, but traveled here to say good bye to my family, as they chose to sail." A deep sadness emanated from him as he spoke, his pain almost tangible. "I never thought they would leave, that our people would be divided again." "You are Sindar?" she asked, surprised for she had assumed he was Silvan as she was. She knew of none of her own people who had chosen to go West. He nodded. "Half, from my mother, but she was the last of her kin as far as I know. My father hails from Doriath, and though he loved the wood, he and my siblings felt the need to go West. "It was difficult for me," he continued, "as I am now the only one of my family remaining. I could not bring myself to return home to Ithilien, but lingered…taking my time saying good bye to the wood." He sighed, his voice dropping to a bare whisper. "I will not return here again." Lass frowned slightly, and cast a questioning glance her way, but he continued his tale without asking why she was here, much to Lancaeriel's relief. She did not feel quite ready to speak of the pain in her own heart, or her deceitfulness in staying alone in the wood. "A couple of weeks ago, I realized there was some purpose left for me here, some task that yet needed to be completed. I headed northwest of the halls, letting my heart guide me. About a week ago, I came across an elfling, alone in the woods…" Lass trailed off in his tale, almost hesitating to continue. Lancaeriel felt her heart begin to race. An elfling? Alone in the woods? Could it be that Rani was not here with Lass, but he had simply had a similar encounter to her own? "Rani?" She asked quietly. He looked at her and smiled. "Yes. An amazing child, if indeed a child she is…" Lancaeriel had to wonder the same thing. Rani knew too much, manipulated too much to be a simple elfling. "And what of you," he asked, his gaze demanding answers in a manner with which she was not familiar or comfortable. Lancaeriel dropped her eyes, a sudden fear filling her heart. To tell her tale would make her vulnerable to him. She sensed he could be a friend, but she was afraid to take that step. So she raised her head and stubbornly said nothing. He searched her eyes curiously for a moment, but let it go, turning his eyes back to the stars as he continued speaking. "Rani told me you were her friend, so I do not need to explain the strangeness of her speech, or her ability to disappear at will. She spoke to me of a task, and led me to the clearing where the men held you, before she disappeared once more. I was to save you, without being captured…" He sighed heavily. "I failed. I am sorry." Lancaeriel reached out, just able to touch his arm with her bound hands. When he looked down at her, she shook her head. "No, you have saved me from a horrible fate, and kept me from facing these men alone. I can never thank you enough for that. You could have escaped after we fell, but you did not." The realization of just what he had done for her startled Lancaeriel. Here was a stranger who helped another in need, with no thought of himself. He could have been killed protecting her! Even now, he was captive because of her foolishness. And the only thing he had asked in return was her story, why she was here. The thought shook her. She owed him for what he had sacrificed for her. In the face of such honor, she could no longer hide in her fear. "Hesitantly, but gaining boldness as she spoke, she began to tell him her tale, of the loss of her parents, her brother… Of her deception and foolishness, all to avoid leaving the wood of her birth. As she spoke, she found he listened patiently, his eyes filled with compassion. He listened without judging her actions, even seeming to understand her reasons for what she had done. As she drew to the end of her story, Torel rose to wake the next man for watch duty. She was surprised to discover several hours had passed while they spoke. "You should get some rest," Lass suggested. "Tomorrow will be difficult, and today has been almost more than you can bear." Lancaeriel knew he spoke the truth. If she could sleep, her body would heal. And with him here, she found she could lose herself in elven dreams. She got as comfortable as possible with her hands bound. With eyes half lidded, her last coherent thought was that had never learned his real name. — ~ — The moonlight that filtered through the trees provided just enough light for Gimli to make out Aragorn's tall form astride Halruin ahead of him. Gimli stared at the man as he led them at a quick pace through the trees. Gimli trusted Móroch's feet and eyes, so he held no fear of traveling by night in the forest, but he was worried about the man leading them northwest with such determination. Aragorn did not dismount to look for signs of their friend, but rode confidently as if following something Gimli could not see. He had no idea what had come over the king, but he was beginning to worry that Aragorn had taken a leave of his senses. Gimli looked from the man to the place just ahead of them, looking for a flicker, anything to tell him where this 'child' was that the man followed. Gimli had been hesitant to follow some phantom through the woods. But in the end, he trusted Aragorn with his life and had followed him before after dead things…if that was what they followed now truly was. Was this really that different from the Paths of the Dead? Gimli shuddered and reached a hand up to Moroch's warm neck. This was different because there was no elf here to assure him that all would be well, and Gimli was not certain what it was that they trailed in the dark. Blast that elf! he thought. If only Legolas had brought him along when the elf first came here, they would not be in this situation now. But the elf had not even told him about his people sailing…and Gimli found that the thought hurt. Legolas did not keep such things from him, yet, this time, he had. Gimli found that thought…disturbing. So now here he was, off to rescue the infuriating creature, and once more following the king of men on a mysterious path. As if sensing his distress, Aragorn turned to look back at him. "Gimli, I know you think I am crazy, but you must trust me. I can see her. And I believe… I think I might just know who she is…" To Be Continued… *In my verse, it is common for the Silvan people to shorten a longer name to a form of nick name. I am aware some people believe the elves did not do this, but I am of the opinion that elves, separated by great distance and time, would NOT have the same customs. So in regard to the use of elven nick names, I ask for some grace and creative license. Lothinn: grey flower Aellad: field pool Lalfain: white elm
Seventeen The men were stirring the following morning when Legolas roused Caeri. "How do you feel?" he asked her, concerned as they would be required to walk for most of the day. She stretched, winced, but managed to push herself into a sitting position. "It is bearable," she whispered, glancing at the men as they rolled out of their blankets. "It still hurts, but not as badly as yesterday." Relief filled him at that news. He had hoped a night of rest would help her mend so she could endure the day of walking. "Do not let it show," he told her. "Let them think your pain is the same. Then they may be taken off guard if chance at escape should present itself." She nodded, but he could see the pain still in her eyes. She was far from healed, and he would have to do his best to help her where he could. "Get 'em up," Brigus voice came from across the clearing. Legolas's ankles were untied, and he was hauled to his feet. He nearly collapsed from having been unable to move them much all night, but he managed to catch himself and shift his weight from leg to leg to get some feeling in them. They were given some more water and only a slice of bread between them. Legolas had to argue for Caeri to have some sort of privacy to tend to personal needs before they began, and thankfully, the young man named Prem agreed and retrieved a blanket which he held for her. They tied a rope to one of her ankles and untied her wrists and gave her five minutes. Legolas caught her grateful glance and returned it with a half smile. They spent the day walking, with Legolas in the lead. He tried to set a slow pace, for Caeri's sake, but he could not dawdle or the men would get agitated. He threw glances her way, to where she was walked between Prem and Torel, and tried to judge what pace she was capable of maintaining. She limped a great deal, but how much of it was show and how much was real, he could not ascertain. Throughout the morning, he led the men through the wood, but never directly towards the Halls. He took them in large circles, waiting for a chance to escape his bonds, free Caeri and flee. Fleeing was not his usual course of action, but in this instance, he thought the sooner they escaped and put some distance between them and the men, the better. These were no orcs, and he would prefer not to resort to killing them if possible. The men called a halt for a short rest at mid day, passing some dried meat between them. Legolas and Caeri were again only offered water. "Heard you elves can go days without eatin' anything," Sirk said in a snide tone. "Not wasting our food on you." His words angered Legolas, for Caeri could use the nourishment to help her heal, but there was some truth to what Sirk said, so he let the comment pass unchallenged. He managed to snag a few edible berries along the trek and noticed Caeri doing the same. The fruit was tart but would sustain them. The men did not prevent them from eating off the trail, but turned their noses up to the tart fruit after Nirk grabbed a handful and popped them in his mouth, only to spew them out after chewing a couple of times. "Can't imagine why they'd eat that!" he grumbled. "Perhaps because nothing else has been offered," Caeri mumbled just loud enough for Legolas to hear. A smile twitched his lips. It amused him that despite their situation and the amount of pain she must endure that she could make such a flippant remark. Was it possible that beneath her pain and grief lay a feisty woman with a sense of humor? He had already had a glimpse of her stubbornness the previous evening when she had at first refused to tell him her story. When she had relented, she had not gone into detail about her family, only briefly mentioned her father's death, her mother's fading and her brother's falling in that last battle against Dol Guldur after the fires had burned the wood. He had heard her heart as she spoke ashamedly of her lie to her mother's friend and her reasons for staying in the wood. And he has seen the deep pain in her eyes that went beyond her physical injuries. He knew something of such loss himself. Had he not lost his own mother when he was yet a child? Without his grown siblings and friends to succor him, he might also have succumbed to such melancholy, for his father had withdrawn from them all for a time, unable to bear his own grief, let alone provide comfort to his youngest son. In a way, Legolas had also lost both his parents, at least for a time. It had taken the rather reckless theft of Manuilos* and being nearly attacked by a great spider to bring his father back to him. The crack of a branch snapping behind them broke the stillness, followed by a slight rustling sound that had not been heard by the men as they tramped and stomped and huffed and puffed. The men paused, their eyes wide, heads swinging around to look here and there, searching the trees, as it became apparent something followed them through the forest. But the sound stopped when they did, and Legolas just managed to suppress his grin. He had heard the sound long before the branch snapped and had seen the flash of white moving through the trees at one point. "Who is there?" shouted Nirk. "Show yourself!" Legolas snorted. Brigus turned on him, eyes flashing with anger. "Who follows us? Who were you with in the woods?" "As far as I know, Caeri and myself are the only elves north of the Mountains," Legolas replied. "As for what you hear, this is a forest. It is full of life. Or have you not seen the many birds and animals about us that make it their home?" "That was no squirrel or bird," Sirk snapped. "Could be a deer," Jasper rasped. "Or a moose." "And moose are curious creatures," Legolas added. "I would not be surprised if one followed us on our trek. It has happened to me before." He did not mention that he was well aware that what followed them was no moose. He had felt those eyes upon them since the previous evening, and had a pretty good idea of what it was. They continued on, but the men now threw wary glances over their shoulders as the occasional snap of a twig or rustle of leaves could be heard. Legolas ignored the sounds. What followed was no threat to him or Caeri. Sometime in the late afternoon, Caeri stumbled and fell to her knees, crying out in pain. Legolas shoved his way past the startled men and knelt beside her. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was rapid. The walking was taking its toll on her injury. She needed to rest, and the herbs of a healer would not be amiss. There was nothing he could do with his own hands bound, however. "Get up! Both of ye!" Brigus shouted, rushing over and yanking Legolas to his feet. "She is hurt!" Legolas protested. "If you would but untie me, I could carry her…" "And we could watch ye both slip off into the trees," Jasper said, his voice low and menacing. "No, I'll carry her." The older man reached out and with a hand to her arm, lifted her to her feet, then swept her into his arms. Caeri cringed and began to struggle, but the man only smiled, revealing several gaps from missing teeth. "Go on," he told her. "I like it when a woman fights back." Legolas bristled and surged to his feet, but his own long knife was suddenly between him and Jasper. He turned to Sirk, who wielded it. "He ain't harming her, elf. You wanted her carried? Well, there you go. Now, continue on, or we'll find ways to amuse ourselves while you watch." A fury unlike any he had known before rose within him, but there was nothing he could do, bound as he was and weaponless, without risking harm to Caeri. So he led them on, striding more purposeful through the trees. He would rather not defile his home with the presence of these men, but it would seem his best hope for escape would be there. He began to head in a more direct line through the trees, southeast to the Halls of the Elvenking. — o — When the sun sank into the West and the sky darkened, Brigus called a halt, and the men set up another camp. That night passed much like the one previous. Legolas had asked for his supplies from his pack, so that Caeri might have a decent meal, but the older men only laughed and divided the food between themselves. Prem spoke up against it, but Torel pulled him aside. "You heard what Sirk said. The elves can go a long time without food. But we can't! And we're almost out!" He threw a troubled look at the elves, then turned back to his friend. "Besides, they're just elves, not Men." "You're starting to sound like Brigus," Prem told him before stomping off. Brigus took Legolas's wineskin, saying he would save that for celebrating their finding the treasure, much to Legolas's chagrin. He had hoped the men would indeed pass the strong wine around. It would not take much to put them to sleep and give he and Caeri a chance to slip away unhindered. They were again placed on his blanket just within the light of the fire. Prem volunteered to take the first watch, and the rest of the men sat close to the warmth and heated their dried meat with some of Legolas's dried vegetables in a pot of water, making a sort of stew. They used his waybread to sop up the liquid. Legolas and Caeri were offered nothing until Prem marched over and grabbed two pieces of the bread from Nirk and, despite the other man's protests, brought them back to the elves. "Consider that my share," Prem threw over his shoulder before sitting back against a large rock where he could keep watch over the elves. Legolas slipped Caeri half his bread. "Put it in your pocket for the morrow," he told her. "But you need to eat as well," she protested. "It is as the men say," Legolas said with a smile. "I can go days without eating and still maintain my strength. But you are injured and need the nourishment." Reluctantly, she did as he asked. A silence settled between them then, and Legolas found he longed to break it. Too long had he been alone in the wood. In recent years., he had grown far more used to the close community of Asgarnen than the solitude of the wilds. Caeri sat staring up at the stars, her eyes sad and full of pain. "Tell me about your family." He had not meant to speak but the jesting of the men around the fire grated on his nerves. She turned her face from the stars to look at him, surprise in her eyes. "But I already told you," she said. He thought he could see a slight blush on her cheeks in the dim light. "You told me why you stayed in the wood, and of your loss of them, but not about them. Tell me what you remember of them. Tell me of your brother." At first she just stared at him, the horror of that loss in her gaze, and he thought she would not speak. But then she surprised him by saying, "I loved him very much. When our parents died, he was all I had. He taught me to shoot a bow and to hunt. He even managed to teach me to throw a dagger with some accuracy. He was much like our father." "You can handle a bow?" Legolas was not shocked, for after the Last Alliance, when two-thirds of their army had been lost before the Black Gate, it had been necessary to add many women to their numbers to defend the borders. Thranduil was not lax in those days of peace. Even prior to that war, women had been known to fight, though it had been rare. Legolas had never known a time when women did not join the ranks of the warriors. Need was not as great as it once had been, but there had still be many among the patrols during his years leading one. His own sister could wield every weapon he himself could, though she excelled at dagger throwing and the spear. And he had heard in Lothlórien that Galadriel herself had at one time wielded sword and armor. But among the Silvan people, custom had long been that the men were the hunters and providers for their families. They gathered the nuts, harvested the edible plants and did the cooking. The women wove the cloth, built and maintained the talain. They made the berry wine and tanned the skins to make into leather. And while most women were trained to defend themselves with dagger or spear, few he had met took any interest in wielding a bow outside those women who joined the ranks of the army. "You sound surprised," she said with a small smile. "But then you said you were Sindar. I have heard they are not so willing to allow their women to learn such things." "Not so!" cried Legolas with a laugh. "My sister can wield a bow with skill enough, though it does not approach my own skill. Her weapon of choice is the dagger, and she fares very well with the spear." "No doubt she annoyed you to no end learning such things!" Caeri returned. "Alas, she is my elder," Legolas told her. "I am the youngest of five, and my siblings had all learned the ways of the warrior long before I was allowed to hold a weapon." "Five!" Caeri blinked at him. "There are few who have so many children, save the Elvenking himself, and he only four!" "Nay," Legolas corrected, although he was leery of giving away his identity. Rarely had he had such open discussion with one of his people who knew him for who he was. He found he enjoyed speaking to her and wished to keep his secret a while longer, without any of the awkwardness that often came when one of the Silvan folk discovered his heritage and rank. He also worried that if she knew, she might inadvertently alert the men to who he was and thus cause further complications. He had no desire to be held for ransom! Though Gimli would find such amusing. "My lord king lost a son at the Black Gates," he continued with caution, speaking in a more formal manner of his family, as was custom in the court of Thranduil. "It is only four who remain to him, but you are right. Few of our kindred who dwell in Ennor have so many children. "I have heard it said my lord king encouraged the people to replenish our numbers during the days of peace and set the example by having two sons in the years following the turn of a new age." Legolas paused, trying to be truthful without giving himself away. "His daughter and youngest son were born later. "My mother was not satisfied with just sons," he added. "She longed for a daughter and her wish was granted not long before the darkness fell upon the Mountains. I was conceived here, in the northern realm, as part of the celebration of having come to a new home and a new peace." Caeri listened as one fascinated. "I have not heard much of the Elvenking and his family, although I did meet Princess Anoriel once." Her countenance faded. "We had taken shelter in the Halls when the scouts brought news of the orcs amassing to the south. Then the fires began." Now it was Legolas's turn to listen. He had heard Blákári's tale of that great battle, but he had given little thought to the people who would have taken shelter in the caverns. With his brothers and fathers in the fray, Anoriel would have been left to tend the women and what few children had sought shelter there. "We heard the battle was fierce, but in the end, they drove off the enemy. I was overjoyed, for word came that Anthir lived!" She hesitated. "But the king chose to go south, to join with Lord Celeborn and attack Dol Guldur itself!" Her eyes flashed before she dropped them to stare at her fists clenched in her lap. "Anthir did not survive that battle." Legolas reached out to her, his bound hands resting on hers. "I am sorry. Many did not survive the purging of evil from our home. What the king did was necessary. When I—" He almost forgot himself and said too much, but quickly covered his lapse. "I was away from my patrol when one of the youngest was cut down by an orc blade. In all, we lost seven out of twelve. Those warriors were some of my closest friends." She looked up at him and he could see the anger had dissipated. "I am not angry with the King. I am simply angry that my brother was taken from me." Her voice broke and she finished in a hoarse whisper. "He was all I had." Legolas lifted her chin with his fingers, forcing her to look at him. "Not so," he said with a smile. "You had your mother's friend, Besoneth and her family." She gave him a watery smile. "I did, and I love them dearly, but it is not the same as family." Legolas understood. "I know. But if you open your heart, you will find that others become as family. I have discovered that is so in Ithilien." And with that he grinned. "Why there we have friends in Men and Dwarves! Even Hobbits!" "You have met Hobbits?" she exclaimed, the sorrow passing from her eyes and instead a light of curiosity filling them. Ah, now there is her true nature coming out, thought Legolas. "Indeed I have! Fascinating creatures. And their children are some of the most inquisitive I have ever encountered. Why, when Samwise visited a few years ago and brought his little Ruby, she stole the hearts of all!" He chuckled as he remembered the green ribbons. "Even the Prince." She seemed to almost laugh at that, and he found he liked the look of laughter in her eyes. He began to regale her with stories from Gondor, and with the change to a lighter topic, Legolas began to draw her out, getting her to share her own tales of a more lighthearted manner. And over the course of their talk, he discovered that beneath the fear, pain and grief, lay a curious, compassionate and even mischievous elven maid. "And that is how Anthir convinced my mother that the squirrel would stay," she concluded another tale, and he laughed softly, loathe to draw the attention of the Men from their rest. "And that, my lady, is what my mother would call a belly laughing tale!" He had earlier in the discussion let the title slip out, to which she had shook her head and told him she was nobody of consequence. He had known she held no rank, of course. Nor did the lack of such rank lower her in his eyes. But he could not recall ever having such an enjoyable and honest conversation with a female who did not hold rank or title. The lower born women either flirted with him shamelessly (indeed even the titled ladies did that!) or blushed and clammed up, refusing to speak candidly with one of his rank. At some point over the course of the evening, Legolas had begun to see Caeri as a friend. And after that first slip, he had let it slip again and again, unintentionally at first, then simply to watch her react. She had gone from reminding him she held no such title to almost getting angry with him to rolling her eyes. Now she was starting to look amused. She snorted. "I have told you, I am no lady! Have you spent so much time in the Court of the Elvenking that you address all females by such lofty titles? You surely must be of high birth to address a woman as such!" That comment sobered him, and he realized he was on the brink of revealing who he truly was. "I have told you I am half Sindar, through my father" he said, "so yes, I have spent many days in the Halls and even the Court of the King. But I prefer the forests and the wind on my face to the stuffy chambers of elders who have nothing better to do than debate the cost of barrels of wine!" He paused, seeking for some way to redirect the conversation. A crack of a twig snapping in the trees, caused them both to jerk their heads towards the sound. And that was when Legolas once again felt the eyes upon him, staring out from the dark trees. Caeri glanced to him, uncertain. "Do you truly think that is a curious moose?" she asked. Legolas grinned. "You have obviously never had a curious moose follow you home!" And thus he avoided both the question and further talk of his heritage and rank. Many leagues southeast of the men's camp Aragorn watched the flames flicker from their small fire. Nearby, Gimli snored, wrapped in his cloak. The horses grazed in the small meadow, while they rested beneath the stars. They had traveled most of the previous night before Aragorn had insisted on making a small camp and getting some rest. The reuired a few hours of sleep, as Gimli had looked ready to fall from his pony's back! Aragorn had felt nearly the same after their long journey north. Anxious as he was to find Legolas, he knew they needed rest if they were to be of use to their friend. He glanced to the right, where the impatient Rani stood staring into the trees to the northwest. Could she truly be who he suspected her to be? And if so, why was she here helping Legolas? But she only spoke in riddles and refused to answer direct questions. So he curled up in his own cloak and lay down to catch a few hours of sleep before dawn, his hand on the hilt of Andúril. To be continued… Please review! It really helps motivate me to edit faster. :)
Eighteen The next day was similar to the first. The men ate, giving the elves only water. Caeri, still sore and tender in her lower back, found the thought of walking again unbearable. But she would rather walk than be carried again by that foul man! She limped along, keeping her eyes focused mainly on Lass, but she was aware of the looks she received from four of the men. Even the two younger ones cast appreciative looks upon her, but the older four's gazes were filled with lust. For now, at least, they abided by Brigus's demands that she not be touched, but as the day bore on, as she grew tired and it became difficult to force herself to put one foot in front of the other. Crude, whispered comments began to accompany the dark stares directed at her. How long would these men refrain from attacking her? Just the thought nearly caused her to trip and fall, but she caught herself and continued on. Jasper, in particular, took every opportunity to treat both she and Lass cruelly. "Go on wit' ya!" he barked, giving Lass a painful shove that sent him to his knees. "We've not got all day to prance about the woods looking at trees." It seemed he had not forgotten the painful stab to his arm. Even now, he had trouble moving it. Both nights, during his watch, he had sat and glared at Legolas. Caeri wondered if Jasper were waiting for the chance to take revenge upon her fellow captive. Lass, in return, kept her as far from that dark-hearted man as possible, but that was not always far enough. When he shoved Lass to the ground a second time, she tried to reach for him, to help him up, as the fall looked painful, but found herself pulled back by Jasper's good arm. "Oh no, darlin'," he whispered in her ear. "He don't need no help from you, but I do." Then he pressed up against her back, letting her feel him against her before releasing her. Lass nor Brigus saw the move, but Sirk and Nirk did, and they laughed and made crude gestures. The boy, Prem, gave his friend a meaningful look, but Torel just shrugged. They stopped mid day for a short break, and she sank to the ground in relief. Her back ached fiercely, but not as badly as she pretended it did. She remembered Lass's words to act more hurt than she felt. She hissed as she maneuvered to lay on her side, the grass a nice whisper against her cheek. Brigus took Lass aside, leaving Sirk to guard her. He sat down behind her, and she ignored him, focusing instead on the words passing between Lass and Brigus. They argued over Lass's choice of path. Brigus was getting impatient that they had not yet seen any signs of elven settlements. She was so tired. Her eyes slipped closed, but she jerked when a foul breath ghosted across her face, and her eyes snapped open to find Sirk leaning over her, his voice taunting her. "You may think you're safe, but once we've got the treasure, we'll have what else we want, too." The man sneered. "That would be you." He pulled back, looking smug, but he had underestimated an elf's hearing in saying such words. As soon as Sirk was no longer leaning into her face, she had turned to where Lass stood and saw his head had jerked in her direction, his eyes darkened in anger. "You will not touch her!" he hissed, storming over to where Sirk sat behind her. "I will die before I let you harm her. BRIGUS!" Lass turned to the man who stood staring at him in confusion and growing anger. "What is this?" Brigus demanded, stomping over to where Lass now stooped beside her, his bound hands resting lightly on her arm. "Sirk?" Lass did not let the other man answer. "Brigus," he said in a low commanding tone, "you promised to keep your men in line, yet repeatedly they taunt and threaten Caeri. If you wish to see the hall's of the Elvenking, you will keep them under control or I will die removing as many of you from this life as I possibly can." Caeri believed him. She could see it in his expression. Hear it in his tone. He was more than just a warrior. He had led men. Only captains spoke with such authority. She had heard them when patrols had passed through their settlement. There was a deadly malice in his wrath, and she knew in that minute that he was quite capable of killing every man there if pushed too far. The only reason she could fathom he had not already done so was because it would risk her safety. That thought humbled her, for the only reason he was in this situation was due to her foolishness. Brigus stared at him a moment, then he cursed and with not a little effort dragged Sirk up and away to the other side of the clearing. They argued angrily for a time, before Brigus shoved the man towards a tree, where Sirk sank down disgruntled. To her disconcertment, she then noticed Torel's eyes upon her and Lass, filled with contemplation. Prem spoke true, in some ways he became indeed like Brigus. She only hoped the boy would not follow in his brother's path. Gazing at him now, a determination entering his eyes, she knew their situation became more treacherous with each passing day. "Are you alright?" Lass asked, searching her eyes for the truth. Lancaeriel was shaken, aware of just how precarious her safety was. "Yes…though they frighten me. I fear I will not survive this. I should have left the wood when I was warned, then neither of us would be in danger." "Do not fear, my lady. We will escape. This I swear to you. And when we do, I will take you to safety." Lass attempted to reassure her, but she felt truly afraid. Still, she forced a smile at his having called her 'my lady' once again. "I have told you before, Lass, I am no lady! I am no one of importance anywhere. Even if we escape, I have no place to go." Her voice broke as the truth of her situation became evident. "It is clear to me now that I cannot stay here, but I have no wish to live in the mountains! And I do not know anyone in Imladris or Ithilien!" Lass gave her a rare grin that showed dimples. But that darkness in his eyes remained. "You know me. Does that not mean something to you?" At her nod, he continued, the smile slipping to a more serious expression. "We will escape, and then I will take you home to Ithilien. There, the land was once damaged, but we have restored much of the forests. There also, you will find healing. You will be most welcome there, perhaps even happy, if you would allow yourself to befriend others once more." She could see the truth shining in his eyes as he spoke of his home. There was still that unexplained darkness in his gaze, but for the moment, it was overshadowed by something else, perhaps some memory of those he loved in Ithilien. Hope sprung up in Lancaeriel's heart, making her long for a chance to truly live again, to find a place and a purpose. She met his eyes with a nod and for the first time in a long time, she truly smiled. She would go to Ithilien with this warrior and she would make the attempt to start a new life…providing they survived. — o — Brigus was angry. For two days they had followed the elf through the forest, seeing no sign of elves or their dwellings. And more disturbing, no sign that they were moving anywhere closer to where they wished to be. In fact, it seemed to him, judging by the setting sun, that they traveled in large circles. The thought infuriated him. "Stop!" He called. The elf leading them turned around with questioning eyes, but Brigus was done with his lies and deception. "Enough of this! We've been walking for two days. We should've been there by now! You're leading us in circles!" "Yes, we are going in circles!" the elf admitted, then added, "Or would you rather go through the traps we have set all through these woods?" Lass asked him. "You are men. You cannot travel the paths of the elves through the tree tops, therefore, we must travel more slowly, in wide circles to avoid the defenses the king has in place." Lass smirked. "Or did you think it was magic that protected these lands for so long?" The elf looked amused, and Brigus felt his face burn with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. He had wondered over the past few weeks just how the elves kept their lands safe. "You're lying…" Brigus knew it. "Of course, he's lyin," Jasper grumbled. "He's just tryin to lead us round and get us more lost, lookin for a way to escape us without us getting' anything." That comment had Sirk and Nirk jumping in to argue that the elf was misleading them, and making the same demands they had since they had found that elf woman hurt on the ground. Brigus almost wished they had never found her. She had brought them only more trouble. With three disgruntled partners, his own frustration and the younger men's growing dissatisfaction at having found nothing, Brigus scrambled for some way to maintain control. There had to be something he could do to make the elf take them to where they wanted to go. The only way he could conceive was to use the woman against the elf. "I say we give him until tomorrow mid day to show us some proof he's leading us a'right, and if he fails…" He leered at his partners. "Well, then you can have the girl — or even him if you want him," he added in a last attempt to manipulate the elf. "He's pretty enough." He smirked, even as he found he could not look the elf in the eye. "Tomorrow, then," Jasper agreed in his hoarse voice. "And I get her first." — o — With the sun sinking in the West, they did not walk for much longer that evening. Even so, Legolas led them in a direct line towards one of the villages he knew to be nearby. If Brigus needed proof of elf-kind to keep his men at bay, then Legolas would provide it! But in his heart he feared it would not matter. An air of foreboding filled the wood after Brigus's declaration. Time, it would seem, had run out. He wished they were closer to the actual Halls, but they were still many leagues away. He needed another plan, some opening to escape and get into the woods, but Brigus was taking no chances with them. It was nearly dark when Brigus called the final halt. The men scrambled about setting up another simple camp. As before, the elves were given a little water. Prem brought them two pieces of dried meat, shaking off Torel's hand when his friend would have kept him back from offering the food. Most of the men were in higher spirits, knowing soon they would have one pleasure or another. They laughed and joked, making no effort to hide their rude comments. Torel and Prem sat off to the side, but the younger men were not taking the same enjoyment at the possibility of raping Caeri on the morrow. Just the thought infuriated Legolas. In the dark, the men turned in, anxious to see what the new day brought them. Nirk had been sent to make certain their bindings were tight and to take first watch. He settled on a fallen log, intently studying Legolas's knife. He and Caeri did not speak. Legolas instead worked at loosening his bonds, working them as inconspicuously as possible. He had attempted this both previous nights with little success. Sirk and Nirk were skilled in rope work. The knots held. As he struggled against the knots, Caeri scooted over to block Nirk's view of him. She leaned in, making it appear as if they were speaking, as they had the previous evening, but she only offered encouragement this night. She knew as well as he that they had to escape. He was tempted to get Caeri to help, despite the risk of being discovered, when the snapping of a twig brought his eyes up towards the trees. The eyes still followed them in the darkness. Two pairs. He could sense their owners and was thankful they were there. "What was that?" Nirk demanded, standing and staring into the trees. "Maybe one of the giant spiders," Legolas dared. "They have been known to stray this far north." Caeri's head jerked around and she stared at him in horror. "But I thought…" Her words died as she realized too late what Legolas was trying to achieve. "Spiders are all dead." Nirk grinned at them. "Heard it myself from a man from Laketown. Elvenking killed them all." But he glanced nervously back through the trees. But the sounds were gone. Nirk moved back to the fallen tree and resumed his seat but his focus did not return to the knife. Instead he focused on the trees about them, glancing between them as if trying to peer beyond the small circle of light cast by the men's fire. For two hours, Legolas worked at continuing to loosen his bonds, but only managed to gain a small amount of give in the rope. His wrists were raw and bleeding from his efforts, yet still he struggled. Caeri had not sat idle. She worked her own bindings, her wrists red and chaffed. Her breath shuddered and he paused to look at her. Her eyes were side and pleading. "What do we do? We have to get loose!" Her fearful words and panicked expression pierced him. He knew only too well how desperate their situation was. But such despair and fear would not help them. He shook his head. "We do not give up until we are free. And whatever happens, I will not abandon you." His whispered words sparked hope in her eyes, and they renewed their efforts. A heavy sigh alerted Legolas that Nirk's watch was over. He watched the man stand then move to the fire, where he shook Torel awake for his watch. "Watch them close," Nirk demanded. "There's something out there." He nodded towards the trees. "Even if it's just a moose, wild animals are dangerous." Torel rose and moved to the log where Nirk had took his watch, his eyes on the forest. But he snorted and glanced at them. "There is no moose out there," he said with confidence. Legolas did not confirm or deny what was in the shadows. Instead he held the young man's gaze for a time. Torel finally looked away, but only to stare at Caeri, then back at Legolas. Something had changed in those eyes. They held new purpose. As soon as Nirk began to snore softly, Torel stood up, drew his knife and moved towards them, never wavering his gaze from Legolas's cold stare. — o — Torel approached the elves. He had seen the fear in Caeri's face when he had stood and drawn his knife, but now as he walked towards them, he found his gaze caught in Lass's steel-gray stare. He was drawn to those eyes. There was something about this creature that both fascinated and frightened him at the same time. As Torel stooped before Lass, he was surprised when the elf actually smiled slightly. "You intend to help us," Lass declared. It was not a question. Torel smiled and nodded. "Prem's right. I let Brigus bully me into this and I've started acting like him. My mum would flay me if she knew I was here with these men, doing these things. I can't allow it to go any further." Torel had not slept when the others had bedded down for the night. He had kept an eye on the elves and had noticed them struggling against their bonds. The knots would be too tight to untie. He reached for the ropes binding Lass's ankles together and began to cut them with his knife. The ropes dropped away, and he reached for the ones around the elf's wrists, but a slight noise in the trees stopped him. He froze, ceasing his movements and glancing fearfully over his shoulder. It would not do to get caught at this. A couple of those men wouldn't hesitate to kill him if they found out he had let the elves escape. But he saw no movement from the bed rolls by the fire. He turned his head to search the dark trees. "You do not need to fear anything in the trees," Lass reassured him. "Only the men." " I know," Torel replied. "That's why in return for freeing you, I'd like you to take Prem and me back to the edge of the wood. We can find our way from there." "Agreed." But instead of offering his hands for Torel to finish releasing him, Lass glanced about the clearing. "Something is not right," Lass murmured. "Release Caeri first. She must get away from this place. Then finish with my bonds." Torel admired the honor this elf displayed and silently told himself he would never be found in such a situation again. He would go home and work his parent's farm, and convince his girl to marry him. With his thoughts distracted as he stood to move to the female elf, he missed seeing the Lass's eyes widen in surprise. "Behind you!" the elf hissed. Before the young man could turn completely around, he felt a blade on his neck, biting into his flesh, slicing it open. The knife in Torel's hands dropped onto Lass he reached up to grasp at the flood of blood that flowed from his throat. This couldn't be happening. He was going home! He had decided to do the right thing! The arm around him released him, and he sank to the ground, struggling to breathe through his cut windpipe. As his life's blood soaked into the ground, he looked at the elf, seeing a deep sadness in those strange grey eyes. The eyes faded to points of grey light, darkness consuming them, and he saw nothing more. To Be Continued… Thank you for reading this far! Please do not forget this author LOVES reviews and is motivated by them! Please leave me a comment!
Nineteen It happened so fast, so unexpected, that Legolas could only watch in horror as Jasper grabbed Torel from behind and sliced open his throat. How had the man snuck up on them unaware, unseen, unheard? By the time he saw the movement and tried to warn the boy, it was too late to save Torel. Sad as the young man's death was, Legolas had no wish to be the next victim. Even as the young man fell, Legolas grabbed the knife Torel had dropped and sliced through the ropes that bound him, no easy feat given his hands were bound. He leapt to his feet, but the man was on him, anger driving Jasper into a murderous rage. He wielded Legolas's own elven blade, the steel flashing in the moonlight. Legolas twisted, but could not completely avoid the strike. The sharp steel caught him across the back, slicing across his shoulder blade until it hit bone. He hissed but spun and blocked Jasper's second strike, catching the man's wrist and staring him in the eye. Jasper sneered at him, unafraid. "Now we're even," he snarled. The man was cold and calculating, but arrogant in regard to his abilities. Too arrogant, for with the wound Legolas had inflicted days ago, Jasper's other arm was still weak and nearly useless. But this was no time to prove himself in a fight. Legolas knew he had only seconds before the other men were alerted of their struggle and the death of their comrade. He could feel the blood flowing from the wound on his back, but ignored the pain. It was now or never. They would escape, or they would die. With deft fingers, trained from youth, he disarmed Jasper by applying pressure to specific points on the man's wrist. The knife dropped to the ground. Jasper yelled out, but Legolas used the hold he had on him to pull the man close enough to slam the side of his other hand into the side of the man's neck, a move he had learned from the sons of Elrond. Jasper went limp and sank to the ground, unconscious. Perhaps Legolas should have used enough force to kill the man, but it was enough that they escaped into the dark. He stooped and grabbed the knife, but as he moved to Caeri, he heard the cry of alarm from one of the men, the sounds of them scrambling from their bedrolls. He had to hurry! He knelt before her and reached for the ropes around her ankles. But to his surprise, she pulled away. "GO!" she told him, her voice distressed, "leave me! You have no time!" Legolas did not blink, but gripped her leg to still her movements as the elven blade sliced like a hot knife through butter through the ropes binding her ankles. Looking up, he met her eyes even as his hands reached for the ropes around her wrists. "NEVER! Never will I abandon one of my people! We will both return to Ithilien…or we will both die here." And with those words, Caeri's bonds fell loose. Hauling her to her feet, Legolas turned her towards the trees with a small push. She stumbled, but he reached out and steadied her with one hand and she managed to keep her feet. Then they were in the trees, fleeing into the night, leaving chaos behind them as they ran. o — For two nights and two days Aragorn and Gimli had followed their strange guide through the tall trees, heading northwest and stopping only when need arose. At least Aragorn followed her. Gimli followed blindly, trusting the man but suspicious of what he could not see nor hear. Now, this third night, they alternated walking and trotting along through the dim trees, the horses snagging occasional mouthfuls of grass or leaves as they passed. Overhead, the half moon rose, then moved across the sky in its eternal dance with the stars. Ëarendil shone down on them, winking at Aragorn, as if urging him onwards. They rode on. Few words were spoken between he and Gimli, but both knew the other's thoughts were on their friend and their strange guide. Just what trouble has Legolas managed to get himself into this time? Aragorn wondered. He questioned Rani about Legolas, if he were in danger, injured, but she gave him no answer. "You will know when you know!" she told him sternly. "Is it not enough he is in need?" "It is enough," he answered, and pushed Halruin into a trot as the girl took off at a run through the trees. Sometimes she ran, and they trotted behind her. Sometimes she walked, one ear turned up as if listening for something from up ahead. And when they stopped to rest at his insistence, she usually slipped away not to be seen again until they roused and remounted. Aragorn insisted on short rest breaks, for though Rani seemed tireless, he and Gimli were not. The trip from Minas Tirith had taxed them and their horses, for they had rode hard with little rest. He could feel exhaustion bearing down on him as it had not since the Ring War. If Legolas was in need, then he would need them with some measure of strength, or so he supposed based on Rani's pleas for haste. But he kept those breaks few and only an hour or two, just enough to allow the horses to feed and to let them seek rest enough to keep from falling asleep on their horses' backs. The moon was now low in the sky as they rested beside a gurgling brook. The horses cropped at the long grasses growing along its banks and drank deep. Aragorn and Gimli lay on a soft bed of meadow grass, Gimli softly snoring. Aragorn had found sleep elusive on this odd journey. He understood Legolas's need to come home and see his family, and even his need to bid farewell to the wood alone. But to remain alone here for as long as he had? And not just that, for even before he had word of the elves removing themselves, he had noticed the darkness creeping into his friend's eyes. But what could he do about the sea? Such things were beyond his ken and even understanding. He could not change what had happened. This he had known even last year. But now he understood better just why the sea longing darkened his friend's eyes. Legolas would never leave them, not while he and Gimli lived. Nay, it was not an inability to resist the call that caused the elf to be so melancholy of late. It was the elf's focus on the call, and his refusal to follow it, instead of looking to the sun and letting those shadows fall behind him. Aragorn hoped he would get the chance to have a discussion with Legolas about it. But for now, he could use a little sleep. He gazed at the stars and eventually dozed off and slept, dreaming strange dreams of blood and a flashing blade, golden hair and piercing grey eyes tinged with pain. Then he was swallowed by a crashing wave, dragged under the swell and pulled out to sea…and all the while the gulls sang their sweet song. "You must awaken," came Rani's voice, dragging him back from sleep. He blinked groggily, and separated himself from his cloak which had become entangled about him as he slept. He glanced at the stars and found from their placement that he had slept for a little over an hour. Then he glanced at the girl beside him, the moonlight filtering through the trees onto her golden hair turned it almost silver. She turned wide eyes on him, fear filling her face. "We are almost too late," she told him. "I am needed. Continue on the same course we have followed, and make haste! I must go…" And as he watched, she turned around and simply vanished from sight. For a moment, he just stared at the space where she had stood, then he forced himself to rise and rouse the dwarf. Gimli grumbled as he sat up, still half asleep. "Riding through the dark in the forest," he mumbled. "Following invisible children. Mahal save me." Gimli's annoyance was obvious in his tone, his fatigue showing in the dark circles under his eyes. "Well?" the dwarf asked, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "Where is she at now?" Aragorn shook his head. "I am not sure, Gimli. She disappeared." "Disappeared?" Gimli's confusion furrowed his brow. "She left again?" "No, not exactly," Aragorn answered, pondering what he had seen and trying to reconcile it with what he knew. "Well, yes, I think she has, but… " He shook his head again, knowing beyond a doubt who the child was. "She vanished…simply faded from sight, until she was no longer there." Gimli stared at him as if he were crazy. Aragorn knew he must sound so, but he was not. "We must go," Aragorn told him, moving to prepare the horses. "I'll explain as we ride. We are getting close." To be continued… Thank you for reading. Can you please take a moment to leave a short review so I know who is reading?
Twenty Lancaeriel ran as best she could. Her back and hip ached, but she forced herself to go on. Lass gripped her hand, his strides shortened to accommodate her but he also tugged at her hand, urging her to go faster if she could. Within minutes, they were far into the darkness of the trees. Lass paused to listen, but there was no sound of them being pursued, only yells and clamor. The men must be trying to make sense out of what had happened before they escaped. "Can you go on?" Lass asked, releasing her hand. Lancaeriel nodded. They had to put that camp and the horror of it as far behind them as possible, but her eyes had not missed the blood on his tunic. He had been wounded in that short fight with Jasper, right after— Lass began picking a more careful trail through the trees. She followed on his heels, trying to push the image of Torel from her mind, but it haunted her. For almost six hundred years she had lived, and in that time she had lost her whole family. And yet, she had never seen death so close. Not so violently. Her mother had simply faded, diminishing until her spirit just left, unable to endure her grief. Her father's body had been so damaged, she had not been allowed to view it, only mourn. And Anthir had been buried with the other warriors who had fallen in the battle of Dol Guldur. So much death, and yet she had never truly seen death: the blood, the shock, the light fading from a person's eyes… It was horrible, what had happened. She never wanted to see such a thing again! And no matter how she tried, she was unable to stop her thoughts from going to Torel. Prem had said he was becoming like Brigus, and she had feared it was so. But in the end, Torel had shown compassion in helping them. It had cost him his life. How could such evil still exist in the world? Were Men no different than orcs? But no, Torel and young Prem had not been like the older men. They had been misguided perhaps, but not evil. A tear slipped down her cheek, but she reached up and brushed it away. She could not think about this now! She had to follow Lass through the dark forest, to escape a similar fate. Lancaeriel's eyes focused on Lass's back and the dark stain of blood growing there, dripping down, leaving drops on the foliage they passed. They were leaving a trail of blood, marking their passage through the trees. They had been on the move for at least a half hour. If he was still bleeding, he was in danger. His steps were becoming a bit unsteady. Had he slept since he had first found her captive by the men? He had eaten little in that time, giving her most of what they were given. Even water had been rationed to only a few mouthfuls a day. He needed to stop, to allow her to staunch the blood. And they needed water. But he did not show any signs of stopping. She reached out and tugged at his hand. "You're bleeding badly," she whispered. "It's leaving a trail." He paused then, glancing back at his shoulder. "I know," he told her. "But we can't stop now." "But the trail…" she pointed at the splash of dark blood on a bush. He winced, then began unlacing his outer tunic, grimacing as he attempted to maneuver his wounded shoulder from the heavy material. She stepped forward and assisted him, until he slipped from his arms, leaving his torso clad in a grey linen undershirt. "Now what?" she asked. "Help me tie this around the wound. It will help stop the blood from leaving a trail." She used the sleeves to tie the garment around his shoulder. It did not stop the bleeding, but it absorbed it better. "Should we not staunch the wound now?" she asked, concerned that he was losing far too much blood. "Not yet," he told her, and pressed on, using more care in their passing so that there would be no sign to follow. They walked another ten minutes, then he stumbled to a stop, glancing about as if he had just remembered something. He searched the darkness, looking perplexed. And then she remembered the eyes she had sensed and the noises in the woods that had followed them the past few days. She had not heard or sensed anything in their flight from the men's camp. "Looking for the moose?" she whispered. He turned his head and looked at her with an expression of disbelief. "You truly thought we were being followed by a moose?" he whispered back. Her face heated. "Something has been following us the past three days!" He nodded, his face pale and drawn in the moonlight filtering through the branches. He was not doing well. They needed to stop. "Indeed, but I have not sensed them since earlier this evening. Perhaps they will find us. It would be easier if they did." Lancaeriel did not know what he was talking about. She did not ask, for he had turned back around and her eyes had come to rest on the stain seeping through his outer tunic where she had tied it. "Lass, we need to stop." "Just a little further," he told her. "Then you can rest." He thought she was asking for herself! In truth, she would welcome a rest, but her concern was for him. She was about to tell him so when he pointed to a large oak towering up in the dark. "We will stop there for a short rest. I would prefer to keep moving, but we must stop staunch the blood or the loss will be too much and I will not be able to go on." Relieved, she followed him to the tree. It was old, it's branches thick and gnarled. He looked up at the oak. "We will be safer in its branches. Come." Lass leapt up, grabbed a branch, and with a slight groan, managed to scramble up into the oak. Lancaeriel followed with far less grace. Her back yet ached, though it was far better than when she had first fallen. It would be days before she was completely healed. She was certain her entire hip was black and blue and green and purple… But she was not bleeding; he was. Lass settled onto a thick branch, and she sat beside him, contemplating how to treat the wound. She untied his outer tunic and laid it aside. "I wish I had some supplies," she told him. "I am not certain how to stop the bleeding without bandages or herbs." "Cut off my shirt with the knife, then rip it into strips. You can use those to help stop the flow of blood." Lancaeriel took his knife, using care not to cut him with it. A single cut up the back and she was able to peel the soft undershirt away from the wound. She winced as she saw it, deep and ugly and oozing blood. She pulled her gaze from the wound, and helped him ease the shirt off his arms and began to rip the linen into large strips. Then she did as Anthir had taught her and applied pressure to the wound for several minutes. But she had nothing with which to clean and dress the wound. Even some simple plants would help clot the blood and cleanse the wound, if she could find them. She folded a few pieces of the cloth to make a pad, then guided Lass's right hand over his left shoulder so that he could hold it in place as best he could. "This needs more than just a bandage. I am going back down to search for moss and herbs. " He held her gaze a moment, as if assessing whether her going were a good idea or not. But then he nodded. "Stay near the tree, where I can see you." She climbed down and searched the north side of the tree. There was moss! Moss would pack the wound and help cleanse it. She stuffed several handfuls into her shirt, and began to search for the wide-leafed, low growing weeds that would help clot the blood and keep the wound from festering. In the dark, it was not easy to distinguish the varieties, but she found two plants that she was certain were the right ones and plucked the leaves off each. If only she had some water with which to rinse them! But she could hear no running stream, and a stagnant pool would be of little benefit, if she could even find one in the dark. She climbed back up the oak and found Lass sitting as she left him, but his eyes were glazed and that darkness was in them again. He gazed off to the West, his head tilted as if he heard something she could not. Her heart began to race. Did the Belain call to him? She did not want to lose Lass too! She reached out and pressed her fingers against his throat, feeling for his pulse, and found that it was weak, but, to her relief, steady. The Belain would not take him from her this night! Her breath stilled in her chest as she realized that Lass had become dear to her. She had shared with him her losses and grief. She had allowed him to see into her heart, something she had not allowed anyone to do since before Anthir had died. He was her friend, and she would be hurt if anything happened to him. She inhaled sharply, for the thought did not comfort her. But as she sat staring at his familiar features, she realized it did not frighten her as once it had either. She wanted his friendship, and would gladly follow him to Ithilien. But first she needed to do something about that wound. She moved behind him and took the cloth from him. He did not stir. It was strange, the way he just sat and seemed to listen, as if he were in another place. She had never seen anything like it before. "Lass?" She touched his shoulder. "Are you alright?" He did not budge nor speak. Her heart began to pound again. "Lass!" She shook him gently, and he inhaled, then turned his head to look back at her. "What? What is it?" She exhaled in relief. "You were in a daze and would not answer. Have you lost too much blood?" He stared at her a moment, then looked back to the West. "No. I was just…" He sighed. "It is nothing. I am only tired." Stubborn. Just like Anthir. Refusing to admit when something was wrong! But he was talking now, aware. And that was good enough for her. She began rolling the leaves between her fingers, crushing and bruising them before packing a few into the wound with some of the moss. Then she placed the rest of the moss over the wound to help absorb anymore blood, and wrapped it tight as she could with the makeshift bandages. As she worked, Lancaeriel could not stop her mind from going over the night's events. Their attempts to escape the ropes. The feeling of hopelessness and fear. Torel's approach and offer to help them. Jasper slipping up unnoticed behind him and killing the boy. She had thought them lost in that moment, or at least herself. But Lass had managed to disarm Jasper. And Lass had not left her. Unable to bear the thought of him being recaptured again at her expense, she had urged him to leave her, but… He had refused, and in a manner that as she recalled it, left her shaken. The look in his eye when he spoke of 'my people', bespoke that there was far more to him than he presented. She had already known there was more to him than what he had told her. He spoke as one high born, calling her 'my lady', even if in jest to make her smile. And he spoke with the tone of command she had heard from the captains of the patrols. She might not be important, but Lass was special. She could feel it. She sat back and looked at her finished work. There was a few dark spots showing up on the cloth, but it appeared the bleeding had dwindled to mere seeping. Then she moved to sit in front of him where she could see his face, and found he had retreated again to staring into the West, his eyes glazed and dark. "Lass?" He roused, blinking as if waking from a dream. "The bleeding is staunched as best I can make it without needle and thread. But you need water and food as well as a good rest so it can heal." He shook his head. "We cannot linger here. We must head south. I am fine," he tried to reassure her, but she was not fooled. "You are not fine. You took a nasty wound, and you are tired and are in need of food and drink. I can do nothing about the latter in the darkness, but you must rest for a while at least." "Nay, we need to stay ahead of the men!" He started to rise, but she placed a hand on his arm. "The men could not track through these woods during the daylight hours. Do you think they will find us in the dark? We left Jasper wounded and unconscious, Torel dead! I cannot imagine they will search for us before dawn." He rubbed his hand over his face, then looked up at her with a resigned expression. "My heart tells me you are wrong, but my mind is too muddled to argue with you." He gave her a lopsided half smile and shrugged. "Very well. The night is nearly spent in any case. We shall rest here awhile longer, but we must start moving again at dawn." Lancaeriel picked up Lass's discarded outer tunic and helped him slip it back on over the bandage. He scooted back against the trunk, leaning his good shoulder against the aged oak, humming softly with the tree's whispering song as his eyes glazed over once more. She settled back on the branch, picking up his knife, which she had set in the crook of a branch while bandaging his wound. She ran a finger over the smooth, white handle made of bone. It was finely crafted. Another testament that Lass was more than what he presented. The blade had only decorative markings, however, no device or emblem of a noble family. Her eyes drifted to his tunic and came to rest on the device there: two silver oak leaves crossed. She had never seen it before, not even when she had taken refuge in Thranduil's Halls during the war when the wood had burned. She had taken note of the device of the king, for upon her collar, the Princess Anoriel had worn a single oak leaf imposed over a staff . She shrugged. Lass was from Ithilien. He wore the green and grey colors and the sigil was probably the mark of Prince Legolas and the small fiefdom King Elessar had granted him there. Besides, in her heart she knew it would not matter who he truly was. He was her friend, and that he would remain. And in that thought she did find comfort. To Be Continued…
Twenty-One Brigus' hands shook as he wrapped Torel's body in a blanket. He was beyond feeling anything. All he could think about was that his little brother was dead, and it was his fault. If he'd not pushed Torel to come with them, his brother would be safe back at the farm. He tied the blanket in place with a length of rope, then stood and walked away, letting his mind go over and over what had happened, rather than focusing on how he felt about it. And the more he thought about what had happened, the numbness inside him turned to a cold fury that filled him. He and the others had awakened from a shout by Jasper and sounds of a struggle. Brigus had scrambled from his bedroll, nearly falling in his haste. It'd taken him a moment to realize the sounds came from where the elves had been tied, and all he'd considered was that if the elves escaped, then they'd lose any chance of finding the treasure. The elves were free from their ropes before he could get to them. They'd fled into the dark woods, leaving him, Sirk, Nirk and Prem staring after them. Then they'd turned their attention to the two men left behind on the ground. Jasper was alive, just unconscious. But Torel— Brigus's heart wrenched with an unfamiliar pain as he remembered the sight of his little brother lying crumpled in a pool of his own blood. His throat had been slit! How could this have happened? He'd just wanted to fix up the farm for Torel and their mother and be able to live a life of leisure. How difficult was that? They'd just needed to find the elves' treasure! But instead Torel was dead on the ground, wrapped in just a blanket. Their mother would never get a chance to tell him goodbye. Torel would never bed the girl next door or marry her. Nothing had gone the way it was supposed to! Jasper stirred, groaning. "Get up," Brigus hissed at the man. It was time he had some answers as to what'd happened to get Torel killed. Jasper rolled over and slowly sat up, looking around the clearing in a daze. Then his eyes landed on the wrapped body of Torel. He stared at it with cold eyes, then turned and met Brigus' gaze. "The elf did that," Jasper confirmed. "Killed him in cold blood." "How did they get loose? Those ropes were tight!" Jasper rubbed his head, still looking a bit dazed. Then he shrugged. "I dunno exactly. I woke up and saw Torel bending over that elf, Lass. Looked like he was cutting his bonds." "You saying Torel set 'em loose?" Brigus asked in disbelief. He knew Torel was soft, having been coddled by their mother. He had been her baby. Brigus had tried to make him more of a man. It was why he had brought Torel along. But Torel had argued against holding the elves captive. He'd also been against their using the woman to satisfy their lusts. It wasn't impossible that his little brother had decided to set the elves loose. As far as Brigus was concerned, it didn't matter what Torel had done. It only mattered now that Torel was dead and that was unforgivable! "I'm saying what I saw," Jasper's voice was laced with ice. "Torel had a knife and was cutting the elves loose. I jumped up and grabbed the knife we took off the elf and ran to recapture him, but that elf…" He cursed. "That Lass, soon as he was free, turned on your brother, took his knife and before I could do anything, he cut Torel's throat and left him to bleed out on the ground." Brigus grit his teeth. The elf, would suffer for that! "I managed to get to him before they could run off, and I cut him real good on his back and called for you to come help. But then the next thing I know, he's done twisted my arm and the knife fell and.." He shook his head again. "That's all I remember." He glanced around the clearing. "I guess you didn't catch him before he escaped then?" "No," Brigus said. "They ran into the woods." The sound of a shovel biting into the earth broke the stillness of the night. Prem was working by firelight to dig a hole in the ground with a small spade they had brought with them. They would have to bury Torel here in this clearing in the middle of this nasty forest. There was no way they could transport his brother's body back to their town. None of them were even sure how to return home from here. Anger surged through Brigus again, and he clenched his fists tightly as he stared at Prem digging. Tears leaked down the boy's cheeks. Brigus told him to stuff them. Tears were for weak men, and children. They needed to be strong now. Looking down at Torel's wrapped body, Brigus let his guilt slip away. No, this was not his fault! He had not caused this. He had only tried to make their lives better. It was the elf that had done this, killed his brother in cold blood. Lass should have just led them to the treasure, but instead he'd plotted and led them in circles until they were lost in the wood—and killed Torel. Brigus swore that he would find the elves and make them suffer for this. Both elves would pay for Torel's death, and pay dearly. He glanced at the sky. Dawn was not far off, but he did not want to wait for the light. "Sirk!" He walked over to where the twins were searching the edge of the wood with a lantern. "Did ya find anything?" "Aye, found some blood. Trail leads into the trees." A cold satisfaction filled Brigus as he stared at the blood on the leaves. They would find those elves and bring them back here and then the fun would begin. "Follow it and bring them both back." He stared hard at the scar on Nirk's face. "Don't kill that murdering elf. I wanna do it. It's my right." Nirk nodded. "I might have to rough 'em up some, though, to get 'em back here." "As long as he's alive when he gets here, I don't care what you do to him. But don't touch the girl." He glared at both men. "I want Lass alive long enough to watch me take her first. Then each of you can have her as well." Sirk and Nirk grinned. They didn't care who got the woman first, so long as they got a turn. "After…" Brigus continued, "When we've all had our fun, even Prem over there, then, I will kill the elf, just as he killed Torel." Brigus would enjoy watching the elf bleed to death…a death Torel should never have had. Sirk and Nirk sneered, then slipped into the trees, following the trail of blood the elves had left as a guide. — o — When the sky began to lighten, Lancaeriel hesitated in waking Lass. He slept deeply, his head resting against the trunk of the old oak. He needed the rest, but he also needed food and water—as did she. Her own mouth was parched, and she could not fathom going further without something to sustain them. The half sips of water she had been given over the days captive by the men were not nearly enough. Her back still ached fiercely, and she felt weak and strange, Was this how mortals felt when they were ill? Lass showed no signs of waking. Glancing up at the graying sky, Lancaeriel decided to let him sleep a few minutes longer. She would go and find at least something for them to eat. Even some berries would be better than nothing. She took his knife with her out of habit. Her father had taught her from youth never to go into the forest to harvest without a blade. In the grey light of predawn, she could more easily see the vegetation and made quick work of scouring the area for anything edible. In just a few minutes, she found a few handfuls of berries on a low bush and popped half of them into her mouth. The berries were not yet ripe, and instead of sweet and tangy, they were bitter and sour. But they were food and would provide nourishment. The rest she saved for Lass, using his knife to cut a square piece of cloth from the length of her tunic along with a narrow strip to use as a tie. She wrapped the berries up in her makeshift sack and tucked it inside her shirt before continuing her search. Where there was one bush, there was likely another, so she cast a quick glance at the oak, then increased the area of her search. Just a few minutes longer. The food would be worth it. She ranged in ever increasingly large circles from the oak, but kept it in sight. It was the largest tree in the area and she could easily find it again. Her search had turned up several roots and berries and a few herbs. A few more minutes and she would have the makings of a decent breakfast for them! Then she became aware of a soft tinkling sound, its voice calling to her to come. Water! She limped towards the sound, thinking only of satisfying her thirst and being able to lead Lass to it when he woke. He needed to drink after losing so much blood! Then, refreshed by rest, their thirst satisfied and a little food in their bellies, and they would be able to head south and begin the long trek to Ithilien. With a soft smile, she continued towards the luring sound. o — Legolas woke with a start. The first thing he noticed was that his shoulder ached. Then he noticed that the sun had risen just over the horizon. He had overslept! They had to move! He glanced about for Caeri, but there was no sign of her in the tree. He looked around for his long knife, but it too was missing. Fear had his heart pounding and his wound throbbing as he began the slow descent from the tree to look for her. At the bottom, he searched for any signs that the men had been here, but found none. There was nothing to indicate a struggle. So where was she then? He supposed she could have taken the knife for protection and slipped into the trees to tend to personal needs, and that should not take long. He hesitated calling out to her for fear the men would hear, if they had dared search the woods for them. He would wait a couple of minutes and then start looking for her. After five minutes, he began to worry. He started to search for signs of her passing and found a small berry bush that had been stripped of its fruit. So, she was looking for food, he supposed. Foolish, but understandable, given their lack over the past few days. He remembered her concern for him during the night, and the care she had shown in tending his wound while he had lost himself in the song of the sea. It was always worse at night, especially under the stars and even more so with him weakened and wounded. No, he could not even rouse himself to be irritated with her for looking for sustenance, considering the state he had been in while she tended him. She had not understood that it was not so much a lack of food or water that caused him to drift. He could use water, for certain, with the amount of blood he had lost, but he could also go on for a time without it, especially since he had rested several hours. A soft rustle came from up ahead, coming in his direction. He sighed in relief, surmising that she returned from gathering some form of breakfast for them. But it was not Caeri that emerged from behind a tree. A knot lodged in his throat as his gaze landed instead upon little Rani. Her eyes were filled with fear and despair. Her gold hair was mussed with twigs and leaves. In her hand, she held his white knife. And her white dress was splattered with drops of blood. To Be Continued… Thanks for reading! Can you please leave a short review?
Twenty-Two Legolas stood frozen, his gaze fixed on the "child" standing before him. His heart pounded in his chest, making his shoulder ache fiercely. What had happened? Why was she here now? Where was Caeri? Rani lifted teary blue eyes to his and held the knife out to him. "Please, Legolas, you have to save Caeri. She went to find food and water, but the men found her and took her! And she's hurt!" Tears slipped down Rani's cheeks, but it was the use of his name that caught his attention. He had never told her who he was. Extending a hand for his knife, Legolas continued to hold her in his gaze. "How do you know who I am? How did you get this?" he asked, his voice cold. He was tired of games. Trembling, Rani backed away from him. Wide-eyed, she responded, "I-I…I just know! I… Caeri dropped the knife and the men left it. I was hiding near where she fell! Please! You must hurry!" He stared at her a moment longer, knowing he could not take the time to push for the answers he desired now. He had to go after Caeri. "Where?" She pointed. "They took her from the creek, and were headed back to their camp. She was not awake. She was bleeding…" Without another word, Legolas set off through the woods at a run, back towards the camp they had fled. He dreaded what he would find if he did not arrive in time. If only she had not left the tree… But he understood why she had, and would have done the same if their roles were reversed. What were the odds the men would have tracked them through the darkness? The warmth in his shoulder answered that for him. He had left a blood trail. And he had been too worn down by lack of sleep and the song of the sea to even consider it. Reckless. A novice mistake! He pushed himself faster, the rest having done much to build up his strength. He had to get there in time. Caeri was no longer a stranger needing his help, not just one of his people needing protection. She was a friend. And he would not allow her to endure any more from those filthy men and their perverse thoughts. Men or no, he would do whatever was necessary to get her away from them once and for all. — o — It had been several hours since Sirk and Nirk had gone into the woods to track the elves. In that time, Prem had dug a hole deep enough for them to bury Torel. Brigus had lugged the body over and dumped it into the dark earth. But he hadn't know what to say. Didn't people say something memorable at funerals? Prem had spoken instead. "I'm sorry, Torel. Sorry this happened. Sorry I didn't convince you to say home. You didn't deserve this." No, Torel hadn't deserved any of this. And Brigus knew who was to blame. He had thought about it with every shovel full of dirt he and Prem took turns tossing on Torel's grave. Dawn came and went, and he was getting impatient. Shouldn't the twins be back by now with the elves? If one of them was injured, they shouldn't have gotten very far. Brigus paced in the clearing, until he finally heard the sound of someone approaching through the trees. His hand went to his knife, but he lowered it when Sirk and Nirk appeared. Finally! And Nirk carried a burden over one shoulder. Brigus smirked as he recognized the feminine form of the elf woman. But where was Lass? If they had killed the elf, Brigus would be angry. Nirk reached one of their bedrolls near the campfire, which had died down once the sun had risen. He dumped his burden upon it, and Brigus could see that she was injured. Blood covered her face from what looked like a broken nose. "I told you not to touch her!" he growled, stomping over to the men. Nirk glared back at him. "She fights like a harpy! Had a knife! Had to so something to get her back here." Sirk snorted. "He didn't hit her, if that's what you're thinking, Brigus. We just tried to disarm her. Didn't come out of that unhurt ourselves, if you haven't noticed." Brigus looked and sure enough, both men bore marks upon their arms and faces. It looked as if the woman had scratched and bit them. Nirk had a bandage on one arm. Blood seeped through it. "Got the knife away from her," Nirk said, "but not before she cut me with it. Then she fought tooth and nail as we tried to tie her up. She slipped away and would have run off if I hadn't tackled her. She hit her face on the ground. She hasn't stirred since." "Hmph." Brigus wasn't happy that his prize was damaged but if that was what it took to get her here, then so be it. "What about the other one?" Sirk shrugged. "Couldn't find him. We lost the blood trail a little before dawn. Had about given up, when we found a stream. And what do you know but the woman was there!" "But not Lass," Nirk added. "And she wouldn't tell us anything about him." "Maybe he died from Jasper's attack?" Sirk suggested. He looked over at the older man, who lounged against their packs. Jasper opened one eye and shook his head. "Not bad enough to kill him," he said. "Just enough to slow him down a bit. If she was at the stream, he wasn't too far away." That angered Brigus. "You should have looked for him!" "Oh, give it a rest, Brigus," Jasper rasped. "You got the girl. Take your anger out on her. 'Sides, Lass is sure to come back after her, and when he does, he'll be weak and easy to take out." "No," came a soft protest. Brigus looked down at Caeri. She had roused and stared up at them with wide eyes. Her face was swollen and the skin around her eyes was darkening. "Oh, he's gonna die, woman. That is a given. After he killed my brother in cold blood, he is going to die. But first he's going to watch us have some fun with you." She cringed back from him, even as confusion clouded her expression. She glanced at Jasper, shaking her head. "Haven't enough people been hurt, Brigus?" Prem stepped forward, glancing at the woman. "Don't do it, boy," Jasper told him. "Don't even try to stop us, or you'll find yourself in the ground with Torel." Something about the way Jasper said that bothered Brigus, but he focused on Prem. "Sit down, Prem. If you know what's good for you, sit down and shut up." — o — Lancaeriel would have cursed herself, were she not in so much pain. Why had she left the tree? Why had she taken it upon herself to find food and water? Oh, it had seemed a good idea at the time, and even safe for the most part. She had not left sight of the tree in which Lass rested until she heard the water. Then like a fool, she had taken off through the woods to find it. But she had little more than found it and satisfied her thirst when the men had surprised her. She had fought as well as she was able. Her back still hurt terribly and she could not bend or twist well. The two of them had managed to disarm her, but not without her inflicting damage. She glanced at Nirk's arm. She was proud of that injury, as well as the scratches and bite marks marring his and Sirk's arms and faces. Anthir had taught her to use whatever weapons were at her disposal and she had only had her teeth and fingernails, so she had used them. And she had almost escaped! But one of the men had tackled her to the ground. His weight had hit on the deep bruises on her back and she had collapsed in agony. Then pain had exploded in her head as her face slammed into the ground and all had gone black. Now here she was, back where she had started. Only this time, Lass was not here to save her. Her head ached. She could not take a breath through her nose, which she was certain was quite broken, but had to breathe through her mouth. Her face was swollen and sore. And her back continued to throb with every move, every breath. Brigus strode over to her and looked down at her with speculation. It was as if he were trying to decide whether to violate her now or wait for Lass to show up. Lancaeriel was not certain Lass would have even stirred yet from the tree in which he slept. It was not that long after dawn and he had been injured and exhausted. The man turned to the wood, his brow furrowed. "Aw, come off it, Brigus. She's awake. Get it over with. I want her." Lancaeriel quailed and the older man laughed at her terror. Then her deepest fears became reality as Brigus' hand began to unfasten his belt, even as he walked towards her. "Well, it's about time you paid your dues. And after this," he gestured towards the mound of bare earth. "I'm gonna take my time…and then the others will get their turn." Lancaeriel tugged at the ropes binding her, but there was no give in them. There would be no escaping this. The humiliation, or the pain, or the death such a forced union would bestow upon her. Her kind could not endure rape. It was a violation of the very soul, an injury to the spirit. "Brigus?" Prem's voice spoke out again. "Torel wouldn't have wanted this! He would never have wanted to see you do this thing! It is wrong! Please? I'm sorry about Torel, but…" Prem's voice was cut off by a furious roar as Brigus spun around. "You're sorry? It wasn't your brother that was cut down in cold blood!" Brigus' face turned red in his fury. "I don't care what you think, Prem. Take a turn with her or not, but the rest of us are gonna have our fun! And so help me if you interrupt again, I'll let Jasper muffle you." Then the big man was next to her, kneeling beside her and reaching for her clothes. Lancaeriel could not breathe. This could not be happening. She wiggled back and tried to fight but with her hands bound she could do little…and then he shoved her to her back and pain exploded from her hip. Tears seeped from her beneath her lashes when the fingers of one hand sank into her hair, his stinking breath heated her face, and his other hand moved to the ties of her tunic. That was when it seemed a tornado whirled into the camp. Her eyes snapped open as Brigus released her and surged to his feet in surprise. Lancaeriel glimpsed a blur of green and gold, and realized the men were suddenly fighting furiously. Lass had come for her. To Be Continued… Author's request: Please review? I know there are more people reading than are commenting. It only takes a few seconds and means a lot to us poor authors. Thanks!
Twenty-three Legolas surged into the clearing, a whirlwind of vehement fierceness. Sirk never knew what had hit him. He lay unconscious in a matter of seconds. Attacking without hesitation or restraint, Legolas moved from Sirk, to Nirk. But that man had enough warning to prepare for the attack and Brigus had surged to his feet with a roar of rage and joined the fight. The two men met him head on, knives flashing, fists flying, anger and hate flaring high in their eyes like a stoked flame. On the other side of the glade, Legolas caught a glimpse of Prem jumping Jasper from behind and knocking him to the ground. Grateful that in his wounded state, he would not need to fight three at once, Legolas hoped the younger man could hold his own. There was nothing he could do to help Prem at the moment. Ducking and twisting, Legolas avoided Nirk's knife, but he felt the move rip open the wound that had just begun to close on his shoulder. He sank deep within himself to that place he delved as a warrior, the place that blocked out pain and let him fight despite it. A blow to the shoulder from Brigus intensified the agony, and he felt blood begin to flow from the injury again. He gritted his teeth, letting the pain fuel his anger and purpose. Even as Legolas raised his knife to block a blow from Brigus, he landed a well-placed elbow into Nirk's ribs that sent the man tumbling to the ground. He gave Brigus a shove, and the man tripped over a stone and sprawled onto his back. But Nirk had scrambled to his feet and launched another attack. Legolas caught arm wielding the knife and twisted without mercy until the bone snapped. Nirk screamed and retreated, holding the arm to himself. He glared at Legolas, but showed no sign of continuing the fight. Brigus regained his feet and lunged in again, bringing his blade around and down. Legolas twisted to avoid the blow, but winced as the wound in his shoulder pulled, making him unable to complete the move. The blade bit into the flesh across Legolas's thigh, his warm blood welling up from the cut and spreading in a dark stain over the green material covering his thigh. The man pulled back, sneering in satisfaction, "That's just the beginning, murderer!" Legolas inhaled sharply at the new pain. With Nirk having pulled back and refusing to rejoin the fight with his broken arm, and Brigus gloating over the wound, Legolas retreated, taking respite where he could. The new wound would not help him defeat these men and he still had to deal with Jasper and possibly Sirk, if that man regained consciousness. He fixated on the bragging Brigus, and the man's words. "That's just the beginning, murderer!" So Brigus thought he had killed Torel. No wonder the man was in a frenzy. Despite Brigus's foolishness and selfishness, Legolas had seen that Brigus did care about his brother. He had strange ways of showing it, but the connection was there, vague but real, in his twisted, selfish way. Then Brigus was moving back in, and Legolas stepped back. His leg nearly collapsed beneath him. He stumbled, and a powerful kick to his chest sent him tumbling to the ground in the dirt. He gasped, finding it difficult to breathe. Get up! His father's words echoed in his head, as they had when he had been a novice in training. Get up or you are dead! Legolas rolled to his feet, forcing his body to obey, forcing his leg to work, his shoulder to function. He fixed the dark man in his gaze and spoke, his tone that of disbelief. "Murderer? I am no murderer! You are the one who held us captive and were in the process of disgracing a lady!" "You murdered my little brother!" Brigus screamed, pausing in his advance, his rage and grief evident in both his eyes and voice, which came out almost in a sob. "He was a good kid! All he did was speak up for you! He was trying to help you!" The man's voice turned to ice. "And you slit his throat!" Behind Brigus, Legolas saw Jasper was on his feet and moving towards Prem, who was holding his ribs and backing away. Blood seeped through his fingers. But despite the boy's wound and Jasper's advance, Prem had heard what Brigus had said. "I don't believe it," Prem shouted. "The elf didn't do it!" Legolas saw Brigus glance at the boy, a flash of doubt in his eye. But then he shook it off, as Jasper raised his good arm to strike at Prem again. "Leave him be, Jasper! He's not the one who needs a beating!" Brigus turned his gaze back to Legolas, who was starting to piece together what had happened when he and Caeri had escaped last night. He watched the men with wary eyes, and when Brigus advanced, Legolas halted him in his tracks with his words. "Never have I killed any innocent in cold blood! Nor did I kill your brother, Brigus!" he declared. Brigus just stared at him, shaking his head. "Your brother had honor!" Legolas continued. "Unlike you. Unlike these men!" He gestured at Jasper and Nirk. "Jasper slit Torel's throat even as he moved to free us. Your brother did nothing to deserve the death bestowed upon him by that monster. Would that I had killed that vile creature behind you then!" Brigus froze, locking eyes with Legolas. There would be no mistaking the truth in his eyes. Brigus made no move or sound for a long moment, then a new fury burned to life in his eyes. He whirled around, eyes landing on Jasper, but that man, seeing his story unravel, lunged at Prem with his knife. Prem jumped back, avoiding a serious blow. The knife glanced off the arm cradling his chest, making a long, but shallow cut across his forearm. Prem continued to back away from Jasper, fear and pain evident in his hazel eyes. But he was no longer the target, for Brigus had turned on Jasper. "You? You killed Torel? You murderous orc!" He lunged with remarkable speed and began to engage Jasper in a deadly dance, leaving Legolas and Prem standing on opposite sides of the fight, transfixed as the two men dueled. Then Prem shouted, his eyes focused behind Legolas. "Lass!" Legolas's head whirled around, and he found Nirk was no longer cowering near the tree line with his broken arm. Instead, the man had bound the arm with a length of cloth and was moving to attack while Legolas was distracted. With Prem's warning, Legolas managed to dodge the advancing Nirk. His fist made contact with the man's jaw, snapping his head back. Nirk gasped, raised a hand to rub his chin, then he lunged back in, landing a kick to Legolas's wounded thigh. The searing pain almost doubled Legolas over, but he had lived too long, fought too many battles to curl up in defeat here. Instead, the pain lit a fury within him, focused his mind. Everything other than his enemy faded from his sight. Skill from centuries of fighting the dark creatures of Dol Guldur took over. His pain blocked by his determination to live, Legolas attacked on pure instinct, blocking a blow with his left arm, using the impact to spin himself around, and with satisfaction, his knife sank into flesh, plunging deep into Nirk's chest, piercing the man's heart. Even as the man fell, Legolas's vision widened back to the clearing, taking in the scene of Brigus and Jasper raging against one another. His gaze fell to the dead man at his feet, and he lamented that it had come to this. So pointless, the death being handed out here in the cleansed wood. And all for what? Some trinkets the elves might have left behind? Legolas stood, his chest heaving from his exertions and loss of blood. He could feel the drip from the bandage Caeri had tied around him as well as from his leg. Caeri! In the heat of battle, he had forgotten her. His eyes searched the clearing, finding she had managed to pull herself to the fallen tree and was huddled behind it. She was safe for the moment. He looked for Sirk, finding that man still down, showing no signs of regaining consciousness. And Prem still stood transfixed at the life and death struggle in the clearing. Brigus and Jasper landed heavy blows upon each other. They clashed, grunted, the ring of steel as knives contacted. Brigus shirt was drenched in blood from a wound Jasper had landed. Jasper had a new gash on his arm to add to the one Legolas had given him the first day. The men fought on, oblivious to everything but each other. Brigus was younger, in his prime, stronger of the two. But Jasper was lithe and lean and clearly far more experienced. The older man saw an opening and lunged in, knocking both of them to the ground. They sprawled there for a moment, then Jasper pulled himself off, sneering down at the younger man. Legolas just shook his head. Jasper's knife was buried to the hilt in Brigus's chest. Jasper leaned forward, grinning in satisfaction. "You were gonna die before this was over anyway. Just too bad I had to kill both you and your brother before we ever found the treasure…or got to use the girl." Prem cried out at the man's confession and lunged forward. He tackled Jasper to the ground next to Brigus, a fist landing solidly on the man's face. Jasper screamed in rage, striking out madly and Prem went flying back, his head hitting against the rock he had sat against earlier. Then he went still. Jasper stood snarling at the young man, then turned towards Legolas. But to Legolas's surprise, Brigus was not done yet. Somehow, the man had regained his feet behind Jasper and removed the knife from his chest. He reached out, and wrapped an arm around Jasper's chest, pulling the man back against his own. The knife came around and up, deftly slicing the older man's throat. Brigus released the man, who sank to the ground gurgling in the blood pouring from his throat. Fitting, Legolas thought. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and in Brigus's gaze, Legolas saw something he did not think to see: remorse. A moment later, the tall man sank to his knees. His head tilted towards Torel's grave. He reached a hand out towards it. "Forgive me, little brother," he managed to rasp softly as he sank to the ground and breathed his last. Legolas moved to the dark haired man, kneeling down and closing the eyes with a long fingered hand. Sorrow filled the elf's heart at such unnecessary death. Why did such evil abide in the hearts of men? Why did they give in to such hatred and anger? What loss or hurt turned boys into men such as these? But deep down, Legolas knew it was not just the race of Men who were capable of such violent and greedy acts. The elves also had a history that included such deeds. Had not his own grandfather fled Doriath from the sons of Fëanor? All races were capable of such evil if they chose to walk a dark path. Each person has a choice in what they become, their actions define who they are, and each one must live with the consequences. A sudden warning flared in his mind. Legolas spun painfully on his knees into a crouched position. Above him stood Sirk, the man he had knocked unconscious first. The man's hand was descending, a dagger aimed for Legolas's chest. But the blow never landed. The knife fell from loose fingers, and the man collapsed facedown on the ground, a dagger imbedded in the back of his neck, severing his spine. Legolas lifted his eyes to see who had thrown the knife, and found Caeri standing behind the log, her eyes locked on the form of the fallen man. Then she collapsed in a heap. Legolas could not fathom how she had made that throw, until he remembered she had told him her brother had taught her to defend herself and to throw a dagger. She could even hunt with a bow. He limped to her, his heart clenched in his chest as her sobs filled the clearing. He hoped the entire ordeal had not injured her soul beyond healing. Stiffly, he knelt by her side and placed an arm around her. He drew her to his chest and let her weep. Finally, it was over. o — The morning sun shone brightly down on the forest of Eryn Lasgalen, warming the air from the coolness of the late spring night. The light filtered down through the trees, glinting off of deep brown, red and silver coats. Gimli stared ahead, trying to see what Aragorn swore was there. The girl had returned at some point after dawn, urging Aragorn that they needed to hasten. Or so the man said. Gimli walked along as fast as his legs would take him after weeks of riding. In their renewed haste, Móroch had stumbled and fell, banging his right knee on a log. In minutes, the brown horse had begun to favor the foreleg, and Gimli, having spent enough time with the elf and his ways with horses, had dismounted and continued on foot, worried that even without his weight, continuing might injure his horse more. Aragorn had assured him the injury was minor. Gimli chose to walk anyway, taking no chances with his four-legged companion. So, now he walked, following Aragorn on Halruin. Daehul and Móroch followed him obediently, yet snatching as many mouthfuls of grass as they could along the way. The urgency of their errand was felt by all. Daehul eyed Gimli from where he walked alongside Móroch. Gimli gave the horse a pat, and continued placing one foot in front of the other. Gimli was tired. He walked on determinedly, but his eyes kept drifting closed against his will. He shook his head, trying to drive away the weariness. Ahead of him, Aragorn looked more alert, yet he must be just as tired as Gimli as he chose their path through the trees. Gimli sighed. While he trusted the man with his life, he could not help but feel skeptical about what his friend had seen. Aragorn led them onward in the same direction they had traveled since leaving the Halls. The man's description of the child vanishing the night before disturbed Gimli greatly, as did the explanation as to just who that 'child' was. Gimli's eyes began to drift shut again as the thoughts plagued him, bringing him to no conclusion, but lulling him closer to falling asleep on his feet. Something nudged his arm, and Gimli snapped his eyes open, finding large, dark eyes, full of concern, upon him. Daehul stepped in front of him and stopped, lowering his head and nickering softly. Gimli smiled and reached up to scratch the grey head. "You miss the elf, do you? Or are you just making sure I do not fall asleep on my feet?" In answer, the large grey horse knelt before him, turning his head to look at his withers, then back at Gimli expectantly. Gimli chuckled, "Thank you, my friend. I think I will take you up on the offer." He crawled up on the horse's bare back, entwining his fingers in the long silver mane. Then he let his eyes close, relieved at the opportunity to rest. From up ahead came a deep chuckle. Gimli chose to ignore it. To Be Continued… Author's Note: My apologies for the long wait on updates. Life has not been cooperative and then my muse went on hiatus. Sorry if this chapter is a bit rough, but if I don't post it and move on, I'll never get this done! Let me know if you see any inconsistencies or errors! Hoping to get this story finished by new years! Twenty-four The Aftermath Lancaeriel leaned into Lass and wept until she had no more tears. It felt good to be held, like Anthir had held her when their parents had died. Too long had she denied herself such comfort. That had to change. She had to change. She lifted her head and raised her eyes to meet Lass's concerned gaze. He brushed light fingertips over her bruised cheek, over her hair. The tears overflowed again, but this time her tears were those of relief. He examined her injuries, all the while whispering soothing words that calmed her, as her father had done with injured animals. The tone was different, yet familiar, and the sound soothed her wounded spirit. Her tears abated, and she felt safe for the first time since Anthir had died. She opened her eyes to look at Lass again. He gave her a small smile, a teasing light entering his eyes, but his voice was sincere. "I tire of asking this, but are you all right?" A short laugh escaped her, then she groaned and moved a hand to her back. It still hurt. "That is one of the dumbest questions I have ever heard," she countered, then added thoughtfully, "I should not have left the tree." He snorted. "And that is one of the biggest understatements I have ever heard," he retorted. A wave of uncertainty washed over her and her smile faltered. He shook his head. "I understand why you did, and I would have done the same if our circumstances were reversed," he reassured. "However, I think you will be nothing but trouble for me." He held her in a thoughtful gaze. Lancaeriel's breath hitched at his last statement. She bit her lower lip, not certain how to interpret his words. "I am sorry," she told him, blinking as her tears returned, this time of regret. "I do not wish to be a burden. I—." Lass cut off her words with a raised finger. "You did not let me finish. I think you will be nothing but trouble for me, but…" He smiled. "I think I need that trouble. I welcome it. Do not let your grief keep you from being yourself, Caeri." She blinked at the words, surprise filling her. How did he know? He seemed to understand her unspoken question. "I can see it, the darkness of grief in your eyes. But I have also seen other things over the past few days, hints at who you really are underneath that darkness. It is time to find yourself again." "And what of you?" she countered boldly. His words had resonated with a truth she had also seen in him. His eyes widened with surprise at her tone, and she dropped her gaze. "I have also seen darkness in your eyes," she continued, "though I do not know what causes it. It keeps you from your true self as well." She glanced back up at him. Lass startled and stared back at her with what could only be shock. Then he glanced away from her. "That is different. And there is nothing I can do about it. Not yet." "I think you are wrong," she told him. He jerked his gaze back to her again, this time with a look of wary curiosity, but he said nothing about what she had said. Instead he gave her a wry smile. "You saved my life with that throw. Thank you." She wanted to push him, to find out what it was he hid, but she let him change the subject. Whatever his secrets, whatever darkness tainted him, she had no right to know. Not now. Maybe in time, as their friendship grew, he would share it with her. For now, she smiled at his change of subject. "No, thank you. If you had not come back for me…" Her voice faded as the horror of all that had happened caused her heart to race once gain. He took her hand and squeezed it, filling her with reassurance. "When we get to Ithilien, we will work on improving your self defense skills," he told her. "You throw a dagger very well, but there are some things I can teach you that could have helped you in this situation." A mischievous light entered his eye. "And then I think you should study the healing arts. I have a feeling it might come in handy for both of us." He winced and released her hand to touch his wounded thigh. Caeri laughed despite her pain. Her face, head and hip hurt dreadfully, but for once, her heart was light. — o — Legolas eased himself up and winced, his fingers searching out the extent of the cut on his leg. "We should tend to that," Caeri agreed. She attempted to rise, but Legolas stopped her with a hand to her shoulder. "I will see if anything remains of my pack. I always have bandages in it, though it is possible the men used them." He staggered to his feet and stumbled to where the packs had been stacked. His supplies for cleaning wounds was gone, but he found two rolls of cloth. He returned with his pack to the log and dropped onto it, allowing Caeri to poke and prod a bit at the wound, before determining it would need to be cleaned and possibly stitched. But for now, a bandage would help with the bleeding. Caeri had just tied it off when the sound of a groan drew their attention to where Prem lay, beginning to stir. Legolas felt a measure of relief that the young man had not died, despite his part in their circumstances. The young man had been foolish, but his motivations had been for his friend. Now, Prem's life would never be the same. Legolas and Caeri moved to where the young man lay. He was not yet conscious, just restlessly moving and groaning a little. But Legolas was encouraged by the movement and hoped Prem had suffered no lasting injury to his head. He turned Prem's head slightly and ran his fingers over the back of his head, feeling the large lump there. "This boy is going to have a terrible headache," Legolas mumbled. At Caeri's raised brow, he shrugged, then winced at the reminder of the wound in his shoulder. "I have been in enough battles over the years to have had my share of injuries." "You served in the patrols?" she asked, a curious light in her eyes. He nodded. "I have been a warrior most of my life." "And a leader as well." It was not a question. Legolas was not surprised she had surmised as much, so he nodded. "I captained a patrol for many ennin." "And what do you do in Ithilien?" she asked. He blinked, unwilling to reveal himself completely to her, even now. Not yet. He was enjoying just being Lass. "I lead patrols in Ithilien as well, though of a different sort. It is rare to encounter orcs in Ithilien these days, although they do occasionally come down from the Ephel Duath." "If you do not fight, then what do you do?" "We scout out places that still need the healing hands of the elves. Much of Ithilien was tainted. We plant saplings, build retaining walls, protect the wildlife…" He winced at that last. "Well, we try to protect it. Some creatures Men do not understand." She frowned at him. "Men have always hunted for food, even as we do," she pointed out, not understanding. "Are they not allowed to hunt at all?" He smiled. "Of course they hunt for food, and more and more deer and elf return to the forests. And there are hare and red and grey squirrels aplenty." Caeri wrinkled her nose at the last. "They eat the squirrels?" He chuckled, understanding her distaste. "They are not like our black squirrels, but red and grey creatures that grow fat and make a tasty meal. But it is the feladroe that we protect when we can. The Men hunt them for sport and some would see them eradicated. They can be dangerous, yes, but they are beautiful in their own manner and worthy of respect. They do not deserve death." "Lions?" she asked. He nodded with a smile. "Yes. I named them feladroe when I discovered they lived in packs and find shelter in the caves near the mountains. They are incredible creatures, but as predators, must be respected." He paused, then admitted, "They have been known to hunt men." Her face paled at his admission. "Are they evil?" "No, just predators. And they have left us well enough alone. It is the Men who go into their territory that are most at risk, as they are now hunting the same game. Have no fear! We have never seen them near our settlement." Prem stirred once more and lifted a hand to his head as he groaned. Then his eyes fluttered open. "Easy," Legolas told him. "You have taken quite a knock to your head." The young man stared up at them in confusion a moment, then blinked as recognition came to him. "Brigus! Jasper!" He struggled to get up, and Legolas helped him to a sitting position. "All dead," Legolas told Prem. He stared down into the saddened hazel eyes. "Thank you for your help," he told the boy. Prem stared back at Legolas, a trickle of blood from the fight running down his cheek. "There was never any treasure, was there?" He asked, searching Legolas' eyes. Legolas shook his head. "No, there was not. All of this was in vain from the start." Prem nodded and groaned, rubbing his head. "I never wanted the treasure," he told them. "I just didn't want Torel going with these men alone. I tried my hardest to get him to stay home! He could never see the dark side of his brother — but I could. Prem looked over at Brigus lying dead nearby. "I wish he could have seen how wrong he was." Legolas told him, "He did. I could see it in his eyes. He is at peace." — o — Legolas could not stop the young man from burying Brigus, despite his injuries. Prem seemed to feel it a duty to his friend and would see Torel's brother buried beside him, at the least. The other men could be left to the forest. Legolas watched the determined young man for a few moments, before turning his attention back to treating Caeri's wounds. There was not much he could do for her. She was battered and bruised and her head was causing her pain. He feared she might have a cracked rib as she wrapped a hand about her side when she inhaled, but there was nothing he could do for that with what they had with them either. Having done the best he could with what he had, Legolas sat back against the fallen tree and closed his eyes. He breathed in the morning air and delighted in the warm sun kissing his cheeks. The pain of his body slipped away as a song rose in his heart, drowning out the wood around him. His heart cried out as the longing overwhelmed him, without warning, taking advantage of his weakened state. The smell of the forest became the smell of salty water. The slight breeze softly rustling the leaves became the sound of the waves upon the shore. Legolas drew in a ragged breath, and fought it down, refusing to surrender to the torment of the sea. "Lass?" The soft voice brought Legolas' attention back to Caeri who sat beside him, back leaning against the fallen log. The sea faded as the wood came into focus, then he stared into her sea-colored eyes. Strange, to see such eyes among one of their kin. She was a wood-elf with eyes of the sea, a contradiction as well as a mixture of all he loved. He blinked then asked, "How fares Prem?" "He is almost done," she replied, gesturing to where the young man shoveled dirt into the hole containing Brigus. Legolas managed to get to his feet, noting he also possibly had a cracked rib or two, judging by the pain in his side. His eyes fell once more upon the bodies of those he had killed. He wished to leave this place as soon as he could. "I am going to see what is worth taking with us," he told Caeri, and when she offered to help him, he shook his head. "No, rest here. You will need your strength." She did not argue, but sat back against the log, turning her face away from the carnage of the clearing. Legolas rummaged through the packs of the men, and divided rations between two packs as well as two water skins a piece. He did not place much food in the pack he intended to take. He and Caeri could survive from the forest alone, whereas Prem would need the provisions to return to his home in the north of the wood. The packs sorted, he found his weapons and strapped them onto his back. He had missed their familiar weight, but now they rubbed against his wounded shoulder. He contemplated having Caeri carry them, then shoved the thought aside. She might be good with a bow, but she would never be able to draw the bow of Galadriel. He hefted the packs and limped over to where Prem stood staring down at the two graves. "You are a credit to your race," Legolas told Prem. Prem snorted and turned to look back at him. "I ain't nothin special. I couldn't even save my best friend." Legolas placed a hand on the man's arm. "You did the best that anyone could do. It is rare to see a friendship go to such lengths. You have sacrificed much, I think, to be here for your friend. Few would have done what you did. I admire such honorable intentions." Prem flushed, glancing away. Legolas squeezed his arm, then let go, looking up at the placement of the sun. "You need to return to your family. The morning will have passed us by before long. If you start now, you will be home by nightfall the day after tomorrow." Prem looked back at him. "And what about you, Lass? You ain't lookin' so good." Legolas smirked and shook his head. "I have taken many worse wounds in my lifetime. I assure you that I can tend these without aid. It would be best if you were on your way, and we also need to travel. I want to get Caeri away from this place and to the halls as soon as I can manage it. She has endured enough." Prem locked eyes with him, a determined mask hardening his face. "What's your name…and don't tell me that it's 'Lass'. Caeri told me that means 'Leaf' and no mother would name her child after something so silly." The man's declaration brought actually made Legolas laugh, though his reply was soft enough that Caeri would not hear it. "You are right, my mother would not have named me thusly! It was my father. My name actually means 'Green Leaf '. Prem blinked at him, his expression confounded. "If I've learned anything this last week, it's that elves are nothin' like how I imagined them. Should I call you 'Green Leaf' or can I have the privilege of knowing your true name." Prem turned such a look him that Legolas could not refuse him. Glancing surreptitiously over his shoulder at Caeri, Legolas saw her eyes were closed and her breathing was slow and steady. She had fallen asleep while he had sorted the packs. He turned back to Prem and nodded. "I would be honored for you to know my name. I only ask you do not speak it here, for I do not wish to reveal myself to the lady just yet." "I won't tell her," the young man promised, his eyes lighting up like a child who has just been told he could unwrap his begetting day presents early. "My name is Legolas, son of Thranduil. I would be honored to call you friend." Prem's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. He opened and closed his mouth several times then frowned slightly. "Should I bow or something?" Legolas grinned. "No, please do not," he chuckled, eyes shining at the young man. "I have never been one for such formalities. But if you are ever in the vicinity of Ithilien in Gondor, I do expect you to come see me." Prem nodded, then mumbled, "Imagine that. Me, meeting a prince." Legolas gave Prem the pack with provisions, and gave him the simple directions he needed for finding the edge of the wood, and his way home. If the young man watched the sun and only traveled while it was light, he could easily find his way home. He watched Prem walk away, knowing the man's life would never be easy, but that he had learned much. Prem would do well in life. Limping back to Caeri, he deposited the other pack beside her and looked down at the woman sleeping at his feet. She looked peaceful now. Almost girlish. He did not wish to wake her, but they also should be on their way. His shoulder had stopped bleeding, but the gash in his thigh needed cleaning. Both wounds should be sewn, but he had nothing with which to sew it. And cleaning wounds would have to wait until they found water. As much as his body needed sleep, he did not wish to rest here in this place of death. He stooped and reached out a hand to rouse Caeri. Her blue-grey eyes fluttered open and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. Eyes like the sea. What had he gotten himself into by insisting on bringing her to Ithilien? But strangely, as he looked at her, he found her eyes did not speak to him of the sea nor stir the longing that ebbed at the back of his mind. They spoke of trees and creeks, sunny paths and fallen leaves. "What is your name?" Legolas asked, unable to stop the question. "Your real name?" She looked at him in confusion for a moment, before her lips parted in surprise. "I…I thought I had told you. My name is Lancaeriel. What is your—" He cut off her question by offering her a hand up. "Lancaeriel. Named after the sea." He smiled. "It suits you. Come, we must start out if we are to make it to the king's halls. Hopefully we will not have to walk far." Traveling directly, it would take more than a day to reach the halls if he did not stop for rest. But he had hope they would have assistance soon. She frowned at him, then looked about her with surprise. "The moose?" He laughed. "No sign of him yet. But perhaps we will have help soon. Together they limped from the clearing, and Legolas was thankful that with the pain of walking, she had forgotten to ask him his true name. — o — Daehul came to a sudden stop, waking the slumbering dwarf upon his back. Gimli blinked the sleep from his eyes and slowly took in what lay before him. He slipped from the horse's back and came to stand next to Aragorn. Their eyes scanned the small glade, littered with camping gear and the bloodied bodies of three men. Not far away were what appeared to be two hastily dug graves. Aragorn moved into the clearing and examined the nature of the wounds that had killed the men, but Gimli knew without the man speaking. He frowned. "Hmph. Looks like the elf had some fun without us, Aragorn," Gimli observed. "Yes, and not that long ago," the man replied, his eyebrows raising slightly. "These men were killed some time early this morning, no more than four hours ago." Aragorn slipped easily into the role of ranger and healer. "Do you think Legolas is hurt?" Gimli asked, his apprehension coming out in his tone. He hated that. Only the elf could cause him to sound like that! Aragorn moved to study the ground around the clearing, moving slowly as his eyes took in the signs only an experienced tracker could read. "Considering the child told me he was in trouble and to bring healing supplies, I would say yes." Aragorn stooped next to a pool of deep crimson blood that was slightly different from the darker puddles under the men. Gimli stepped closer and noticed the silvery tint to the fluid, and his heart began to beat more rapidly. "Elven blood…" Aragorn looked up at him sharply and Gimli continued, "I've seen the elf bleed often enough to know the difference. That is a lot of blood, Aragorn." Gimli's dark eyes reflected his deep concern for his friend. The man nodded and walked more rapidly through the clearing, eyes sweeping the ground, taking in everything. "That is not all of it either. There is quite a bit of elven blood here. If it is all Legolas', then he could very well be in trouble." Aragorn stooped near a fallen tree and traced the ground where the grass barely indented. "An elf lay here, but not Legolas. Someone smaller. A woman perhaps." Gimli raised his brows at that. "A woman? Do you think the lad has him a lass?" Aragorn snorted. "No. I think he found her here, and was trying to protect her from these men." He searched the ground and followed some signs Gimli could not see to the treeline. Then the man smiled. "They left together, both limping, not trying to hide their trail." He pointed into the woods. "I can track him, Gimli. — o — Legolas and Lancaeriel walked for several hours before they had to stop and rest. He helped Lancaeriel sit under a sprawling oak. She curled up between two large, protruding roots and closed her eyes. She was asleep nearly as soon as she was down. Legolas could hear a stream nearby, and would clean his wounds there as soon as he rested a bit himself. He felt lightheaded and disoriented. He lowered himself to the ground beside Caeri but leaned back against the tree. He would not sleep, only rest a bit and catch his breath. As he sat against the solid trunk of the tree and closed his eyes, once again the wind became the sound of the waves, the smells of the forest changed to the sharp salty brine of the coast. Legolas brought a hand up to his chest as a sharp pain twisted his heart. How easy it would be to lose himself in the longing, now that he was so tired and his body so full of pain. He made half hearted effort to fight it, then gave up, sinking into the song that called to him of green shores and white sand. "Come home," it whispered. "Come home." The crack of a twig breaking caused his eyes to snap open, and the sea retreated, leaving him feeling empty, but relieved. Legolas lifted his head and wearily faced whatever new threat had just revealed itself, but was unsurprised to see the person standing before him. Rani stood watching him, her dress no longer blood splattered. There was something about her that made Legolas pause. Her shining midnight eyes turned to look compassionately at Lancaeriel. "You have done well, young prince. I am proud of you…." Her ethereal voice seemed to float on the air as her eyes met his tired gaze. Legolas blinked. Her words disturbed him. There was something very familiar about her, yet it eluded him. "Who are you?" he asked, determined not to be put off any longer. "Who are you truly?" "You will know…" Legolas groaned audibly, leaning his head back against the tree and narrowing his eyes at the child. Rani's eyes sparkled with mirth as she looked at him. She smiled and ducked her head, hiding behind a curtain of golden silk. The sun slipped lower in the sky, its afternoon rays dancing between the tree boles behind her. The orb momentarily lit her from behind, then Legolas had to look away from its light, blinking a sudden sheen of moisture from his eyes. When he looked back at the child, she was no longer there. In her place was a maiden. Her long silvery-gold hair floated to her waist unbound, and her white gown sparkled in the sunshine. Legolas met her eyes and found them deep blue, full of the light of the stars and wisdom vastly beyond his years. She was ancient, more ancient than any other he had met, and he had known Elrond and Glorfindel of Gondolin. He stared in awe as she smiled, laughing softly. "Yes, young one, today is the day you will know many things." Her voice was light and beautiful. She searched his eyes, smiled at him and waited. Stunned, Legolas took several minutes to find his voice. "Who are you?" Legolas asked again, confusion and wonder filling his eyes and voice. "You still do not know who I am?" she asked, a long-fingered hand gestured to her changed form. "Even now?" For a reason Legolas could not fathom, this lady looked familiar. Not as if he had seen her before, but perhaps knew someone to whom she was related. "What is your name?" he asked, remembering she had told him he would know in time. Her smile grew as laughter filled her eyes. "My name is Rainiriel," she told him, her voice soft as she watched him. He responded in naught but a whisper. "I thought you were only a legend." Rainiriel looked at him knowingly, shaking her head slightly in amused chastisement. "But legend is often founded in truth, is it not?" Legolas smiled. "It is, my lady." To Be Continued… Reviews are highly motivational! Feladroe (plural) – 'cave lions', an invention of my own first seen in Tracking Monsters and Uncharacteristic Fury. Ennin (Plural) – 'long year' or in this case, long years, referring to the elves' counting long years as equaling 144 solar years. Rainiriel – (Rine –n eer – ee – ehl) 'Tearful erratic wandering daughter'. Don't worry, who she is will be revealed in the next chapter.
Chapter Twenty-five
Citadel Minas Tirith Gondor Eldarion paused in the hall at the sound of Glassiel's excited voice. The past few weeks, the girls were constantly begging their mother for a story. It was their way of coping with the absence of their father. He had done the same when he was a child, and their mother, being Elrond's daughter, had a plethora of tales to tell, although she did not tell them in quite in the same manner as his father did. His mother's ballads at bedtime had swept him away and made him feel as if he were in the famed Hall of Fire in Imladris when she spoke, while his father could take him directly to the place and time of the tale and feel what the characters experienced. He missed those tales, but at twenty, he was a bit old to ask his mother to tuck him into bed. Yet, it was only afternoon, and the girls were most likely just missing their father. He found his feet wandering down the hall to his sisters' chamber. "Oh, an ancient story," Merilin's voice chimed in, "from the beginning of the Third Age." He heard the familiar creak of the rocking chair, which sat before the large fireplace that warmed the room, and the sound of Glassiel clapping her hands with glee at her mother's acquiescence. Eldarion peeked around the doorframe as Arwen laughed, her grey eyes twinkling with mirth. "Does that mean you think I am ancient, my darlings?" Glassiel looked at her perplexed. "How old are you, Naneth?" Eldarion revealed himself to his mother by slipping into the doorway and leaning against the door frame to hear her explanation. It was impolite to ask a lady her age, despite the fact their mother looked young, unless one looked into her eyes. He smirked at her. "You look like your father when you do that," she told him. "Eldarion!" both girls squealed. Glassiel lept from where she had sat on her bed and ran to him. He scooped her up in his arms and tickled her as she giggled, then at a look from their mother, deposited his little sister in a heap on her bed. "No fair!" Glassiel said from under her skirts. "When did you get back?" Merilin asked, considering herself too old to act so impulsively, he knew, and yet he could see her wishing she could have done the same. He strode to the other bed and leaned over to kiss Merilin on the forehead. "About an hour ago. I hope father returns soon. I did not realize just how much he has to do every day." "It is good for you to learn," Arwen told him with what he hoped was a proud smile. He was doing his best, but he felt far from adequate for the job. He was too young, too inexperienced and, well, too bored with it all. He would rather be doing drills with the soldiers his age, or riding patrol along the great road leading to Ithilien. Instead he was stuck shadowing the Steward and handling his father's duties while the king was in Mirkwood checking on Legolas. He frowned at the thought and hoped all was well with his father's elven friend. Legolas had been a fixture in his life for as long as he could remember. "Naneth!" Glassiel straightened herself and reminded their mother, "You were going to tell us how old you are!" Arwen turned her attention back to the girls, and Eldarion let thoughts of duty fade as he listened to her speak. "Have I never told you how old I am? Surely you have heard this story many times!" Glassiel pursed her lips tightly into her thinking face, which Eldarion thought made her look like one of the fish in the garden ponds. "No, you never have — at least I have never heard you say how old you are," Glassiel said, sounding much older than her eight years. "Are you older than Lord Legolas," thirteen year old Merilin asked, flipping her long hair over one shoulder. Both girls adored their father's good friend, and despite his youthful appearance, thought him to be quite old, for their father teased Legolas often about how ancient the elf was. Eldarion laughed and sat down on the bed behind Glassiel, pulling her into his lap as he leaned back against the headboard. "Yes, Naneth, tell us," he teased. "Surely you cannot be older than the ancient elf of the Fellowship!" Merilin slipped from her bed to climb in beside them, cuddling up against his side. He put an arm around her, and the three of them looked expectantly at their mother. Arwen looked at her children cuddled up on the small bed and smiled. All their children had dark hair. Glassiel and Eldarion with their father's curls, while Merilin's dark hair flowed straight to her waist. Arwen's smile grew as she locked eyes with Eldarion. She knew her son was baiting her. He knew very well how 'ancient' she was. "I was born not too many years after your uncles, in the year 241 of the Third Age. So, I am more than two thousand eight hundred years old, my children." Arwen laughed inwardly as her girl's eyes grew huge at the thought of their mother being born so long ago. "If you are that old, then how old is Leg'las? He must be very, very old!" Glassiel asked, blue-grey eyes wide in amazement. Arwen laughed, amused that her children thought the princeling to be older, when in fact she was Legolas's senior by more than eight centuries. "You will have to ask 'Leg'las' yourself, when he returns from Eryn Lasgalen," she told them, using Glassiel's pet name for the elf. "I am sure your father will return with the 'ancient' elf before long, then you can pester him with your questions." Glassiel nodded, her dark curls bouncing. "Well…tell us a story that was ancient to you, when you were little. A love story…like Luthien and Beren!" "No!" Merilin gasped. "Please Naneth, I do not want to hear that story again," Merilin begged. "Ada tells it all the time! And it always makes you so sad…" The dark-haired girl bit her lower lip, and for a moment, a sheen of tears glistened in her grey eyes. "But I want to hear a good story, and that one is the best!" Glassiel fumed, glaring at her sister. "And it is Ada's favorite! That is why he tells it all the time." Merilin frowned at her little sister, and Eldarion jumped in as both girls both drew a breath to argue. "Actually…it is only one of Ada's favorite stories. Perhaps, Naneth, you should tell them instead about a mysterious elf maiden." The young man paused for effect, "Tell them the legend of the Olrendis — the Dream Wanderer." Both girls turned to look at her curiously, and Arwen gave her son a grateful smile. "Very well." "Olrendis?" Glassiel asked. "Who is the Dream Wanderer?" Merilin queried. "We have never heard that story. Is it really Ada's favorite?" Arwen sighed before smiling wistfully. "The tale of Luthien and Beren is your Ada's favorite story from history, but the legend of Olrendis is his favorite fable." Arwen paused as she remembered herself as a child, tucked up against her two older brothers much as her children were piled in now. "My father told the tale to my brothers and I long years ago when I was only a child. He did not know if it were a true story or just a legend. The details were vague, for it began long ago, soon after the elves first awakened. Legolas told the story to your Adar when he was just a boy in Imladris. Legolas called her Rainiriel, but I have always heard her called Olrendis, for it was said she appeared and vanished, as if she were only a dream. Is this the tale you wish to hear?" Three heads bobbed in agreement, and Arwen laughed and let the rocking chair slowly begin to rock as she thought for a moment. "Very well… "Long ago, not long after the elves awakened at Cuivienen, Oromë, the great huntsman of the Belain, found them, and was the first to name them the Eldar. He summoned the elves to come with him to Valinor to protect them from the taint of Melkor." "Naneth?" Glassiel interrupted. "I thought this was story about a mysterious maiden. This sounds like a history lesson…" She pouted up at Eldarion as if he had forced an extra lesson on her and cheated her out of a story. "Oh daughter," Arwen told her, "many good tales have their place in history, as does the tale of Luthien and Beren, which you love so much. You do not complain when your Adar includes history in his tales! Now, may I continue?" Glassiel frowned to herself, but nodded. "Now, as I was saying, Oromë summoned the elves on behalf of the Belain, but not all the elves heeded the call. Some refused because they were suspicious of the Lords of the West. Others, because they simply did not wish to leave the shores of the land they called home. "Among the various people of Cuivienen was a young girl, who we shall call Olrendis, for no one knows her true name. Olrendis had a dear friend whom she loved very much. Although they were mere children, they had planned to wed when they came of age, which is not uncommon among my people, but you two do not get such ideas into your heads!" Arwen narrowed her eyes at the girls. Glassiel giggled, but Merilin made a face. "I do not understand why girls like boys so much," she said. "They are silly and say silly things and often smell funny." "Do I smell funny?" Eldarion asked with a mock look of indignation. Merilin sniffed at him, then shook her head. "No, because you have not left the Citadel today. You do when you practice or go to the stable." Eldarion snorted. "I like boys," Glassiel added. "They are fun. They climb trees and get to practice with swords and do archery! Why are we not allowed to do those things, Naneth?" Arwen stared at her daughter in disbelief. "You do get to do those things, child!" "Not without our maids complaining, or the ladies of the court whispering about us! And we are not allowed to handle swords!" Glassiel complained. "Why do you want to swing a sword?" Merilin asked. "That is a man's job!" "Oh good grief." Arwen dropped her head into one hand and looked to her son for help. Eldarion blinked, then said, "Gondor has many different traditions from the elves, and we are of both worlds. But I suspect when you are old enough, Adar will insist you both train with a sword." "But I do not want to train with a sword!" Merilin squeaked in protest. "Nor did I," Arwen stated, "but my brothers insisted upon it and I am glad they did! I can defend myself if need be, even if that is not my chosen path." "Oh," Merilin said, looking satisfied with the answer. "When?" Glassiel asked, her eyes wide. Eldarion shook both girls. "Do you want to talk about future lessons or hear the story?" he asked. "Story!" both girls chimed. "Very well! Where was I?" Arwen asked. "There was a girl who loved a boy and they were going to get married when they grew up," Merilin said in a bored voice. "Yes, except the boy's family chose to follow Oromë!" Arwen told them. Glassiel gasped. "Oh no! Did Olrendis's family stay?" Arwen nodded. "Yes, her family remained by the shores of Cuivienen, while the boy's family followed Oromë, and in her heart, the girl knew she would never again see him, and her heart was broken and she did not think she would ever love another again." "That is sad," Merilin said. "Did she never find another love?" "Uh-uh," Eldarion shushed her. "You are getting ahead of Naneth's tale. Let her continue." "The boy's family was one of the Teleri. Do you remember who they were?" Arwen asked. Merilin nodded. "There was a lot of them," she said. "So many, they had two kings." "That is right!" Arwen agreed. "And this boy's family was of the people of Elwë, who was also called…" She paused, giving the girls a chance to help fill in the details of the story. "Elwë Singollo," Merilin said in a bored voice of one quoting a lesson. "That was his Quenya name, but he was also known as Elu Thingol, which means grey cloak and it was from his name that his people later became known as the Sindar." Eldarion blinked at his sister. "You actually remembered all that?" he asked. "You would not let me leave the library until I did, remember?" she snapped at him. "Yes, but I did not think you would remember it after that day." Arwen decided she did not want to know why her son had forced lessons upon her eldest daughter. "Thingol? You mean the one who built Doriath and was the father of Luthien?" Glassiel asked in an excited voice. Arwen smiled patiently at her daughter's excitement. "Yes, the boy belonged to King Thingol's people and lived in Doriath." "Who was he, Naneth?" Merilin asked, her ire with Eldarion already faded. She might try to pretend she was not interested in the story, but Arwen could see her daughter was entranced. "Was he related to us?" "I do not know. I have never heard the tale give the boy's name. That is one reason why the tale is considered a fable, for no one knows exactly who he was. But it is said he was there when Thingol led his people to Beleriand. And although he had never thought to love again, he did just that. He grew up and fell in love with a maid of Doriath, bound himself to her and had a son. They were very happy, although he never forgot the girl who had first stole his heart as a child." "That makes me want to cry." Merilin sniffed. Arwen sighed as tears slipped down Merilin's face. Merilin always cried during sad tales, and sometimes Arwen felt her daughter's sensitivity was a bit overdone. Perhaps it was just her age. Arwen had seen some of the same in other girls the same age. But Merilin had quite a dramatic flair at times, which is why Arwen tended to avoid being the one to tell the girls stories. Another reason for Aragorn to return soon; he was needed in his role of storyteller. Glassiel rolled her eyes and made a face. Eldarion shifted a miffed Glassiel over and pulled his weeping sister into his arms, calming her almost as easily as Aragorn would have done. He winked at his mother, and she shook her head in exasperation. That young man was too much like his father! "What happened to his first love, Olrendis, the maiden who stayed behind?" Glassiel asked, giving her sister a miffed look then handing her a wadded kerchief from her pocket. "She remained with her family and became one of the Avari. Now, the Avari became forest dwellers, and in time, some joined with the Nandor in Eriador and in later days became known as the Silvan elves." This brought a squeal from Glassiel, who clapped her hands in glee. "Like Leg'las! Leg'las is a wood elf!" Both Arwen and Eldarion laughed at the girl's exuberance over the lord of Ithilien, and even Merilin smiled. Legolas was quite dear to all of them, but Glassiel had claimed him as hers from the time she could entangle a tiny hand in his long golden hair. Her toddler's nickname for him had stuck, though she was the only one allowed to use it in his presence. And the elven prince returned her feelings, if his indulgence of the girl was any measure of his attachment. It amused Arwen and Aragorn to no end, to see their dignified and noble friend reduced to childish games, and even Gimli's teasing did not deter the elf from playing with the child. Such times were the only ones in which Legolas seemed to be his old self, before the War and the affliction of the Sea Longing. She shook off her concern for Legolas and instead explained about Legolas's kin. "Yes, the Silvan elves became known as wood elves and in time came to dwell in the great forest near Erebor. It was these elves that Legolas's grandfather, Oropher, was named lord over when he moved from Doriath to Greenwood the Great after the War of Wrath. But we are getting ahead of the story… "Olrendis grew up, and for many years she pined for her lost friend and love. But then in the forest, she met another and he won her affections, and they were bound. They had a daughter and it is said Olrendis spent many hours braiding grass chains with flowers for her daughter to wear in her hair — a tradition still practiced among the Silvan elves. I remember Legolas's mother made them for her children." "What happened to Leg'las's mother, Naneth?" Glassiel asked, her never ending curiosity getting the best of her. Arwen hesitated. She remembered getting word of the queen's death when Legolas had only been an adolescent, but she did not think Glassiel needed to know the details. "That is Legolas's story to tell," Eldarion answered for her. "And it is not a happy one. Some things are best left unsaid. Olrendis was happy for a time, was she not, Naneth?"" Arwen gave her son a smile of gratitude. Just like his father in so many ways. "Yes, those days were happy ones. Olrendis had her family, and to her delight, word came of her long lost friend who she had never thought to see or hear from again. A wandering group of Avari had traveled as far as Beleriand and brought news that many of the Teleri had not gone West, but settled there in Doriath, her lost love among them. She learned of his wife and child and was happy he had also found love." Merilin sighed and blinked dreamy eyes at her. That child was a romantic like her father. And Glassiel reminded her of the stories she had heard of Estel as a child. Did any of her children take after her at all? She did not remember ever being so curious, mischievous or melodramatic as the girls, and Eldarion was the spitting image of Aragorn in both appearance and temperament, except for the lack of beard on his face. "Long years, Olrendis's heart was full of joy, but then tragedy struck. Their people were a wandering folk, and as they journeyed, they were attacked by orcs. Olrendis managed to escape with her granddaughter, but her husband, her daughter's husband and her daughter were all killed." "No!" Merilin cried out. "No, that is not fair!" "Life is not always fair, little one," Arwen reminded her. "Not even Beren and Luthien's story was really fair," Glassiel stated with a haughty air. Eldarion snorted. "Beren and Luthien were returned to life from the dead to marry. I would say that makes up for a lot of what they suffered." "Hmmm." Glassiel sulked. "Please tell me, Naneth, that Olrendis's story has a happy ending too?" Merilin asked. "Oh child," Arwen soothed. "Not all stories have a happy ending, but this one is far from complete. Shall I continue?" The girl nodded. "Olrendis would have wasted from her grief if not for her granddaughter, who had not yet reached her majority. The two comforted one another, but having lost so much, Olrendis found she wished to see her old friend again, to meet his family, to perhaps find refuge there with her granddaughter. But it was not to be. Merilin sat with a shocked look on her face. "Did she die?" she whispered. "No," Arwen assured her. "Her granddaughter met a young man and fell in love. His people, some of their scattered kindred, were migrating back East, across the mountains to the Great Forest they had once lived in long ago. But Olrendis could not bring herself to return there without her husband and daughter. Although her heart had changed and her love for her dead husband was strong, she wished to see her old friend again. That desire was so strong, it drove her to part with those who became the Silvan elves that settled in the forest that became Greenwood the Great. With a heavy heart, she kissed her granddaughter goodbye, and instead sought out Doriath." "So, Olrendis's granddaughter became one of Lord Legolas's people?" Merilin asked. She had calmed down but was completely enthralled by the story. "She and her husband settled in Greenwood the Great, where many Silvan elves still dwelled. This was before King Oropher traveled there, or so the legend says. But the legend does not tell us their names, so we do not know to whom they are related, or if they truly existed at all." Arwen smiled as her children remembered that this was not true history like the tale of Luthien and Beren. This was just a legend, though a very intriguing one. Glassiel bit her lip as she pondered what they had heard so far. "So what happened to Olrendis? And why does she have that name? I do not think she is mysterious at all. She just has a sad story." "Let Naneth finish the tale, Glassiel. She is almost to that part," Eldarion added, and the girls looked at their mother expectantly. Arwen continued, "Olrendis traveled to Doriath, to meet again with her old friend. And she was welcomed there, and her joy at being reunited with her old friend was great. Olrendis was welcomed by his family. His son was grown and had a grown son of his own. For a time she was happy. "That means something bad is going to happen again," Glassiel said, almost gleefully. "You want something bad to happen?" Merilin asked her with shock. "You do not wish Olrendis to find happiness?" "Well," Glassiel said thoughtfully, "it is just that when bad things happen, the story gets exciting and people do extraordinary things! Like Luthien and Beren!" Merilin groaned and Arwen was tempted to join her. She would have to tell her husband to avoid that story for a while with their youngest. "While bad things can give people the opportunity act heroically," Arwen stated with narrowed eyes on her youngest, "we should not wish it upon them." "No Naneth," Glassiel murmured repentantly, ducking her head. "As it turns out, bad things were happening in many places at that time., The First Age was dark with many battles fought against Morgoth and his subjects. Many elves and Men lost their lives, but in Doriath, the worst loss of life was not at the hands of Morgoth's hosts, but due to greed and the terrible oath sworn by the sons of Fëanor." Merilin turned pale. "She was there when they destroyed Doriath," she correctly guessed. "Yes," Arwen said. "During the first sack of Doriath, when the dwarves killed Thingol and stole the necklace containing the Silmaril, Olrendis's friend was killed protecting his family. Olrendis herself was grievously injured trying to help her friend's son and grandson escape." "This is where it gets really interesting," Eldarion told the girls, who were pale and shaking. Arwen would have stopped the tale then and there at the sight of her daughters, if not for the memory of Aragorn relating the tale of Luthien and Beren, a story far more intense than the one she told now. "Near death, Olrendis cried out to Ilúvatar to help her — to help her save her friend's family and to reunite her with her own. She wished only to protect those she loved, for her heart was pure and her intentions noble, and Ilúvatar heard her cry. He sent Elbereth to her, who washed her in starlight and strengthened her spirit. "Her fëa then seemed to consume her body, removing her need for it, and yet she was not dead nor houseless nor truly without form. She had simply faded, vanishing from the sight of mortals and immortals alike, unless she wished to be seen." Merilin wrinkled her nose doubtfully. "That seems a little far fetched," she said. "No more than Luthien turning herself into a bad and Beren into a werewolf!" Glassiel reminded her. "It is possible, isn't it Naneth?" The girl turned hopeful eyes on Arwen. Arwen sighed. "I have found just about anything is possible, my children. But I would remind you, this is a legend, passed on person to person and not always told the same. The story I was told is a bit different from the one Legolas tells, even the woman's name. So, if this did happen, it is possible the story we have now is not exactly how it all came to be, or some things were added or others lost." She wondered if the same was true of the tale of Luthien and Beren, but did not say such. "All I know is that it was said Olrendis lingered in this world, having the ability to move unseen by all unless she so desired to be seen, and to take the form she chose. She eventually returned to the Great Wood, and it is said that to those who encountered her strange and unusual appearances that she was naught but a vision or a dream. Thus, she became Olrendis, the Dream Wanderer, showing herself only in times of great need." "But what did she do?" Merilin asked. "Did she fight and protect her family and the family of her lost friend?" "It is said she warned of danger, for she is wise above all the Avari, because of her years and the favor granted her by Ilúvatar and the Belain. Some believed she guided elves at the Belain's direction, though most believe she acted on her own, helping only her descendants or those of her childhood friend. "She was usually seen as a golden-haired maiden, often singing softly in a strange language as she wove grass chains for those she helped. It is said that the light of the stars filled her eyes and she appeared as almost one with them, for Varda used starlight when she bolstered Olrendis, and by the power of the stars, granted upon the lady her gift." The children sat staring at her, not a word spoken for the past several minutes. Even Eldarion looked stunned. "My father once told me that during the Last Alliance at the end of the Second Age, he heard of a captain from the Greenwood who had sustained mortal wounds. This captain said he had seen a golden-haired child warning King Oropher to stay with Gil-galad's forces. No one else saw her, and the captain died of his wounds. If indeed, the king was warned, he did not heed it, and Oropher fell in that battle, along with one of his grandsons, and two thirds of the elves that came with him." "Lord Legolas had a brother who fought in the Last Alliance?" Merilin asked. "Yes, but his father never spoke of him after that terrible tragedy. That battle left Thranduil king of the wood elves, and he returned to their realm changed by the loss of so many of their people. My father said that after that battle, no one ever saw Olrendis again. He thought perhaps with that battle, the last of her kin and those she watched over had passed to Mandos, and that she followed them there — if she ever existed at all." To Be Continued… Reviews are very motivational! And I'm really interested in what readers think of this legend! Ilúvatar – Eru, the One, creator of all Belain – Sindarin word for the Valar Elbereth – Sindarin name for Varda, maker of the stars Fëa – elven word for spirit Author's Note: To the best of my ability, I have retold the history of Middle-earth in this chapter as it relates to my original character, Olrendis. I have taken some liberties, but remember, this story is a legend or fable. While many elements are straight from the History of Middle-earth and the Silmarillion, it is a retelling and some elements may have been exaggerated or changed, but the core of the story is true to my universe, and I believe it works within the boundaries Tolkien gave us. If you are interested in the history of the elves, please read the Silmarillion by JRR Tolkien. I have only touched the surface in this tale. The story of Olrendis and her childhood love and any association with canon characters are my own creation as well as her petition to the Belain and their bestowing of her 'gift'. However, Olrendis' gift has a strong basis in something I stumbled across when reading Morgoth's Ring, concerning the process of 'Lingering'. I have taken some liberties with this concept…but here is what Tolkien said about it: "As ages passed the dominance of their fëar ever increased, 'consuming' their bodies. The end of this process is their 'fading', as Men have called it; for the body becomes at last, as it were, a mere memory held by the fëa; and that end has already been achieved in many regions of Middle-earth… …the Lingerers, whose bodily forms may no longer be seen by us mortals, or seen only dimly and fitfully…. They do not seek to converse with Men at all, save maybe rarely, either for the doing of some good, or because they perceive in a Man's spirit some love of things ancient and fair. Then they may reveal to him their form (through his mind working outwardly, maybe), and he will behold them in their beauty. Of such he may have no fear, though he may feel awe of them. - excerpts taken from 'Laws and Customs of the Eldar' in Volume ten of the History of Middle Earth - Morgoth's Ring, The Later Silmarillion Part One by Chistopher Tolkien
Legolas stared curiously at the elf-woman standing over him. So, this was Olrendis, known to most who knew the tale as the Dream Wanderer, although his mother had used her name, Rainiriel, when she told him and his siblings the legend as she weaved grass chains to place on their hair.
Now that he knew who she was, he was confused, for according to the story his mother had told him, Rainiriel only helped her descendants or those of the elf from which she had been parted so long ago…and he had never heard of her appearing in the form of a child. Rainiriel smiled at him soothingly, as if sensing his confusion, and explained. "Yes, I only appear to those whom I will and may choose which form in which to do so. Your love of children made you receptive to a child, so I chose that form to come to you. I appeared the same with Oropher, although for different reasons — but he chose not to heed my warning." Her countenance fell. Legolas stared at her. Why would she have appeared to Oropher? His mind began to race, distracting him from the fatigue and hurts of his body. Could he be related to this woman? It was the only explanation he could come up with, and yet it was disconcerting to think he was of some importance to a legend from a story which his mother had told him as a child. Rainiriel continued, "My purpose in this life is to aid my family — those I love. It is not my place to interfere with your lives, only offer guidance." "Our lives?" Legolas asked. It was all becoming clear to him now. She had told him that he was the reason she was alone in the wood. And she had appeared to his grandfather as well.
The lady knelt next to him and caressed his cheek. "Yes, your life, for you are the last of both lines." Both lines?
Legolas did not know how that could be. His mother's family was Silvan, had lived in the Greenwood long years before Oropher had come. His grandfather was from Doriath, descended from Thingol's brother, Elmo. He had never considered the legend to be concerning his own family, nor could he figure out how it could be so.
"I do not understand, how coul—" She placed a finger to his lips and smiled, her midnight eyes wandering over his face in a loving caress. "Shhh…I will tell you, dear one." Rainiriel stroked Legolas's hair from his face as she spoke, and he could not help but lean into the touch, so like his mother's.
"You know the legend, how my first love, Bronor, settled in Doriath and had a son before he was killed."
Legolas nodded.
"Rinthon was his name, and he fell in love with the daughter of Elmo, Thingol's brother."
That explained a lot, Legolas thought. Because Elmo's grandson was—
"Rinthon had a son — a tall determined elf, a natural leader among his people, though stubborn as the dwarves he despised. After the War of Wrath, he left Doriath with some of the Sindar and traveled here." She smiled. Legolas drew in a long breath as he listened to the tale. He never had guessed the tale was true, that his mother's bedtime stories had been telling him the history of his own family!
"Before Oropher left Doriath, he married and had a son with golden hair and emerald green eyes. Oropher named him Thranduil. So you see, you are of the line that I protect. But that is not all."
Legolas knew now. As she spoke, he had seen the similarities, and certain things had come back to him. The grass chains—
Rani's grass chains had started a nagging in him, a familiarity that he had not been able to place. Now he knew.
"My granddaughter, Lamlenniel, moved from Eriador with her husband and her daughter. They settled here in the Greenwood and lived peacefully for some time. My granddaughter's daughter was beautiful, kind-hearted and she loved to sing. They named her Laerwen. She fell in love with Oropher's son and they married. Thranduil and Laerwen unknowingly bound our families together. And you, dear Legolas, are the last of our family here in Arda."
Rainiriel paused to wipe several tears that had slipped from his eyes. "Then you are my mother's great-grandmother?" he asked, amazed at how he fit into the legend told him so long ago. But even as his mind was captivated, and he longed to ask why she had not revealed herself before now, his body ached for sleep, exhausted from days of no rest and weakened by injury. He forced his eyes to stay open to hear what Rainiriel had to say to him.
Rainiriel nodded, continuing to stroke his hair. "Yes, and I have come to aid you. You must hold on to hope, Legolas, and listen to those who would help you, before you destroy yourself." Legolas yawned, then frowned., "Destroy myself? How?"
Her fingers played over his hair and soothed him in the same manner his mother's once had. It was how his mother had put him to sleep as a child.
"I will only tell you to listen to those closest to you, hear them and the wisdom they offer. They see much of that which harms you." She paused and looked down at Lancaeriel. "And befriend this one, Legolas. Listen to her and cherish her friendship, for you need her as much as she needs you — for in the end, it is she who will save you." Now that was confusing.
"Save me from what?" Legolas asked, trying to understand all that he had learned this day.
But the lack of rest, the pain and loss of blood, the call of the sea took their toll. His eyes drifted closed as Rainiriel continued her soothing stroking of his face and hair. Faintly, he thought he heard her say, "Grief…" but he was not certain she had spoken at all.
As Legolas sank from consciousness, the last thing he remembered was the caress on his face, and a soft kiss to his brow. As the youngest prince of Eryn Lasgalen sank into a healing sleep leaning against a tall beech, Rainiriel stood and looked fondly down at him. "Farewell, dear one. Until we meet again…"
With those final words, she faded from sight.
— o —
Aragorn strode through the woods with determination. The trail was clear. Legolas was not trying to hide his passing. That troubled him, given the evidence of death in that clearing. His heart pounded with his exertions, but despite his fatigue from their hard journey north and the steady travel searching for Legolas, he pressed onwards, continuing to follow the traces of Legolas's passing — a trail of footprints and blood. The elf had begun to stumble more and more as he made his way due southeast in a direct line towards Thranduil's empty halls.
Glancing behind him, Aragorn watched Gimli walk between Daesûl and Moroch, reaching up from time to time to stroke one of the animals or speak softly to them. The sight lightened Aragorn's heart somewhat. In the past, the dwarf had complained about the need for horses and accused Legolas of being flighty for speaking to them, and yet, here he was, carrying on a conversation with the animals! What would Legolas think of such a thing, or was he aware that Gimli had come to love the beasts? It was a discussion Aragorn would enjoy, but first, he had to find the elf. And said elf had better be in a condition to hold such a conversation! Overhead, a bird burst into song, and Aragorn's eyes turned to look for it. He caught sight of the small golden finch just before it spread its wings and flew off. The forest that had been known as Mirkwood only a few decades prior — a short time in the life of a forest — now hummed with life, healed by the elves of the evil that had once dwelt in it. The trees were healthy and the spring air was full of the smell of growing things.
He paused at a place where it looked as if Legolas had stumbled hard. The elf was struggling at this point, from loss of blood or exertion from the load he carried, Aragorn was unsure, but he worried for his friend. Soon. They must find him soon. He followed the trail around a tree, then jerked to a stop.
Their search was over.
Legolas sat against a tall beech tree, the side of his face leaning against the great trunk and his clothing a mess of blood. Lying on the ground next to him appeared to be a wounded elf woman, although Aragorn could not ascertain whether the blood upon her clothing was hers or belonged to his wounded friend.
He released a breath and strode over to the elf, squatting down on his heels before Legolas. Behind him, he heard the horses stop, and Gimli's murmured curse, but the dwarf did not join him. Daethul whickered softly.
Aragorn reached out and placed a hand on the elf's shoulder. Legolas's eyelids flickered, then opened, slowly.
The elf stared at him for a moment, then frowned. His voice was hoarse as he asked, "Am I in trouble?" In uncharacteristic fashion, Legolas's lips did not so much as quirk in a smile. He stared wearily at Aragorn.
Aragorn nodded slowly, then let his eyes travel over the blood stained clothing. "You look terrible." His comment brought a soft smile to Legolas's face. The elf straightened a bit before replying. "I believe that is my line." "Not this time." Aragorn smiled back before his eyes dropped to the woman lying beside his friend.
Legolas sobered as he looked at the woman, and said, "Can you help her? Please?"
"Of course, my friend," Aragorn answered, concerned. "But who is she?" Legolas met his eyes and smiled again, his eyes lighting. "A friend." FOOTNOTES
A/N - The elf captain Elrond heard about at the Last Alliance was the only other elf to see the golden haired child speaking to King Oropher. No one from the Greenwood saw her or heard about her, thus Rainiriel appearing in the guise of a child would not have been known in Legolas' home, and in fact, the legend was little known anywhere. Legolas heard it from his mother, for she was of Silvan descent.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Legolas could not fathom how the King of Gondor had managed to get away from his kingdom long enough to travel to Eryn Lasgalen, let alone find an elf in the forest. It had taken Legolas by surprise to open his eyes and find Aragorn crouched before him. It did not matter how the Man had managed it. He was here, and relief washed over him, for now he had the help he needed to get Caeri to his father's halls, given he had not felt the presence of the "moose" since the night before last. Once in the caverns he had known all his life, they could rest and recover before beginning the journey south to Ithilien. Aragorn looked at him curiously for a moment, most likely still pondering the presence of Caeri here with him, but that story could be told later. The man glanced over his shoulder, then said without looking at Legolas, "I will get my supplies. And I think I will allow others to address whether or not you are in trouble." Legolas mouth went dry. He had not expected either of his friends here, but he should not be surprised. And now he would have to face an irate dwarf — one that he had failed to tell about the elves sailing and that he had neglected to see for almost a year, as well as explain his current state. Gimli would be sure to confront him on all this and more. It would not be pleasant. A stab of fear sent icy tendrils through him as he realized just how his inconsiderate behavior had affected his friend, for nothing else would have stayed the dwarf from his side given Legolas'a condition. Had he gone too far? Pushed Gimli away and risked his friendship with his selfish behavior? Would anything ever be the same between them again? Legolas closed his eyes and felt them sting with remorse. He was a fool, a complete fool for treating someone so dear to him in such a manner. Legolas paused and waited for a reaction from the dwarf. He expected the dwarf to deliver a tirade about his foolishness, the idiocy of his actions. Yet, Gimli stood silent, not even looking at him, and that, above all else, stunned and pained Legolas. He had sworn to never hurt his friend like this again, and yet, he had. Yes, he was a great fool.
Still the dwarf remained silent. "Will you say nothing of my idiocy?" Gimli hesitated and Legolas could see him struggling with emotion. But the dwarf shook himself and continued, slipping into banter to cover the awkwardness of his deep feelings, though it was obvious to Legolas that the dwarf's heart was not in the jest. "And I'm sure you will not repeat such 'idiocy' as you call it, for fear of my deciding to shave off that precious hair of yours with my ax." At Aragorn's sharp intake of breath, Legolas met his gaze and shook his head. "No, not that, but she's been beaten." Aragorn released a sigh and nodded, moving over to Caeri's side to examine her where she lay. Legolas closed his eyes again, and let his friends' comforting presence soothe him as he rocked on the waves of song that drifted on a salty breeze through the trees.
Lancaeriel woke to the feel of hands on her body. Panic gripped her, and for a moment she feared they had once again been recaptured by those vile men. But— they had escaped, had they not? Yet, there were hands on her, and they were not the hands of an elf. Her tunic was pushed up to expose the skin of her back, and Lancaeriel stiffened and the movement ceased, though the hands did not release her tunic. Her eyes flew open, and she pulled away from whoever was touching her, although her struggle to do so was weak with her lack of strength from their ordeal. As she struggled to scramble back from the hands, her eyes came to rest on a dark haired man beside her, and she screamed, her eyes frantically searching for Lass. Lancaeriel felt skeptical, but allowed herself to relax against Lass. She kept wary eyes on the human kneeling a few feet from her, and as her breathing steadied, she found the strength to ask, "Have we been recaptured?"
"In the past, I have told him that many times. In recent years, his wife has made sure he is sufficiently clean. But it would seem being in the wild again has only encouraged him to neglect himself once more." Lancaeriel lips twitched at that. Lass it was turning out had a sense of humor that she found she enjoyed. But her body was weary and her head ached. She could make no sense of why these two strangers had come in search of Lass. So instead of thinking, she listened as the Man continued his explanation and ignored the eyes of the dwarf which still pierced her.
Lass must have told him about her fall. Her face and head hurt more at the moment, but she hissed as he lightly pressed against what she could only presume was a large bruise. After several minutes, he proclaimed he did not think anything was broken and moved on to look at her face and head, studying her eyes and feeling the bones in her face.
Then Lass began to tell them about his last encounter with Raini, or as she had suspected, Rainiriel, a legend of the forest.
In a moment of clarity, it made sense, and she brought a hand to her head as she closed her eyes. She had heard of these three. They had been part of the Fellowship that had guarded the Halfling who had defeated the evil and restored peace to their world.
Her voice was rushed, yet deceptively calm. That surprised her. She opened her eyes to find Prince Legolas grinning at her. She smiled. Author's Note: Thanks for reading. The story is winding down, but there are still a few loose threads to weave into the story. I hope to have them posted soon.
Twenty-eight Aragorn pronounced Lancaeriel would be fine with some rest and time. He was fairly certain she had a concussion. She had deep bruising on her lower back that would be sore for many days. Her nose might be broken, although with the swelling, it was hard to tell for sure. Thankfully, it was not displaced and should heal on its own, as would the cracked cheekbone. Overall, for an elf, those injuries were not too worrisome. Legolas on the other hand… Aragorn turned to blood covered prince and asked him outright, "How bad?" "Do you have needle and thread?" Legolas asked, unnecessarily. The elf knew Aragorn never travelled without such items. But he nodded, having ascertained Legolas was not quite as well as he made himself out to be. "Always," he remarked. Legolas nodded. "Good. You are going to need them. I have knife wounds in my shoulder and thigh. I am fairly certain my left ankle is swollen, for it feels stiff." He glanced down at himself. "And possibly a cracked rib or three, and various other less pressing wounds I cannot be bothered to name at present." His eyes slipped closed, a sign Aragorn did not like in either elf, but given Legolas's description of the ordeal both elves had suffered, it was not surprising. Gimli snorted. "That is all?" "Aye," Legolas answered softly, drifting in a manner Aragorn and Gimli knew far too well. On a good day, the sea longing haunted their friend. And today was not a good day by any means, not judging by the amount of blood it appeared Legolas had lost. "Let him rest, Gimli. The sleep will be good for him." The dwarf nodded, then went to their packs, pulling out various items, including two blankets. Aragorn watched with amusement as one blanket was gently tucked around Lancaeriel, who slept peacefully amid the fallen leaves of the forest floor. The other Gimli wrapped around Legolas, once Aragorn had stripped the elf of his filthy clothes. Aragorn wrinkled his nose. "For once, I am not the dirtiest one. Burn those!" Gimli's brows rose. "And then what will the lad wear? Cannot have him parading through the wood naked, now can we?" He grinned maliciously and inclined his head at Lancaeriel. "Not with a woman with us!" Aragorn snorted in amusement. Legolas, were he awake, would be mortified at the statement. "He can borrow my spare set until we reach the halls. He will have sufficient clothing there." "Well, he certainly cannot borrow mine." Aragorn smiled, but heard the tension in the dwarf's voice. Gimli was making an effort to sound normal, but falling short. "He will be fine, Gimli." Gimli harrumphed, but did not argue.
— Legolas roused as Aragorn tied off what he hoped was the last stitch. He had slept through most of Aragorn's ministrations, only flinching every so often from the poke of the sharp needle. He groaned, then frowned, realizing he sat naked with naught but a blanket about himself. "Where are my clothes?" "Burned them," Gimli said cheerfully. At Legolas's glare, Gimli pointed to Aragorn. "He told me to do it!" His glare turned on the man. "There was no saving them, Legolas. Covered in blood and ripped to shreds." Aragorn handed Legolas his spare set. Legolas wrinkled his nose but took them, sitting a moment and trying to figure out how to put them on without moving. He had no wish to move for at least a week! "Need help?" Aragorn's request was genuine. In truth, Legolas could use a hand, but he would never ask for it nor accept it. He shook his head, cast a glance at where Lancaeriel still slept, then somehow managed to dress beneath the blanket. Gimli chuckled at him, but to the dwarf's credit, kept his comments to himself. Legolas was pulling on his last boot when he felt the eyes upon them. His head jerked up to the north, his eyes peering into the forest. "What is it?" Gimli asked, moving closer, his fingers twitching towards an axe hanging from his belt. "Moose," Legolas said, a slow smile spreading his lips. "Moose?" Aragorn asked, frowning. "I have never seen a moose in these woods, though I heard they once had been plentiful." Legolas just shook his head. His friends would not understand and he had no desire to enlighten them. "Lancaeriel," Legolas called, then reached over to rouse her. She winced and lifted fingers to touch her swollen face, but managed to scramble into a sitting position. "What is it?" she asked. "Is it time to leave?" "Yes, and look who has come to take you!" And with that, Legolas pointed, as two horses stepped cautiously into view. "Took you long enough, my friends," he told them. It was the horses he had sensed trailing them since shortly after the ordeal with the men had begun. Lancaeriel gasped. "Naurun! Dinnif!" She struggled to get to her feet, but Aragorn held her back with a hand to her shoulder. "Nay, lady. We shall fetch them. Save your strength for the ride." Aragorn went for the two horses, speaking to them and urging them to come rest with Halruin, Moroch and Daehul. "But—" Gimli frowned, looking from the horses then back to Legolas. "You said moose!" Legolas smiled as Lancaeriel began to laugh. She, at least, understood the joke.
— o — Gimli hesitated before the carved wooden door of the bedchamber. It had taken much less time to reach the Halls than it had taken he and Aragorn to find Legolas. The elf had set a direct course, and they had arrived about the same time the following day. Despite stopping to sleep a few hours the night before, all of them were exhausted. Gimli had managed to sleep a bit of the way on Moroch's back, a trick he had learned riding behind Legolas years ago. He was still tired, yet someone needed to look after the two elves. Having had the least amount of rest, Aragorn would be sound asleep for a good while yet. At least if I have anything to say about it, Gimli thought. The two elves had also found some respite while riding, but the horses' movements had jarred cracked ribs and painful wounds, making it difficult. Yet Legolas had insisted they press on to the Halls and there rest. When they had arrived, the elf had found some fresh clothing for Lancaeriel to wear and with a little encouragement, the woman had slipped into Anoriel's bed and gone to sleep. She had looked like she needed it. Gimli and Aragorn had seen Legolas to bed next, and then he and the King had discussed hunting later in the day to provide some meat for a meal. Then Aragorn had taken himself off to Thranduil's rooms, something Gimli found amusing, and Gimli had gone to check on the elves once last time before getting some rest himself. Which was why he was here. He pushed open the door and peeked inside. Lancaeriel slept with closed eyes, her mahogany hair spread over the pillow. Gimli stared at the sleeping woman for a few moments and decided that once the swelling had left her face, she would be quite pretty — though none would ever compare to the Lady Galadriel in his eyes. Lancaeriel rested now in comfort and was on her way to recovery from her injuries. At least the physical ones. Gimli gritted his teeth. No woman should have to endure the week she had just survived. And yet, he was also annoyed with the woman. From what he understood from Legolas's tale the day before, the woman's own foolishness had led her to the predicament, along with Legolas. Oh, Legolas had not said it in those terms outright, but Gimli could hear it between what the elf actually said. He turned from the bed to look at Legolas, who was sprawled in a chair beside the bed, his head propped up on his hand. The elf was asleep, eyes also closed, and Gimli shook his head in frustration. Blasted elf! He should be in bed himself. The fool. Both of them! What did that signify? It was hard to see Legolas in such a weakened state, though Gimli had felt relief at the elf's confession and heartfelt apology. Rare were the times they caused each other such grief. And I will not let him cause me any more! Gimli determined. Legolas squinted up at Gimli with a look of disdain. "What?" "I have no idea how you possibly survived without me," Gimli stated and pointed at the door. Legolas raised his hands in a placating manner. "Alright! Alright, I will go to bed. In fact, I might not get up for a week!" The elf eased himself upright and limped towards the door. Gimli settled himself into a comfortable position with a smile on his face. The elf might not be interested in marrying, but Gimli knew he would get great enjoyment out of tormenting the elf about it. She blinked. "All right." "I do not appreciate the foolishness of others putting my friends in danger. Why were you here in these woods alone?" Lancaeriel paled, stiffened, then her cheeks turned pink. She dropped her eyes. "You do not need to lecture me on my stupidity," she told him. "Well do I know the danger I put myself and Lass— ah, Legolas into by refusing to leave. It grieves me terribly that he was harmed on my behalf. It was all my fault! I know this!" Her words had built in intensity as she spoke, and Gimli heard in them a self loathing that he did not like. "Well, that is enough of that, lass." Her gaze snapped to his with a look of surprise. "I do not know why you remained, although judging on your reaction it was for foolish and sentimental reasons that only an elf would understand. And while I am not pleased my friend was injured—" "Lord Gimli," she interrupted, "you cannot know how much I regret what my actions have caused." She had dropped her eyes again. "Yes, I hear that in your voice. But lass, I will not allow you to take the blame for the actions of others. What happened to you this past week was not your fault." She gasped, then looked up at him in confusion. "What?" "I was curious as to why you were here alone in the wood. Legolas never came right out and said why, and you do not need to tell me, for I am certain it is as I have already said, elvish sentimentality and foolishness such as what kept that fool friend of mine alone here in the wood after all had left him!" He sucked in a breath. "I just wanted to make certain you understood that such foolishness will not be tolerated in the future, but it would seem you have already come to this conclusion on your own?" She nodded, still looking at him with bewilderment. "But here is the thing, lassie; although your foolishness may have put you in a circumstance better avoided by using good sense, it does not make you responsible for the actions of those Men!" She blinked. He pointed a finger at her with each word he spoke for emphasis. "Not. Your. Fault." "It is not?" "No. Not what the Men did. Only that you acted in a silly manner and now you have learned from such and will not repeat it again. Yes?" "Yes?" she repeated, looking thoroughly baffled. "Good." And he let it go and changed the subject. "Now, if you and I are to be friends, and we shall because I happen to like you," he smiled at her. "Then you shall call me Gimli and stop with this 'Lord'ing business. I am no lord of yours and Mahal help me if ever an elf pledges fealty to me!" She stared at him a long moment with a look of utter disbelief, then her lips began to twitch and a small smile won against her fight to keep a straight face. "Very well, Gimli. I do believe I like you as well, though I had never heard dwarves were so long winded!" "Ha!" Gimli laughed. "Then you know nothing of dwarves, lady!" Lancaeriel frowned at him. "Why must I call you Gimli, but all three of you insist on calling me 'lady' when I am just a lowly Silvan elf?" "Because it is enjoyable to watch your reaction when we use the title, lady." He grinned at her, and then they both laughed. Thus was an ease settled between them that they were able to speak easily, although Gimli did most of the talking. He did not mind. He would learn more about her as she felt comfortable telling him, but for now, he told her about the Nine Walkers and the Quest of the Ring as well as the rocky start of his and Legolas's friendship. He spoke with great passion of his home in Aglarond and his beautiful caverns that had been honored by the visits of kings and nobles from all over Middle-earth. He even described the great gates to the city of Minas Tirith that the dwarves had built and which he himself had designed. That was when Lancaeriel pinned him with a sharp look that startled him. But Legolas was a prince among his people and prided himself on his strength and abilities. His vulnerability to the sea longing was a great blow to the elf's pride and though his friends thought no less of him for it — indeed those who knew of it admired his ability to resist it — Legolas felt lessened and was discomfited by it. And so he did not speak of it unless pressed. The door to the bedroom was suddenly thrown open, and Aragorn stood there, agitated and breathing hard. Of all the stupid things he had ever done! The elf was a severely weakened state and Gimli had just sent him off to bed…alone. The sea was not merciful when Legolas was completely well…but now? Gimli cursed again.
"Legolas!" Author's Note: Only about four more chapters to go! I'd love to hear from my readers if you have the time to drop me a review. Thanks for enjoying the journey with me.
Twenty-nine Legolas was lost. Anguish filled him…surged within him like the waves of the sea. He cried out and tried to twist away from the agonizing waters that dragged him downwards. And all the while, the sweet music surrounded him, caressed him, lured him — first gentle and compelling, then booming loud, strong and insistent. Part of him longed to give into that call, even while a deeper part of him resisted. He fought to get his feet on the sands beneath him, but the waves knocked him down and the more he struggled, the stronger and more wild the song became, filling him and drowning him in its insistence he heed it. That was when he knew he was going to lose the battle. He was too tired, too weak, too lost to combat it — not alone, without help. He wanted to give in to it, needed to let it have him, and yet something would not let him sink into the harmony of the water's song. He was anchored to this shore, even while he was being swept into the song and dreams of the Sea. He could not see what it was that held him, but he knew deep down that it was important and he must not let that tie be severed. He must not let the song lure him into giving up his hold on Ennor. Not yet. He cried out, reaching for that anchor, but it was too far away, and he could not quite grasp the strength he needed, the something that would make his resistance easier. What was it? He could not remember, and that caused him to panic. He could not forget! That one truth he held to with everything he had. He knew he could not forget what held him, succored him against the lure of the music. He struggled to bring it to his mind, for it was what held him here, kept him against the call that summoned. He reached for the rope tying him to the anchor in his soul, and upon touching it, grasped it with all he had. Estel. Gimli. He remembered them, and knew he could never forget them again. He had sworn, and to that oath he would hold until he had nothing left to give. Regrettably, he realized that he neared that point. His strength was failing him. His grip on the rope weakening. It was as if nothing pulled back… There. A faint sound hummed behind the music of the waves. A familiar voice? But it was so soft he could not be certain. He thought he heard it again, a thrum of frantic concern. He fought to pull himself back to a place of safety from the ebb and flow of the waves. He could push back the tide if he only fought hard enough, if he could find solid footing on which to stand. But beneath him there was only the water's song, and he was sinking into it, unable to reach for help. The soft thrum disappeared from the chords of the song, and he found himself with to support himself, no force to push the song back. He had failed.
His grip slipped on the rope of memory, and Legolas cried out, using the last of his strength to find something, anything to cling to—but found nothing. There was no one there!
He was sinking, the music swirling round him as the waves crashed over him again and again. He was lost… alone… terrified! This dream was his worst nightmare and never before had it affected him so cruelly. It swelled to a crescendo, but even as it built into another wave, promising peace, he knew it lied in part. He would be missing something important if he heeded that call. "Do not give in!" Legolas heard that deep bass override the sweet trilling of the sea's call, and he turned towards the familiar sound, trying to see thru the endless saltwater the source of that voice. His hand was seized in a vise-like grip, reinforcing his hold, and he felt himself being pulled from the sea's grasp. With his last vestige of strength, he held tight to that reassuring grip and felt himself pulled up from the drowning waves and the swirling music to find himself standing on solid ground once more. The sea roared, but retreated.
"Are you alright, lad?" "Gimli?" Relief poured over Legolas like a cascade of fresh water, and he locked his gaze with the eyes of his friend, allowing the dwarf's presence to anchor him. Neither spoke a word until Legolas had managed to catch his breath. "Thank you, my friend," Legolas finally breathed in a hoarse voice. Legolas fought for control of the tears that still slid down his cheeks. He did not like his friend seeing him in such a state, but could only be grateful that Gimli had come to his aid. It had been a long time since he had endured such a fit, and this was the worst he had ever endured. He doubted anyone but Gimli could have brought him back. A slight frown marked the space between his eyes as Legolas remembered the other voice that had called to him. He turned towards the door to find Aragorn standing there with an anxious expression. He smiled.
— o — Aragorn stood in the doorway and watched as Gimli rushed towards Legolas. But before Gimli made it to Legolas's side, the elf went completely still. Aragorn stiffened, a cold shudder running down his spine, and he found himself unable to move. He watched as Gimli sat on the bed and grasped Legolas's hand. "Come on back now," Gimli repeated. "I have you." Then the elf opened his eyes, and Aragorn felt himself able to breathe again. His own eyes slipped shut in relief. Legolas had frightened him with this fit, and a sharp ache remained in his chest, even now, though Gimli had roused him. Aragorn had not been able to reach him, despite their long friendship. He did not like that.
Aragorn shook his head at the prideful creature and stepped towards his friend, remembering days long past when it had been he who had sat next to the bed, watching anxiously for signs his friend would be well. A distressing thought stopped his feet. It seemed it was no longer his place to be the one sitting at the elf's side, and the anguish such a thought brought was overpowering. Aragorn walked to the bed and smiled back at his friend. Legolas held out a hand, and Aragorn clasped it. No words were needed.
"What is happening?" The feminine voice stopped him in his tracks and he sensed Legolas and Gimli stiffen. Aragorn glanced up to see Lancaeriel standing unsteadily in the doorway. She had wrapped a blanket about the nightshift she wore, but leaned against the doorframe, her weakness still apparent. Her determination was admirable. Aragorn walked to her side. "You should sit," he told her, then helped her towards the chair Gimli vacated for her. "Thank you, King Elessar."
"You really do not want to know the answer to that, my lady," Legolas told her. Gimli snorted and Aragorn chuckled. To Be Continued…
Author's note: The next chapter is almost completed and I will be posting again very soon. Thank you to those still reading! I appreciate the comments! They make my day.
Thirty Lancaeriel sat back gingerly in the chair beside the bed, and gratefully accepted the pillow Prince Legolas handed her to put behind her back. Her body still ached everywhere, and her hip especially was sore. "You should not be out of bed," he told her. "And you should not be thrashing about in yours!" Lancaeriel scolded him back. Her emotions swirled with confusion and concern, and she did not like not knowing what had happened to him. She had noted the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled appearance when she had peered in the doorway after hobbling down the hallway to his room. His cries had unnerved her. Even now, he looked unsettled. "What happened?" she demanded and was dismayed when his eyes dropped to the rumpled coverlet. She glanced to both Aragorn and Gimli, but neither male would look her in the eye. They would not tell her what was happening to him. It frightened her. Silence filled the room for several moments before Aragorn moved, taking out some clean bandages. She looked back at Lass— Prince Legolas she reminded herself, and felt her fear intensify. Was he more badly hurt than she had suspected? Were they misleading her? Would she lose him too? She averted her eyes as Aragorn removed the prince's shirt and tended the shoulder wound, which he seemed to have opened with his thrashing. She let her gaze roam over the chamber, her eyes settling first on a silver circlet sitting upon a bureau and then the symbol of the royal house Eryn Lasgalen on a tapestry hanging on the wall. The silence from all three males, coupled with the reminders of Lass's true identity, caused her to realize the enormity of what she had just done. How dare she speak to her prince in such a demanding manner! Who was she to demand anything of her prince? Horror at her ill manners set her heart to racing even as she suddenly felt cold all over. She felt ashamed, and confused, and terribly tired. Everything was a muddle and she did not know how to act or what to say. The comfort she had felt prior to finding out she had been rescued by the Prince of Eryn Lagalen had fled and in its place left her feeling inadequate and uncertain. When the king had come into her chambers with his frantic words about the prince, she had not thought of Legolas in regard to his status, though she had referred to him as such. She had only felt tremendous concern for 'Lass', who had saved her and befriended her. It did not matter that both Gimli and the King of Gondor had treated her kindly and insisted on her calling them by name. For some strange reason, she had found it easy to accept them being who they were. But Lass being Prince Legolas? She really did wish to smack him, while at the same time wanted to crawl under the bed and hide from him and herself. She glanced at Legolas, who winced as Aragorn dabbed something on his wound. This was her prince! And she had treated him most disrespectfully, she realized. She could not be so informal with him. Not now that she knew who he was. Lancaeriel felt her eyes tear up, and she was most annoyed with herself for the emotional display. She closed her eyes tight, but could not stop the tears from leaking out and slipping down her cheeks. It was all too much — everything that had happened, all the revelations, the wounds both internal and physical. She needed a good cry, she realized, but she wished she could have it in private, rather than here. The touch of gentle fingers on her cheek startled her, and she gasped and opened her eyes to see those now familiar bright grey eyes watching her with concern. He had removed his touch, as if he feared he had hurt her injured cheek. "Lancaeriel?" "I am sorry, my lord," she breathed. "I should not have spoken to you that way." He frowned and withdrew his fingers. Lancaeriel started to reach out to him, as if she could grasp onto him and return everything to what it had been when he was just Lass. But he was not, and the more she came to terms with the realization of who he really was felt as a shock. This was the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen and the Lord of Asgarnen! She jerked her fingers back, clasped her hands in her lap and bit her lip, not knowing what to do or say. Her cheeks burned. He watched her a moment, then sighed and turned tired eyes to look at Aragorn, who had just finished bandaging his shoulder and was moving the blankets to look at his leg. "Can this wait?" he asked. The man hesitated a moment, then nodded. His eyes next made contact with Gimli's, and Lancaeriel saw something unspoken pass between them. The dwarf frowned, but without being asked, moved towards the door. "I think I will catch up on some of that sleep I missed while looking for you, lad. If you need something, just yell. I am sure Aragorn would be happy to get it for you." Prince Legolas raised a brow, but the dwarf turned his gaze to the man. "Do not leave him alone!" he ordered, and without another word, Gimli stomped out the door. It seemed to Lancaeriel that the dwarf's words both amused and annoyed the prince. In other circumstances, she would have laughed out loud at such a comment, but these were not other circumstances and she was at a loss. She sat still, waiting, for what she was uncertain. "Could you give us a few minutes, Estel? I think what I need to say should be kept between the lady and myself." Lancaeriel trembled at those words. Aragorn nodded slowly, giving her a look she could not interpret. "Just call when you need me again." Then he was gone, and Lancaeriel was left alone with the prince. Prince Legolas looked fondly after the man a moment, a smile on his lips. Then he turned to look at Lancaeriel, and his smile faded and was replaced with a stern look. Lancaeriel felt herself squirm, quaking internally with trepidation. What would he say to her? When he did speak, despite the weariness that shown plainly on his face, his voice was that of royalty who expected to be obeyed without question. "Now, you and I are going to have a chat, and I do not wish to ever visit the topic again. Do you understand?" Lancaeriel swallowed and blinked the reforming tears from her eyes. Despite the tightness in her throat, she managed to squeak out a meek, "Yes, my lord."
— o — Legolas felt awkward. Everything about this situation was awkward. For one, he was propped up in his bed — something he rarely used as he preferred to take his rest among the trees. He was tired and ached in his whole body and he hated such weakness. Then there was the sea longing, which he did not wish to speak of or explain. And finally, Lancaeriel seemed to be intimidated by his title, although he had thought at her initial reaction, she would accept him as he was. He pressed the fingers of one hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes closed a moment. He heard her suck in a breath, as if to ask something, but she never did. Silence greeted him. He dropped his hand and looked at her. She was twisting her fingers in her lap, as if afraid to look him in the eye. He did not like that. He had invested too much of himself over the past week, and he wanted her friendship. He had seen glimpses of who she really was beneath her pain, and he wanted to know that person more. "Caeri," he said finally. She looked up at the nickname she had given him when they first met, surprise in her eyes. "Why do you insist on such formality between us, where before it did not exist?" Legolas asked, watching her eyes as he waited for her to respond. Lancaeriel bit her bottom lip and dropped her eyes back to her hands. "Before I did not know who you were, my lord, or I would have shown proper respect." Legolas raked a hand through his loose hair in irritation and reached over to still her fidgeting fingers. She glanced up at him, and he held her eyes. "If I required such formality, would I not have revealed myself earlier? Treated you differently?" His question paused her, and he removed his hand, watching the confusion register in her eyes, though she did not answer. "Do you know why I did not tell you who I was?" She shook her head, her teeth still toying with her lip. But the uncertainty in her gaze was slowly being replaced by curiosity. She cocked her head slightly to one side, a gesture she had used during their many talks late at night over the last week as she pondered what he had asked. "Ah, there you are." Legolas smiled at her. "For a moment, I feared you had become someone else." She blinked in confusion, and he gave her a small smile of reassurance. "You have not been acting like yourself, my lady, with all this 'my lord' nonsense." "But…" He shook his head, and she closed her mouth. "Caeri, I did not tell you who I was when we met, not only to protect my identity from the men, but because I also did not wish you to act in this manner. I wanted you to know me for who I am, not my title. I have learned over the years that my title hinders others from getting to know me, or prevents them from treating me like they would anyone else!" Legolas's voice grew louder as the irritation rose within him. He remembered the many times he had been excluded because others were intimidated by him, the years it took to win over the members of his patrol as friends rather than subordinates, and the loneliness that often accompanied being a prince. He longed for understanding. For her to just accept him as he was. Drawing in a deep breath, he forced a smile. "I must insist that you cease this 'my lord' nonsense, and keep in mind who I am." Legolas watched the confused frown cross Lancaeriel's face and his smile grew to a grin. "Lass, remember? I have not changed simply because you now know my real name and titles. There is a time and place for showing proper respect, it is not in a relaxed setting among friends. Then I am just Legolas. Or Lass, if you prefer." She sat digesting all that he had said for several minutes without comment, Then she blinked as if coming to a realization. Her eyes began to shine as her lips began to twitch. "You want me to fuss at you!" It was not quite a question. "Yes!" Legolas laughed. "Well...not exactly. I want us to continue being as we were before you learned of my title. I wish to be your friend. After all, I will be the only one you know in Ithilien, at least until you let yourself befriend others." Lancaeriel studied him for a minute, and the look in her tired eyes caused Legolas to feel uneasy. There was something in her gaze that stirred a hint of anxiety within him. As if she had come to a decision and were about to deliver an ultimatum. "I would be honored to be your friend…on one condition." Her words were firm, her gaze unwavering. Legolas raised a brow, unable to shake his apprehensive feeling. "You put conditions on friendship?" "Yes," she countered without pause. "For you ask for something you do not easily give in return. If we are to be friends, then you must expect me to treat you as you would treat me. And that includes insisting upon your sharing your burdens, instead of hiding them." She directed a challenging look at him, and Legolas knew it was now up to him. Lancaeriel would be his friend, but only if it went both ways. And should friendship be anything else? He could not expect her to let him reach out to her, if he did not allow her to reach back. His pride rejected her offer, but his heart leapt at the thought of having such a friend. Over the long years of his life, he had found that friends such as this were few. Aragorn and Gimli were two, but he often went months without seeing either, and as he had proven to himself and them, he did not always confide in them. Tathar was another, but Tathar did not always understand him, and the sea longing was one of those things. His sister had sailed West with his family, and Arwen meddled too much. Eowyn was another person with whom he could share confidences. The Shieldmaiden was a kindred spirit in many ways, but he had never confided in her or Faramir about the sea longing. It was too personal, too…elvish. Legolas found himself nodding in agreement before he had even consciously decided to accept. He gazed into her eyes and froze. The sea… Her eyes are like the sea. He could see it within her gaze and braced himself for the haunting song and ache that would surely assault him. But it did not come. Instead of the pain, in her eyes he found a hint of peace, a small piece of that for which he longed, yet it soothed rather than stung. He relaxed. "What would you know?" he asked, finding it would not be difficult to share his burden with her. "The darkness in your eyes…" she hesitated. "What happened, earlier?" Her face was so open, so caring, that Legolas found himself explaining without thought. "The sea… What you have seen in my eyes is the sea longing. I heard the gulls upon the shore at Pelargir many years ago, and the song of the sea filled my heart. It calls to me always, pulling at me, luring me West." He took a breath and gave her a determined look. "Yet I will remain, for it is not my time to sail. But sometimes, especially if I am weakened, as I am now…" Legolas shook his head slightly and lowered his eyes. "It is not something I speak of easily." He found it difficult to speak of his need for help. He dropped his gaze to his lap. "Sometimes it takes me, and I need someone to pull me back. There are only a few who can manage it…when the longing takes hold." His voice ended in a whisper and he was horrified to find he was shaking. His strength was fading and he was beginning to lose control. So he was surprised when a weight settled on the bed beside him. Hesitantly, she reached up to brush the hair back from his face. He looked up into her compassionate eyes. There was a form of understanding there. Perhaps she, who had lost so much, could understand. "I am sorry you suffer so," Lancaeriel told him. "If you will let me, I would help you." Her fingers tucked stray strands of his hair behind his ears. "If I can," she added, dropping her hands to the coverlet. Legolas nodded wordlessly. She meant it, as a friend. There was no artifice in her. She studied him a few moments, and he gave her a small smile. Then to his surprise, she turned and settled beside him, her head lowering to rest on his uninjured shoulder. It was a gesture some might see as romantic in nature, and yet Legolas knew it was not. It was simply her way of acknowledging she would accept him for who he was and allow a sense of intimacy befitting the friendship they had started. She trusted him. Nothing more, nothing less. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, unaware that for the moment, the sea's call had faded to only the faintest whisper.
— Aragorn found them a few minutes later, both sound asleep. He smiled and shook his head in disbelief at the sight. One would think these two had known each other for years, rather than a short week. He moved to the bedside, lifted Lancaeriel and carried her back to her own bed. She did not stir as he settled her under her blankets. He watched her thoughtfully for a few minutes, then left. He walked back to Legolas's room and checked his friend's leg. Legolas did not move, and the bandage would be fine until the elf woke. Aragorn sat in the chair beside his slumbering friend, who he noted, now rested peacefully. "I fear you are in for much teasing, my friend." Aragorn whispered. "Arwen will be set to marry you off for sure." He grinned to himself, knowing Legolas would not stand for any matchmaking. Still… He wondered what the future would hold. Whatever happened, the pretty Lancaeriel would turn a few heads, and her apparent close friendship with the Lord of Asgarnen was sure to make some ladies green with envy. Oh yes, he would enjoy watching how the future progressed! To Be Continued…
Thirty-one
Legolas took a bundle from Lancaeriel and secured it onto her bay pack horse, Dinnif. "Is that everything?" he asked, turning to where she stood staring at the talan she had called home. Her head dipped in what could barely be called a nod. He waited, knowing the pain she endured. He had felt it himself when he had packed his own belongings and left the Halls. How long had he stood on the bridge just staring at the gates? They had rested five days, allowing their wounds to heal and rebuilding their strength. Legolas had also needed to pack the things he wished to take with him to Asgarnen. He had sent the bulk of his belongings with his family into the West, but there had been some things, such as his circlet, the tapestry of his family crest and some other reminders of his family that he wished to have. These he had packed on Thinnen, Daehul's silvery grey dam. He would bring her to Asgarnen as well, for she had many years left and he hoped to breed her to one of Eomer's stallions. Once he had cleaned out his rooms, they had departed the Halls and come to Lancaeriel's village for her belongings. And now, he waited for Lancaeriel, as she had waited for him when he lingered on the bridge. She stood staring at the talan only a few more minutes before she turned, visibly ripping her eyes from the sight of her home. Without looking at him, she asked in a small voice, "Are we ready to head out then?" She tilted her head down so that her mahogany hair fell around her face, hiding what Legolas suspected were tears. He understood. He was not sure he was ready to say goodbye either. But how much more difficult for her it must be. She was leaving the only home she had known to travel to a strange land, where he would be the only one she knew. He moved closer to her and said, "I do not think I will ever be ready, but leave we must. I will miss this wood…but it will live forever in my heart." He lifted a hand to brush her hair behind her ears, and then wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks. "In time, Caeri, Ithilien will be home, but perhaps we can travel back—" "No," she whispered, lifting her head stubbornly. Blinking back the tears, she spoke with conviction. "It is time to say goodbye. Once we leave, this wood will no longer be the same. In but a short time, there will be no memory of the elves who called it home. The world is changing, and our wood with it. I would remember it as it is now, full of memory and the trees whispering my name." The corners of Legolas's mouth quirked upwards at her courage, but it was a sad smile, for she was right. It was time to go. Part of his heart would always be here under the boughs of Eryn Lasgalen — the wood of green leaves — for a single Greenleaf would always call this place home, though he be forever uprooted from it. Their gazes collided, the melancholy filling both understood by the other. They shared a poignant smile and then both mounted, urging their horses towards the man and dwarf waiting nearby.
— o — Gimli spent much of the trip south through the forest watching Lancaeriel. He was a people watcher, or so Legolas had said once. Whatever the elf wished to call his observations did not stop Gimli from doing it. It was a good skill to have. Many had been the time Aragorn or Eomer had called upon him for his opinion on a certain person, knowing he absorbed details others missed. And he was seeing some details now that he had not seen in the time they had spent in the Elvenking's halls while the elves recovered from their ordeal. Lancaeriel's eyes were wide, her head moving in almost a twitchy manner as she turned this way and that to see everything as they passed south towards the Old Forest road. She reminded him of a wild creature set free after a short time in captivity. "You look as if you have never seen this part of the wood before," he told her. "I have not," she replied. When he expressed surprise, she explained. "I have never travelled more than a few leagues from the village in which I was born. When I was young, my father took me with him gathering and hunting, but even then, we stayed north of the king's halls. This part of the wood was not safe for us, except since the Peace." She dropped her gaze to her horse's mane. "And I have not had a chance to see it, until now." She raised her face and gazed up into the boughs above them with a wistful smile. "I am glad I get to see and speak with them now, even if it is only in passing." She trailed her fingers through the overhanging branches as they passed, murmuring words Gimli could not understand. She seemed even more fascinated by the trees than Legolas, which he found hard to believe — at first. Gimli had thought he knew elves, having a close association with Legolas over the past thirty or so years. He had noticed the differences between Legolas's people and those of Rivendell, for certain, but he had not seen such among the wood-elves themselves. But then, he really had not developed any friendships with true wood-elves, he realized. His closest associations were with Legolas or Tathar, Legolas's Lord Warden, whose father had been an adviser to Thranduil as well as Oropher. Ferlim had also come from Doriath, and like Thranduil had married a Silvan woman. Tathar was of mixed blood, as was Legolas. And so were most of those who had come with Legolas to begin the colony in Ithilien, he realized. Those were the elves he knew, and had always considered wood-elves. They had an affinity for nature and a love of the trees and plants. Gimli had always just assumed the only difference was in their coloring, varying from golden-haired like Legolas, to dark brown like Tathar. Such differences were not uncommon in his own people. But over the course of the several days it took them to travel south to the mountains, he discovered Lancaeriel was different. Not just in her mahogany hair, but also in her blue-green eyes. He had seen gems that color in the Blue Mountains, but no elf he had met before had such eyes as hers. Like the sea, he thought, concerned at first, but her gaze did not seem to arouse the sea longing inside Legolas. If anything, he seemed less inclined to slip into that dazed glassy-eyed state with her beside him. Odd, but Gimli had learned elves were odd by nature and accepted it. "I have never seen an elf with eyes the color of Lancaeriel's before, Legolas," Gimli mentioned one evening as they were making camp. "Is it common among the wood-elves?" Legolas paused and thought about his question a moment. "I would not say common, but not rare either. My mother was Silvan, but she had grey eyes, as is common. My father always said I have her eyes." He smiled. "But I have seen such eyes before, mostly in the villages to the north of the Halls. You do not see such a color in Imladris or among my father's people. Usually, their eyes are blue or sometimes grey." "So how did Thranduil end up with green eyes, then?" Gimli asked, remembering the piercing stare that had burned through him on more than one occasion in the early years after he and Legolas had befriended one another. Legolas tilted his head with a puzzled expression. "I am not certain. The only other person I have seen with eyes that color, at least among my people, was my grandfather, and I know that only from paintings of him." He grinned suddenly. "That is a question I must ask him one day." Gimli grunted, and rolled out his bedroll. Lancaeriel stood not far away, having settled her horses for the night. She had one hand on the trunk of an old, gnarled oak, the fingers of her other hand caressing the branches of a sapling growing up between the roots. Then she stepped away and walked from tree to tree, touching each, murmuring, occasionally laughing softly. He had not seen even Legolas act in such a manner. Usually the elf would perch in a single tree, and often sing softly to himself, if he was not gazing off into the distance. He would think perhaps the difference lay in the sea longing having affected his friend, but he had seen Tathar do much the same. Gimli could hear the trees murmuring himself. All dwarves could hear plant speech, but unlike the speech of rock and stone, he could not understand it. He jumped when the weight of a hand landed on his shoulder and he turned to see Legolas watching him. "She is a wood-elf, elvellon," Legolas said. "So are you," Gimli shot back. But Legolas shook his head. "No, only half. She has a better understanding of this forest than I ever shall. And it responds to her in a way it does not to me." Gimli blinked at him, then shook his head. "Bah! You elves are all strange." Then he stomped off to help Aragorn with the fire and their dinner. Lancaeriel did not speak much with them those first days of their travel. While Gimli, Legolas and Aragorn conversed as they rode, she held back, seeming almost shy. There were times she would open her mouth as if to add something, but then would close it and glance away. But Gimli did not miss the shine of interest in her gaze as they spoke of their time apart the past year. He wished she would also speak, tell them of her life, her family, but she remained for the most part quiet, though she did laugh a time or two when he and Legolas baited one another. She would just shake her head at their banter, as if seeing right through the degrading insults to the great affection he and the elf held for one another. But she refrained from joining them. It did not take many days for her silence to wear at Gimli. He wanted to know her better. Needed to know her better, if she was going to be keeping close company with Legolas, regardless of whether such association were of a romantic nature or not. And he could see that for now, it certainly was not, and for that he was grateful, though he did not linger on such thoughts. But Lancaeriel merely listened and observed, and Gimli grew impatient. Legolas had told him little of Lancaeriel's past, but Gimli had not expected him to do so. His elven friend would not betray a confidence. What little Gimli had learned from the small snatches of information she shared, as well as observing her over the course of days, made him wonder if Lancaeriel waged a war within herself. It seemed to him that there were deep hurts within her, but he had also seen her desire to break free of those. Gimli had seen enough glimpses of the woman behind the quiet shell to know there was much more to her than her silent façade. He wished she would just open up and join in their conversations and jesting, but she held back. Well, he would not tolerate that! Had they not agreed to be friends? He would let her have her quiet time for now, but once they reached the mountains, if she had not begun to speak more, he would take matters into his own hands. Even Gimli had to admit an appreciation for the beauty of the ancient forest when they reached the mountains. He had seen it before, but the sight always caused him stop and stare at the flowering trees upon the slopes. They were in full bloom, dotting the view with splashes of pink, white, yellow and even dark red, like a sprinkling of jewels across the green folds of the earth, where they crossed the eastern foothills. They did not speak much amongst themselves as they crossed the lower slopes. The mountains were where the wood-elves had come to make their new home, but Gimli so no sign of them as they passed, and guessed the Silvan folk had settled further to the west, in the actual mountains. Even Legolas was quiet now, his eyes searching, as did Lancaeriel's. The two rode side by side, speaking softly between themselves. Gimli watched them with both interest and trepidation. Aragorn's gaze also focused often on the two elves, the man's expression thoughtful. They shared a look, but continued on without commenting. At the Old Forest Road, they turned west towards the Misty Mountains and the River Anduin. And along the path, Gimli decided he had had enough of the silence. He would break that woman out of her shell if he could. And he did it by baiting Legolas and Aragorn into heated debates as they rode. As he had suspected, Lancaeriel listened and watched them with wide eyes, but she did not join in their discussion. So, at the height of the argument, he turned to her and asked directly for her thoughts. The first time he did that, she blinked and merely opened and closed her mouth before shaking her head. But Gimli kept pressing her. At first, she tried to avoid the argument or to stay neutral, not wishing to take sides in their heated debates. But Gimli was tenacious and hammered away at the wall she had built around herself. And it worked. Cracks formed. She began to laugh at them from time to time, and before many days passed, to his surprise, she teamed up with him against Aragorn or Legolas, leaving them muttering in agitation about stubborn dwarves and elven females. So by the time they reached the edge of Eryn Lasgalen, and Lacaeriel beheld the Anduin for the first time, she had begun taking part in the conversations without Gimli's needing to drive her to it. Gimli felt quite pleased with his devious ploy, and thought he had gotten away with it, until Legolas pulled him aside. "Thank you, Gimli." He raised a brow in confusion. "For what?" Legolas smiled. "For drawing Lancaeriel out of her shyness and helping her. I fear I have been at a loss to do so myself, but you have managed it well." Gimli waved his hand as if waving aside such a suggestion. "Only been arguing with you two like we always do." "Sure you have," Legolas agreed with a smile. They turned south alongside the river, towards Rohan, and by the time they reached the Gladden Fields, Lancaeriel had begun to tease them all. Gimli found he enjoyed her wit, and the more he came to know her, he began to see how she and Legolas complimented one another in temperament. She had shared a little of her past with them, telling of the death of her family. She had let them see some of the grief, and watched as Legolas was able to draw her back from it. In turn, Lancaeriel somehow soothed the sea longing that haunted Legolas. Gimli was not certain how she did that, but remembered Legolas's words from early in their journey about the wood-elves ties to the forest. Gimli had certainly seen the difference between she and Legolas in that regard, and he wondered if it was that stronger tie to the forest that countered the sea longing in Legolas, or if he was just over thinking it all due to spending too much time riding through a bunch of look alike trees. What Gimli did not expect was the jealousy that reared up inside him at the friendship Legolas and Lancaeriel had formed. Gimli was not used to sharing the elf on their travels, not even with Aragorn, and the discovery was unsettling. But he pushed it aside, for he could see that she would be a great asset to Legolas once the elf was back in Asgarnen and far from the close friends who helped anchor him in Arda. Gimli would not have to worry so much about him with her near him. And that thought soothed the jealousy. Besides, he genuinely liked the elf woman. After traveling for ten days, they forded the River Anduin not far from where it was joined by the River Limlight. The plains of Rohan and the Wold lay before them, the endless sea of grass being tossed like waves in the perpetual wind. They would travel from here to Edoras, where Gimli would leave them and head home to Aglarond. Din would be worried about him, and there was no telling what chaos Blákári had managed in his absence. Legolas, Aragorn and Lancaeriel would continue east from Edoras to Minas Tirith, then the two elves would go on from there to Ithilien and Asgarnen — Legolas's colony. Lancaeriel and Aragorn rode behind them, side by side, speaking of the king's childhood in Imladris. Gimli rode beside Legolas, keeping a close eye on his friend, having seen in the past how the wind upon the grass could affect the elf. Legolas's eyes even now were taking on that distant, glassy gaze. Gimli grumbled under his breath in irritation then slowed his horse, positioning Moroch directly behind Legolas and Daehul. Legolas did not notice he had fallen behind. The elf's eyes were still fixed on the waving grasses of the plains. Gimli waited a few minutes before calling out. "Can you not get that mule of yours to move any faster, elf? He is hindering Moroch's pace!" As Gimli spoke, he urged the brown pony to push against the big grey's rump. Daehul snorted and crow hopped in annoyance, nearly unseating his rider. Legolas turned annoyed eyes towards him. "With all the open space around us, must you ride precisely at my back? Go around, Gimli, and cease upsetting Daehul!" Gimli narrowed his eyes at the elf. "Harrumph! It was you who swerved in front of me. If that beast cannot maintain anything above a snail's pace, then perhaps you should move him out of the way!" Legolas's spine stiffened, and Gimli fought desperately not to grin as the elf's pride bristled at the insult to his horse. "Snail's pace? As if that short-legged creature you ride could even keep up with Daehul! We will see whose horse moves slowly, dwarf." The elf whispered in the grey ears and Daehul picked up his pace, trotting smartly forward. "Ah, you are suggesting a race then? Very well," Gimli declared, compelling Moroch to catch up. As he drew alongside, he pointed to a cluster of small bushes some distance ahead of them. "Last one there wins!" He clamped his legs tightly to Moroch's sides and gave the pony a free rein. Moroch surged to the lead, for he was a fast starter and hard to beat over short distances, befitting of his Rohirric breeding and dwarven rider, despite his short physique. The pony also liked to run, and snorted in pleasure as he leveled out over the plain. From behind, Gimli heard the elf curse, then the rumble of more hooves. In seconds, a grey nose drew even with Gimli's knee. Gimli pumped his legs to urge Moroch faster, but the grey nose inched ahead with Legolas crouched over Daehul's withers. As Daehul's strides lengthened, his powerful long legs ate up the ground and the stallion surged past Moroch, who whinnied plaintively as the grey passed. In moments, the elvish horse was streaking ahead by himself, a silver blur upon the plains. Bright laughter drifted back as Legolas and Daehul passed the dark brush which marked the finish line. The elf straightened and turned the stallion in a wide arc, bringing him around and back to Moroch's heaving side. They slowed their horses to a brisk walk, allowing them to cool down. Legolas's eyes twinkled with merriment as he grinned widely at Gimli. Gimli said nothing for a moment, just watched the joyful expression, which was a rare sight on the elf's face. Finally, he nodded. "Aye, you look better now, lad." He watched a puzzled expression cross his friend's face, but Gimli knew Legolas would soon figure out what Gimli had done. Legolas threw his head back and laughed, stretching his arms overhead towards the sun. He lowered them back to rest on his thighs and met Gimli's eyes, a smile still upon his lips. "Always you lighten my heart, elvellon. Thank you." "Hmmm… Just keep your eyes on something other than the grass, elf, or I will be forced to take other measures to draw you back." Gimli grinned. "Like suggesting to Arwen that you need a wife." He glanced at Lancaeriel and laughed when Legolas began to blush. "She and I are merely friends, dwarf. Refrain from speaking of such things or I shall be forced this evening to tell the story about the dwarf and the bat!" Gimli stopped laughing. "You would not!" "I will if you do not stop playing matchmaker!" Legolas smirked, and Gimli realized he was the one now blushing. "Keep your mind from where it should not go, elf," Gimli growled, "and we will not have a problem." Legolas nodded, eyes shining. "Again, I thank you, Gimli. You are a good friend." "Bah, you can be tolerable as well…when you want to be." Hoof beats from behind drew their attention, and he and Legolas exchanged smiles as Aragorn and Lancaeriel joined them, having decided to race themselves. Lancaeriel's riding skill had greatly improved on their journey, though she still tightly gripped her horse's mane when he ran. Aragorn's tall chestnut reached them first, but only a few strides ahead of the fiery Naurun. Dinnif and Thinnen lingered behind, taking their time in catching up and only trotted across the plains, snorting in admonishment at being left behind. Lancaeriel laughed aloud, and pointed a finger at Aragorn. "You cheated!" she told him. "Nay, fair lady! You simply delayed your start. You need to teach that horse to leap forward more quickly at the beginning of a race." Aragorn grinned at her triumphantly. She snorted in disdain. "Another few strides and we would have caught you! That horse may be pretty, but he is not as fast as he looks." Halruin flipped his tail and squealed at her, striking out with a forefoot in annoyance. "Forgive me, Halruin. You are fast, just not as fast as Naurun, at least not in a fair race!" Lancaeriel teased. The chestnut stallion pulled away, clearly miffed with the lady and her comments. Naurun nickered to him, and the stallion bobbed his head, but refused to walk alongside the gelding. Gimli laughed with the others at the horses' antics, as they turned towards the road leading to Edoras.
— o — Asgarnen, Ithilien
"Lord Tathar?" Looking up from the documents he was perusing, Tathar pushed back from his desk. "What is it, Erynion?" he asked the elf standing in the doorway. "The border guard sent a runner to report two riders are approaching from the direction of Osgiliath. Captain Ruscion believes it could be Lord Legolas and a lady. They have two pack horses with them as well." Tathar raised a brow in surprise. "He is long past due, and we have heard no word from King Elessar or Lord Gimli, so perhaps he has finally returned home." "But not alone," Erynion reminded him. "It is likely," Tathar said, "that another changed their mind about sailing and decided to return with our lord. A lady, did you say?" Erynion nodded. "Perhaps, Anoriel decided to come to Ithilien," Tathar mused, "instead of sailing West. She and Legolas have always been close, even for siblings. I will ride out to meet them. Call my horse." Erynion bowed his head with a fist to his heart before stepping back out of the office. Tathar stood and left the room, stepping out into the bright afternoon sunshine. He took a deep breath, enjoying the early summer breeze. He hoped it was indeed Legolas returning home. Tathar would have only his own duties to tend and time to spare for one of his favorite hobbies: trout fishing. The rumbling of the brook nearby called to him. Soon, he thought and smiled. Tathar rode south on the elven path, which ran from Asgarnen, past Henneth Annûn to Osgiliath. He would never tire of the beauty of this land. Truly it was a garden, rather than a forest, and the air was heady with the scent of summer flowers in full bloom. Trees of many kinds filled the woods of Ithilien: ash, bay, beech, cedar, cypress, fir, juniper, myrtle, oak, and olive trees. And sprinkled throughout North Ithilien were Tathar's favorites: the beautiful culumalda trees. Tall and thin, their golden-red leaves glimmered in the sunshine. As Glauri cantered down the path, Tathar could feel the trees' mounting excitement. The tree-song lightened his heart and he realized they had missed Legolas as much as the elves of his colony had done. Yes, their lord was returning home, for only he could arouse such a response from the forests of Ithilien. But it was something more, Tathar realized. The trees were rejoicing, the birds were flying about with song, and he saw a herd of deer in a clearing all standing with their heads raised and looking south. It was as if the whole forest were anticipating something. Curious now about just who travelled with Legolas and could cause such a reaction, Tathar pushed Glauri faster down the path. She slowed as they neared a turn in the road, and tossed her golden head, sending her creamy mane flowing along her golden neck. Soft nickers rumbled from deep within her chest as she caught what Tathar guessed to be Daehul's scent. As they rounded the bend, he caught sight of two riders trailed by two pack horses. Tathar knew the tall grey stallion on sight. The horses were trotting towards him at a clipped pace, but slowed as they saw him. Daehul neighed in greeting, and Glauri returned his call, her gold neck arched prettily as she bent her head, her chin nearly touching her chest as she pranced for the stallion. Tathar met Legolas's eyes and grinned at his old friend. "Greetings, my lord! A pleasure indeed to have you returned to us on such a fair day." His eyes drifted to the person riding beside Legolas, and the world faded away. Mounted on a fiery red gelding with flaxen mane and tail rode a mahogany-haired vision with eyes like the sea. He understood the response of the trees now. Tathar felt his breath hitch at the sight and he gazed upon her unaware of anything else around him. "Ahem." The sound of a throat being cleared snapped him out of his trance. He realized Legolas had been speaking to him, and he had not heard a word of it. "My lord?" Tathar asked. He felt his ears heat as he turned his dazed, blue eyes back to Legolas. He wished now his hair was not pulled back in braids, for it would have hidden his embarrassment. Legolas gave him curious look, then shrugged and repeated, "I asked how things have fared in my absence, but perhaps I should skip to the introductions?" The warmth spread across Tathar's cheeks, and at Legolas's raised brow, he told him, "I am only surprised to see you accompanied by a lady, my lord. I had assumed Anoriel had chosen to delay her departure, but I see I was mistaken." It was a poor explanation for his reaction and he knew it. But Legolas did not question it. Instead, the prince said, "Nay, Anoriel left with my father and brothers. And it is a long story to explain my delay and," he inclined his head at his companion, "the lady's presence." A soft snort brought Tathar's eyes back to the woman. He could not say what it was about her that drew him so, for upon second glance, he saw that she was not overly beautiful, not in the same was as Lady Arwen. But she was very pretty. And there was just something about her that inticed him. To his astonishment, the woman rolled her eyes and reached out to smack the prince lightly on the arm. "I am not a lady! How many times must I remind you of this?" she asked playfully, laughing when Legolas smirked at her, revealing a level of comfort between the two that surprised Tathar. Then he realized what she had done and said, and before he could stop himself, Tathar retorted, "Probably as many times as he tells you to stop calling him 'my lord'!" He met her startled look evenly. "My lady," he added, bowing gracefully, even while seated upon his horse. She groaned and turned back to look at Legolas. "He is just as bad as you are!" And that was when Tathar decided he had to get to know this woman. He smiled at her and dismounted. Legolas and the lady followed suit, and Tathar stepped forward to grasp Legolas's forearm tight, before pulling him into a brotherly hug. "You have been missed," he told his friend. Then he stepped back and waited for Legolas to make the introductions. Legolas had turned to the lady and said, "My lady, I think you will find this one is worse than I." He smiled and gestured to Tathar. "May I present Tathar, Lord Warden of Asgarnen and Captain of my personal Guard. Tathar, this is Lancaeriel of Eryn Lasgalen. She will be joining our colony and," he smirked, "learning the fine art of healing." Tathar bowed, then straightened with another smile. But Lancaeriel had turned to Legolas with a look of disbelief, and with a quick motion, landed a smack on the back of his head. "You are impossible!" she told him. Legolas rubbed the back of his head, but grinned at her with a mischievous light that caused a sinking feeling deep inside of Tathar's chest. His smile faded, and he covered his sudden discomfort by frowning at her. "Lady Lancaeriel!" he told her sternly, "I must insist that you cease assaulting my lord in such a manner." She froze, her eyes widening in alarm. She gave him a wary glance, but he winked at her. "You will knock what sense he has from his head and then we will have little use for him." He could feel Legolas's glare, but Lancaeriel stood blinking at him a few moments before she laughed and said, "I see you have spent some time in Gimli's company, Lord Tathar. I do believe I am going to like you." His heart leapt in his chest, and he grinned back at her. "Only… you will call me simply Lancaeriel, please?" She gave him a winning smile, and Tathar was powerless to resist. "As you wish, Lancaeriel. Welcome to Ithilien." To Be Continued…
Tathar - Legolas's second in command, Lord Warden of Asgarnen and Captain of the Prince's Guard. He is also one of Legolas's most trusted friends and advisors. He has made appearances in other stories of mine, including Never Again, Seemingly Forbidding Crags and most significantly, with Blákári in The Trees Were Burning. Erynion - Tathar's assistant. Ruscion - Captain of the Border Guard. Glauri - Tathar's palomino mare. Author's Note: Legolas's colony of Asgarnen lies in northern Ithilien, north of Emyn Arnen and not far from Henneth Annûn and Cair Andros, which is where the lovely culumalda trees that the elves love so much, are indigenous. Thank you for reading!
Thirty-two Lancaeriel meandered alongside the rocky stream. All around her, the trees rustled in the breeze and their voices called out to her. She smiled. Ithilien was a lovely place. The land had gone long without the touch of elves upon it, and she had felt truly welcomed by the land itself when she had come here. The elves of the colony had done much work in the years since they had first arrived, but there were still many places that needed work, needed special encouragement to grow tall, green and beautiful. But here, the lands closely surrounding Asgarnen, the plants were healthy and whole and simply rejoiced to be alive. As she rounded a bend in the brook, Lancaeriel stopped as her gaze alighted upon a tall, dark-haired elf, up to his thighs in the bubbling water, casting a fishing line out and under some overhanging trees. His back was to her, so she sat upon a large rock where she could watch him fish for trout. Anthir, her brother, had loved to fish for trout. Lancaeriel had tried her hand at it a few times, but failed miserably. There was some skill involved in catching fish in this manner, and Lancaeriel did not have it. But since she had moved to Asgarnen and discovered Tathar's favorite past time was trout fishing, she had made an effort to ask him questions and, whenever possible, watch him fish. Preferably unobserved, as he seemed to get flustered when he knew she was watching him fish. He would get fidgety, and that would affect his fishing, and that would make him cranky, but then he would feel guilty and— Lancaeriel sighed inwardly. Tathar was not always an easy person to be around. He was quiet and reserved, solemn and exacting, and completely devoted to serving his lord. He enjoyed such things as paperwork and researching trade agreements. He liked talking to ambassadors and was very good at political matters that confused her. He took his duties seriously, and did everything with a precision that she found impressive. All those traits had earned him a reputation in the colony for being stern and, well, boring. But she had found that he was not so stuffy that he could not take a joke, or give one back in return. He just did not do so often. He was nothing like Legolas. And maybe that was why he had such a reputation. Legolas was vibrant, bold, quick to smile and— well, he was those things when the shadow did not heavily darken his eyes. She found it interesting that two such very different men could be such close friends. Lancaeriel thought Tathar was many things, but boring was not one of them. She had discovered in the weeks since her arrival that beneath the proper Lord Warden was a simple but pleasant man with a distinct sense of humor, and a love for trout fishing. And her, it would seem. Lancaeriel was very aware of Tathar's interest in her as a woman, but while she enjoyed his company, she did not return the feeling. Nor was she in any hurry to attach herself to anyone in such a manner. Everything was still so new, and she was still struggling to make new friends and find her own place in the community. Those things took time, and she had only been here a few weeks. But in that short time, Ithilien was fast becoming home to her, for there was life here, tree song and hope. Some of the women had reached out to her, befriending her, and she felt happy, for the most part. Her grief was fading as she involved herself in the task of living. The sun shone down through the trees, drenching her in its warmth. She stretched her arms upwards, her fingers wiggling in the rays, then her eyes widened as her movement must have startled Tathar, for he started suddenly and lost his footing on the slippery rocks. He let out a yelp and flailed a moment, but could not recover his balance, being in mid-cast with his rod. With a splash, he plopped onto his back in the chilly water, drenching himself from head to foot. Lancaeriel could not help herself. She began to laugh, though she covered her mouth with a hand to help hide it. Part of her was ashamed at her laughter, for he could be hurt. But the sight had been so funny, she could not stop giggling! Tathar turned a glare upon her, the first she had seen turned her direction, then slowly got back to his feet. His eyes never left her as he stalked towards the bank and stood dripping before her. "You find this funny, my lady?" he asked, drawing out the 'lady' as he frowned down upon her. Completely taken with her mirth, she ignored the term. "Not at all, my Lord Warden," she told him, trying to manage a serious expression, and failing as her lips kept twitching back into a smile. "I find it hysterical!" She laughed again. "I have never seen an elf land so gracefully in a brook before!" Then he did something so uncharacteristic of Tathar. He shook his head like a wet dog, and she shrieked the water droplets pelted her with their coldness. "I doubt few manage it," he told her with a wide smile of his own. Then, he sat down beside her on the rock. "I am sorry I startled you," Lancaeriel told him. "Are you hurt?" "No," he assured her. "Nothing except my pride." He quirked up a brow at her. "Watching me fish?" She nodded. "I really wish to learn. My brother was good at it, and my father, but I just cannot seem to get the motion right to interest the trout." A sudden flash of gold in the corner of her eye caught her attention, and she turned her head towards it, but there was nothing there. "What is it?" he asked, his eyes scanning the forest along with hers. "I thought I saw something. Must have been a bird, because now it is gone." She turned back to him. "So, will you teach me?" The slow smile that stretched his face assured her that he would. — o — Legolas peeked back around the trunk of the tree and watched his friends with interest. He was proud of Lancaeriel and her efforts since arriving in Ithilien. She had made a big effort to befriend others, and already had made several friends. In just the few weeks since their arrival, he had seen her go from shy and hesitant to the confident person he had caught glimpses of underneath her pain and grief during their trials up north. Even now, she spoke easily with Tathar, laughing and asking questions about fishing. And Tathar sat with shining eyes fixed upon the woman at his side, more animated than Legolas had seen him since they had been children. Poor Tathar. Ever since his friend had first laid eyes upon Lancaeriel, Tathar had been quite taken with her. But while Lancaeriel seemed to enjoy Tathar's company, she gave him no encouragement beyond friendship. And Legolas was left to be amused at his serious friend being so enamored. He would wish Tathar well in his pursuit of Lancaeriel's heart, but Legolas had no wish to lose the close friendship he was forming with her. Besides, with her brother and father lost to her, Legolas found himself feeling a bit protective. If Tathar's pursuit made her uncomfortable, Legolas would step in and put a stop to it, but until that time, he left them to what until today had been something of an awkward friendship. He turned back towards home, and quickened his pace as the trees sent whispers of visitors. He was expecting Aragorn, for the king had sent word he wished to discuss the latest report on the feladroe, and there were some trade agreements that needed to be worked out. Flimsy excuses for a visit, Legolas thought. He arrived back at the settlement just as a horn sounded. Up the path rode a small contingent of guards, and in their midst were two riders, one on a bright chestnut stallion, the other on a small brown pony. Legolas smiled, surprised at the addition, and stepped forward as the two broke from the guards and trotted towards him. He bowed to the King. "Welcome to Asgarnen, my lord," he told Aragorn, then cast a glance at the dwarf. "You could have warned me that you were bringing additional baggage." Gimli grunted in indignation, but Legolas saw the glint of humor in his eye. "Ah, well, the baggage insisted upon joining me, and who am I to refuse such an ally when traveling?" the man responded, giving Legolas a look which caused his a chill of apprehension to run down his spine. Why did he suddenly feel that there was far more to this visit than even he had suspected? When Legolas had received the king's missive, he had assumed the excuse of trade agreements and the wildlife of Ithilien meant Aragorn wished to do some hunting. Such had been circumstances in the past. But now… Legolas felt himself detach and retreat behind his formal role as lord and host. "I will show you to your rooms. I am sure you will wish to refresh yourselves after such a long trip," he clipped, watching the man and dwarf warily. "He means we stink of sweat and horse, Aragorn, and being such a prissy elf, he refuses to visit with us until after we have bathed." Gimli chuckled, but held Legolas's gaze. Legolas was not fooled by the jest. There was an ulterior motive to this visit or he would call himself an orc. "Indeed!" Aragorn laughed. "Show the way then, and we shall make ourselves more to your liking. Afterwards, we will talk." Talk? Surely, he means harass the elf about something which is none of their business, Legolas thought, but he nodded and led the way to his dwelling. Many who had visited Asgarnen had marveled at Legolas's abode and considered it the most interesting aspect of the elven settlement. It consisted of two very different elements. The first was the cliff wall that made up one edge of the border of the settlement. In it were many caverns that Gimli and his people had fashioned into magnificent rooms, which served as a formal hall as well as guest lodgings. And Gimli had refused to stay in the tree when Legolas had first settled here. But Legolas preferred the trees, and in particular, a tall, spreading oak that grew close to the rock face and entrance to the caverns, like a sentinel keeping watch. He had made the tree his home, beginning with a simple talan in its branches, but over the three decades he had made Ithilien his home, changes and additions had been made until his home was now nearly as impressive as some of the telain in Lothlórien. A winding stair encircled the tree, giving easy access to the talan above them. It had once only been reached by a rope ladder, which to Legolas's surprise had not kept Gimli on the ground. The dwarf had visited often enough and complained loud enough that Legolas had built the stair, which could be easily widened to accommodate the tree's growth without harm. Waiting at the foot of the tree stood Erynion, Tathar's assistant. One corner of Legolas's mouth tilted up at the sight. It was just like Tathar to make sure Legolas had someone playing the role of servant with important guests arriving, especially since he was off enjoying Lancaeriel's company. Tathar would never let go of the formality he had learned in Thranduil's court as son of one of the Elvenking's top advisors. "Erynion, has hot water been sent up?" Erynion inclined his head. "As well as a skin of Dorwinion, my lord." A throat was cleared gruffly behind them. Legolas did not even need to ask what it meant. "We received a cask of dwarven ale not that long ago. See that a flagon is brought up as well." "At once, my lord." Erynion spun away and strode towards the storehouse to do as he was bid. Legolas turned a small smile on his friends and gestured for them to proceed him up the stair. They did so in silence, and he felt another frisson of apprehension shudder through him. The lack of talk unnerved him, being unnatural between them, but he showed no outward sign of his trepidation as they ascended. His mind searched for what they might wish to say to him, for his instincts screamed that an intimate heart to heart talk was coming, and Legolas was certain he would not enjoy it in the least. But the only topic he could come up with that they might wish to berate him for were his actions surrounding his previous trip to Eryn Lasgalen. But Legolas had already discussed the issue at length with both man and dwarf privately, and he had thought himself forgiven for his foolish behavior. So what else needed to be said? It must be serious if Gimli had felt a need to come along. When they reached the main floor of the talan, Legolas slipped past his guests and opened the door, entering his home, which his father had once described as "a keep in the top of a tree". Legolas's personal chambers encompassed the entire upper level, but the main floor consisted of a large, open room, which served as a informal hall for eating and a few guest rooms. Even Gimli had begun to take lodging in the tree when he visited, something Legolas had thought would never happen with the fine caves below. Inside, his eyes caressed the tapestries woven of familiar woodland scenes, and in particular, one of a herd of white deer. It had been in his mother's chambers, and his father had gifted it to Legolas when he reached his majority. In the center of the room set a large table with benches along either side. The room was supposed to be used for dining with his guests, but he had used it seldom. Most often, he and his visitors joined the elves of Asgarnen in the community meals in a small glen designated for that purpose. The guest rooms were along the back wall, and Legolas gestured to the two that Aragorn and Gimli used when staying in Asgarnen. "Please, refresh yourselves, and join me upstairs when you are ready." The man and dwarf nodded and entered their rooms, while Legolas went to the stair in the corner and trod up them, his uneasiness growing at his friends' continued silence. The upper floor was his haven, and he glanced around the large, open room, then frowned. Erynion had not opened the windows or doors that graced three of the four walls. The back wall contained a doorway which led to his bedchamber, a room which saw little use other than as a place to store his personal possessions. But the other three had many windows, and he went to them, pushing open the shutters and letting in the light and fresh air. Then he strode to the double doors which led to a platform that much resembled the flets used by the patrols in his former home. He pushed them open and stepped out on the flet, glancing up into the branches of the oak and placing one hand on the bark of one bough. He stood there until Erynion entered with the ale, setting it beside the wine and goblets on a table in the midst of several seats arranged before doors. Once Erynion had gone, Legolas poured himself some wine, then sat in his favorite chair. Then he waited. — o — Aragorn made quick work of the travel grime and changed into fresh, comfortable clothing. He was officially here on affairs of state to discuss some trade agreements, and had asked to see the most recent dens of the cave lions that made Ithilien their home. The large felines kept far from people for the most part, but on occasion, they clashed with the settlers or their livestock. The elves protected the feladroe, pointing out that balance was needed between prey and predators. The Men argued the creatures were dangerous and preyed upon their herds rather than the deer and elk. Aragorn, Legolas and Faramir had been working for years to find a solution to keeping harmony between the wildlife, the elves and the men who made Ithilien their home. But all of that was an excuse to visit Asgarnen. Since their return from Eryn Lasgalen, Aragorn had felt the need to speak to Legolas about the shadows in the elf's eyes, and the epiphany he had had that day in Thranduil's halls, when he had watched the light and shadows play upon the walls of Legolas's room and had realized that he had lost his childhood friend to a darkness he had not understood. But he understood it now. It was time for Legolas to return to them. They could not cure Legolas of his sea longing — that would remain with the elf until he sailed — but he could help Legolas see past the darkness that the longing had brought upon him. A knock sounded at his door, and he moved to open it, finding Gimli standing there, an intense look of concern upon his face. "I am not sure this was a good idea, Aragorn. He knows this is not a simple visit or trade negotiation and he is wary and watchful." The dwarf's voice was hesitant and doubt was evident on his face. "Do you think he will listen? Perhaps, I should not have accompanied you for this talk…" "No, Gimli," Aragorn reassured. "He needs us both, and he will listen, if I have to tie him to a chair to make him do so!" Gimli's eyes flickered with an odd look that made Aragorn think the dwarf would enjoy such a feat. Aragorn ignored the look and said, "This cannot continue. Have you not noticed how thin he is? How little life is in his eyes when you truly stop and look? He will listen and stop grieving and wallowing in sadness, or I shall knock him unconscious and put him on a ship heading west," Aragorn finished, his voice determined and his jaw set. The dwarf's eyes dropped at his last statement, and he swallowed thickly. "I hope it does not come to that." "So do I, my friend. So do I. But I do not think it will. Legolas is too stubborn to allow this to defeat him or let it keep him from fulfilling a promise. He simply needs some perspective on the matter, and I think I know how to give it to him. And I think it will help—" "Then let us get it over with quickly," the dwarf interrupted and stepped away from the door. "I do not like this waiting," He paused and looked back at Aragorn. "He will not like us interfering…" Gimli reminded. Aragorn blew out a mouthful of air in frustration, "I know, but what kind of friends would we be if we did nothing?" He watched the dwarf nod his head in acquiescence before heading towards Legolas's chambers. He let Gimli take the lead, but he paused on the stairs. Was it too much to wish that Legolas would look past his stubborn pride and allow his friends to help him? Hoping for the best, yet fearing the worst, Aragorn continued up the stairs. He found Legolas and Gimli sitting across from each other in comfortable silence, a low table between them with wine and ale set upon it. The elf had a goblet of wine in his hand, while the dwarf was pouring himself a mug of ale. Gimli sat back on the settee, and took a long drag of his drink. Aragorn picked up the wineskin and let some of its contents splash into his own goblet. As he did so, he considered where to sit. If he sat on the settee beside the dwarf, it could appear they were teaming up against Legolas and make him even more defensive. Instead, he moved to an empty chair near the settee, and stretched his long legs out before him. He sighed in feigned contentment, smiling at his friend to help set him at ease. "You do not fool me, Estel. Say what you have come to say and be done with it." Legolas told him shortly, his face an unreadable mask as he took a sip of his wine. Aragorn's brows raised in surprise. He had known Legolas suspected he had ulterior motives in coming, but did not expect him to address it. It was not a good start, for he would rather see his friend relax into some comfortable jesting and conversation before they broached why he had come. But it would be pointless to try to sidestep the matter and change the subject now. Better to lay it out plainly and accept that Legolas would not be reasonable at first. So, he took the direct approach. "We want you back, Legolas." The elf cocked his head to the side and gave him an irritated look. "I am before you, Estel. Surely, age has not yet begun to affect your vision?" A corner of Legolas's mouth raised, but Aragorn would not call it a smile. Still, the elf was making the effort to jest and that was heartening. Aragorn took a swallow from his glass and sat it down on a small table beside his chair. "That is not what I meant and you know it, my friend. We want the happy, mischievous elf I have known since childhood to come back. Too long have you wandered in darkness, Legolas. It consumes you and is beginning to harm you, though you hide it well." "Stop." That one word halted him, as a spark of anger ignited in the elf's eyes. "You do not know of what you speak, Aragorn, thus it would be better if you let it be. I am fine." "Do not lie to me like a woman, Legolas. You are not fine," Aragorn retorted, his own ire beginning to rise at the stubbornness of his friend. "Your eyes are darkened in grief—" "You do not understand!" Legolas stood, his anger evident. "You cannot understand. Leave it, Estel." His voice, which began loud and angry, diminished to an almost pleading whisper. "Please?" Eyes sliding closed, Aragorn's heart ached at the request. He had known this would not be easy, would cause his friend distress, but how far did he dare to push? His eyes snapped open when Legolas strode over to stand in front of the open doorway. Aragorn did not miss the shadow in Legolas's eyes before he turned away. How Aragorn wished he had understood what had happened to his friend years ago — had seen the cloud of sadness which kept him from truly enjoying his remaining years in Ennor. The elf had put up a good show and acted the part on occasion, but that shadow in his eyes was slowly draining the life from him and would eventually destroy him if Legolas did not defeat it. And only Legolas could defeat it. This was not a battle the elf's friends could fight for him. Gimli sat through their talk in silence, which surprised Aragorn, though he thought he saw the dwarf's lips moving as if he were beseeching Aulë to intervene. Perhaps he was. Aragorn added his own petition. He could not heed his friend's request to let the matter be. Legolas had to listen. "I can not leave it, Legolas." Aragorn's words brought the elf's eyes sharply to his. "I will not." As he watched, he saw anger rekindle in Legolas's eyes for a second time, flaring up in response. Aragorn expected no less, for Legolas's pride was great. The tension that filled the room was heavy enough to be felt, yet, the elf said nothing, only continued to stare at them as his indignation simmered. "Legolas" he pleaded, refusing to allow his own anger to be roused, "this has to stop, my friend." "There is nothing you can do." Legolas's voice was cold. "Nothing anyone can do to help me, Aragorn." "That is only too true," he agreed, rising to his feet. "Only you can help yourself, if you would only listen! Or will you continue to shut me out?" The goblet of wine left Legolas's hand and flew into the wall across the room, crashing loudly. Aragorn flinched as it broke. The wine left a dark stain, crimson droplets trickling down the wood in rivulets and puddling on the floor. Legolas stared hard at the broken goblet, then turned and glared at Aragorn, visibly shaking with his anger. "This conversation is over!" Before either Aragorn or Gimli could say a word, Legolas stormed out of the room onto the flet outside, then with a leap, disappeared into the branches of the tree. "Hmmph," Gimli commented. "That went well." Aragorn shook his head and sunk back into his chair in defeat. He had failed. To Be Continued… Author's Note: Thank you so much to those reading and especially those taking the time to review! I really appreciate it! Your thoughts are most welcome.
Thirty-three Legolas did not go far before realizing he needed to put more distance than a few branches between himself and the man who had been raised by elves. Aragorn would not let the matter go, and Legolas did not put it past his friend to follow him up into the tree. He let his anger drive him, and descended to the ground. He strode purposely to the tree nearby tree line of the forest, ignoring Lancaeriel's call of concern. He knew he probably looked very angry, for he was, but he also did not want to speak to anyone in his present state. When she persisted, he picked up his pace, and then leapt up into the closest tree and raced through the branches, letting the emotions swirling within him drive him. He had a nagging thought that his retreat was futile, for he could not run away from himself…nor the shadow he had almost convinced himself did not exist. It did not take long for him to work off the initial heat of anger. He dropped to the ground beside a gurgling creek and sunk to the leaf-strewn earth, his back against a broad tree trunk and let the tree song and water song play over him. But they brought no comfort to him as they would once have done. With his anger having abated, he was left to his thoughts. He pulled one knee up and wrapped an arm around it, letting the other trail in the chill water beside him. He was aware that his reaction to his friends' concern had been extreme, but he had needed to put a stop to whatever Aragorn was going to say. And when his anger had not been enough to curb the words— Legolas had seen the look on Gimli's face when his goblet had hit the wall. The shock and fear there. He had also seen the steel determination in Aragorn's eyes. It had angered him further, but even more, he had felt fear. And that had left him only one recourse. Legolas had fled. The truth was, he knew better than anyone the darkness that haunted him. He knew it affected him, kept him from his rest, diminished his appetite…came close to causing him to fade. He had avoided examining it too closely. He preferred to pretend it was not there, that his friends helped him fight it, but it was not just the sea longing that haunted him. The trouble was, he did not know what caused it. It had been building for decades, ever since he had heard the gulls and the shadow took a toll on him, stealing his joy. He could present a decent façade in public — let others see what they wanted to see — but deep down, he was weary. And despite the support of his friends, he was alone. Facing that darkness, without understanding it, frightened him. Fear was the one emotion he truly could not manage well. It was an assault on his pride, a type of weakness he did not want or know how to face. He had tried, but his condition and the healing of it eluded him. So he had given up hope of ever doing so until he sailed, and had instead ignored it. Aragorn was offering him hope. But he had learned hope unrealized created a desperate despair he had no wish to experience again. He had once hoped that time would lessen the pain of the sea's call, the strength of it, but he had been wrong. It had only strengthened, growing ever louder. He could not dare to hope. When hope proved false, he would be left with nothing but darkness. He could not see any help for his condition…and it terrified him. More now because Aragorn had seen it, called him out on it, and now he could not deny it — not to himself. So he sat beside the babbling stream, sinking into a despair nearly tangible. "Why do you do this to yourself, little one?" Legolas turned his head towards the familiar voice, startled. Kneeling there on the ground beside him in sparkling white, stars glimmering in her blue eyes was Rainiriel. "Why do you refuse aid which is offered in love?" she asked. He truly had not expected to see her again, least of all here and now. But when she reached out a long-fingered hand to trail gently down his cheek, he could not stop the trail of tears that spilled down his cheeks. She brushed them away. "Can you help me, my lady?" he asked, his voice forlorn, even to his own ears. "I have already told you how you can be saved. Why do you choose not to listen?" She lifted one arched brow and gave him a teasing smile. "Truly, you are more stubborn than your grandfather." Legolas felt his lips twitch in a half hearted response to her tease, but the sorrow did not lift from his heart. Her expression turned serious as she continued to stroke his face. "Pride will not save you, Legolas. Only you can. But you can not do it alone, dear heart. You must trust those you love to see you through this darkness and back into the light. You are not meant to suffer so. I would see you joyful again. As would your friends." "Lady Galadriel said I would have no more joy once I heard the gulls," he said flatly. "How can I be joyous when the longing is ever present, torturing my heart?" Rainiriel's eyes flashed with what he thought was annoyance. "That woman and her vague prophecies," she muttered. Then she quoted the words that had brought dread to him in Fangorn, when Gandalf had been returned to them, and the lady's message spoken. "Legolas Greenleaf long under tree, In joy thou hast lived, Beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more." "Yes," he said. "And it is true." "Of course it is. But you have misinterpreted what was said to you." "Misinterpreted? Yes, I thought it was speaking of my death! Instead of dying, I heard the gulls and the song awakened within me and I have had no peace since!" "Not true. You have found respite from it from time to time, but I will not argue that with you. What I will tell you is that with the song awakened, your heart no longer dwells in the forest as it once did, but rather longs for the great waters that will one day carry you West. That is the meaning of the words. "Yes, and no longer do I live in joy!" Legolas snapped in irritation. She pulled her hand away and leaned back at his words. Then her eyes hardened. "Because you choose not! Stubborn princeling!" Legolas blinked, surprised at her reaction. And baffled. He had no idea what she meant. Would he not choose to live in joy if he could? He had tried, but could not see past the sea and the song and the despair that filled him. "You silly elfling! The words do not mean that you cannot find happiness here, or live joyfully as you always have done in the past. You simply must find that joy elsewhere, for though you still love the trees, they can no longer comfort you as they once did." She patted his hand and smiled at him as if that explained everything. But Legolas only felt confused. "In what then can I find such comfort?" he asked, but she simply shook her head. "It is not for me to give you all the answers, Legolas. Some you must find on your own…perhaps by swallowing your pride and heeding the words of those who love you." She paused then gave him a look he had seen grandmothers give naughty grandchildren. "You have not behaved well, young prince," Rainiriel scolded, her smile taking the sting from the words. She stood then and held out a hand to him. Legolas took it and rose to his own feet, his eyes searching hers. He was still not sure what she meant, but what she had said had given him a lot to think about. She did not speak again, but touched his cheek a final time before stepping back. Then she was gone, and Legolas was left blinking at the trees around him. He leaned against the tree at his back and pondered what Rainiriel had said. And as he thought, deep guilt and regret rose within him. He had behaved horribly, and he owed his friends an apology. He had let fear and pride become walls between himself and those he loved. He sighed, as he considered what Rainiriel had said. While he still did not want to talk about the shadow which seemed to separate him from the light of joy, he owed them the right to speak their concerns. And perhaps, they could help him see past the darkness and once again find his way to the light. He was ready to listen.
— o —
A long silence reigned in Legolas's talan after his outraged departure. Aragorn sat unmoving, feeling he had failed to help their friend. He knew Gimli felt the same. Legolas needed their help; but if in his stubborn pride Legolas refused that help, would the darkness overtake him and he succumb to grief? Aragorn glanced at Gimli. The dwarf sat staring into his mug of ale, untouched since Legolas had left, more than an hour ago. Aragorn had not taken a sip of his wine either, since Legolas's departure. He just toyed with the goblet in his hand, turning it this way and that and watching the wine swirl within it as he pondered all that had been spoken…and Legolas's reaction to it. He felt dejected, defeated in his goal to seeing Legolas whole again. The softest of sounds caused Aragorn to raise his eyes. He started, finding Legolas slumped back in his chair, legs outstretched, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest, eyes downcast. The elf's body language screamed of one closed off, demanding others to stay away. So Aragorn said nothing and just waited. It took a few minutes, but Legolas took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh, then lifted his head and cast a hesitant glance at them. But he kept his arms crossed, and Aragorn was not sure what to make of the vulnerable look on his friend's face. Legolas looked back down at his feet and said nothing. It was Gimli who broke the silence. The dwarf leaned forward and sat his mug of ale on the table in front of him, then fixed Legolas with his dark brown eyes as he rested his forearms on his knees. "Took you long enough," Gimli stated. Legolas's eyes lifted to meet Gimli's stare. The two looked long at each other, sorrow and regret evident in both of their faces. Finally, Legolas spoke a single word. "Aye." The smallest of smiles, barely detectable under the thick red beard, turned the dwarf's lips. "Then you are ready to listen?" Gimli asked, his heavy brows lifting hopefully. Legolas exhaled, his gaze dropping again to the floor. "Not quite." Gimli's brows drew together in a frown, and the dwarf turned an inquiring look upon Aragorn. Aragorn was not sure what to think of their friend's behavior. He shrugged. Gimli shook his head ever so slightly, looking back to the elf. Then Legolas began to speak, without looking at either of them. "Before I hear what you have to say, I must tell you my anger and actions were…unwarranted and unjustifiable." Legolas shook his head and winced, then raised his head to turn a sorrowful look upon both of them by turn. "Can you forgive me?" Aragorn released a sigh of relief. "Aye," he answered, capturing Legolas's gaze. "It is understandable, my friend." Gimli nodded, "I expected much worse, elf. Provided you heed Aragorn's words, I believe we can overlook your outburst." He snorted. "It is not as if neither of us has ever lost his temper." The elf's eyes crinkled at the corners as a small chuckle shook his frame. He visibly relaxed a bit, his arms still crossed, but more lightly over his middle, rather than firmly across his chest. A slight smile remained on his face. "Then I am ready to hear what you have to say." Aragorn hesitated, not quite sure where to begin. "Tell him what you saw in his rooms," Gimli told him. "You were in my rooms?" Legolas asked, his eyes widening in affront. "Calm down, Legolas," Gimli told him, also noticing the agitation and tensing of Legolas's arms. "Not here. Up north, in your father's halls" Then he snorted. "You act as if you have something to hide in there!" He grinned then. "Some articles of ladies' clothing, perhaps?" Legolas's eyes looked to nearly burst from his head. "I— No! What—" His gaze narrowed. "That is not funny." Aragorn nearly laughed out loud. Gimli had managed what only the dwarf could. Legolas's agitation at the topic they wished to discuss had passed, and now they were back on more comfortable ground. If one could call insulting one another comfortable, but for the elf and the dwarf it was. "Legolas," Aragorn said, drawing the elf's attention away from the dwarf. "When we were in Eryn Lasgalen, searching your father's halls for you, I was reminded of something you had once told me. And suddenly, I understood. I knew what had happened to you." He paused to collect his thoughts, and noted that Legolas was listening intently to what he had to say. There was the tiniest spark of hope in that elven gaze. "Legolas, when I was growing up, the one thing that stood out to me about you was your joyful nature in the face of great darkness. It was something I did not comprehend until the fateful day you decided to teach me proverbs. Do you remember?" Legolas snorted. "Remember? I try hard to forget. That was not a pleasant day." He made a face and shuddered. Aragorn chuckled. "No, it was not, and I am sure you felt you had wasted your time and breath, for I was determined not to learn a thing from those silly sayings, as I saw them." "Indeed," Legolas said with a smile. Aragorn sobered. "There was one thing I learned that day that has remained with me my entire life." When Legolas's brows lifted with surprise, he added, "Actually, there were many lessons that day that I found useful throughout my life, but one in particular impressed itself upon me, for when you explained it, I suddenly understood how you remained so full of life and joy amidst the darkness that was then Mirkwood. It was one that saw me through countless dark times, including the quest to Mordor and the War that followed. Without that lesson, I would have given up and been lost in darkness long before Frodo came to bear the ring." Legolas sat upright, leaning forward, his eyes bright with curiosity. "I do not understand. What lesson? I recall nothing that day as being so significant." "If only you knew the lessons I learned from you, my friend. But I believe one of the most important lessons I ever learned, I learned that day from a simple elvish proverb, which you insisted on drilling into my thick head." Gimli chuckled at the comment, but Legolas waited, intent on what Aragorn said. "Do you remember it?" Aragorn asked his friend. With a snort, Legolas shook his head. "There were too many proverbs that day, Estel. And many more in the days following, thanks to Lord Elrond's insistence we study rather than look for trouble." Aragorn smiled fondly as he remembered his foster father's irritation at finding them soaking wet, bruised, battered, and laughing in his room. He had been all of perhaps twelve? My how time had flown, and things had changed. But the change in Legolas was not one he would see remain. Aragorn locked eyes with the elf, before softly quoting the proverb in Sindarin. " 'Turn your face to the sun, and the shadows fall behind you.' " Legolas's face went blank of expression. He sat staring at Aragorn for several long moments, before his chin raised as understanding dawned. His lips parted as he drew in a soft breath, his eyes no longer focusing on anything in particular as he contemplated his friend's words. Eyes still unfocused, Legolas began to speak. "I have not understood all that has happened within me since that day at Pelargir. The call of the sea was overwhelming, and I was drowning in it. I was able to push it aside only because our lives depended on our ability to concentrate on the task at hand. There was a battle to fight. But once the battle was won…" His voice trailed off, and he sat in silence a few moments in thought. "There has been a shadow upon me. I was aware of it, but unable to understand what caused it or how to defeat it. I have been surrounded on all sides by the swells. The song of the waves at times drowning out even forest song." He shook his head and continued. "I have been able to focus on nothing else. There is only darkness…and…" Legolas broke off, looking dazed. Aragorn rose and skirted the table before sitting down upon it, facing his friend at a more intimate distance. He reached out and placed a hand on the elf's arm. "The sun is still there, my friend, if you but search for it. If you would but focus upon the light, the darkness of the sea will fade behind you. It will not cease to be there, in the background, and I am sure there will be times it will still wash over you, but it will no longer be able to hold the power over you to steal your joy of life, Legolas. Find it…search for it, do not let the darkness win."
o — Silence filled the talan as Aragorn's words penetrated Legolas's barriers and touched his heart. Yes, he understood it now as well. He knew what Rainiriel had meant. He had lost what for years had been his focus and his light — the forest and trees and the song of his home, and upon moving to Ithilien, even his family. And in losing the song of the forest, and gaining the song of the sea, he had not reset his focus on something that brought him joy. He had only felt the sadness of the sea longing and focused upon that, and it had made him melancholy and lost, for he could not yet attain the promise of which the sea sung. His heart still loved the trees and forests of Ennor, but they did not call to him in the same manner as the sea longing. But he could not focus on the sea either! Not yet. A time would come for that, but for now, what could he focus upon? Where would he find his light and thus his joy? Bright feminine laughter carried through the open door, rousing him from his thoughts. Legolas stood and walked out onto the platform, his eyes settling upon Lancaeriel walking beside Tathar. She was gesturing in a manner that suggested they spoke of fishing. Her eyes were shining as she laughed at something Tathar said. Then she glanced up and saw him standing there, and his gaze was drawn to her eyes —eyes the color of the sea, but which spoke to him of cool forests and cheerful streams and something else. They shone with light and peace, and even joy. There was light, right before him, in one who needed him as much as he needed her. Her smile faded to a look of concern, and he remembered how he had ignored her call earlier in his anger. He gave her a rueful smile, pointed towards Asgarnen's brook, and mouthed the word, "Ithil". Then he held his arms before him horizontally, and lifted one from the other, mimicking the rising moon, and mouthed the word as well. "Moonrise." She nodded her understanding that he wanted her to meet him there when the moon rose in the sky. She still look concerned, but it was tinged with curiosity now. She turned back to Tathar, who had stood frowning up at Legolas while they had communicated without words. She shoved him, and pointed down the path, seeming to pick right back up on their previous conversation. Tathar joined in, but his eyes trailed back to Legolas. Legolas smirked at him, then turned and walked back to the door. He paused in the doorway to look at Aragorn, and noticed the light shining in the king's eyes as well. A glance at Gimli showed it dwelled even in dark, dwarven eyes. Legolas felt the shadow falling away. He was surrounded by light, if he would but look for it. With a smile, he pranced back into the talan, then knelt before Aragorn, a light laugh escaping him. Then he pulled the man into a tight hug. Aragorn returned it, saying, "Welcome back, my friend." Legolas pulled back and grinned at him. Then his eyes met Gimli's over Aragorn's shoulder, and he was amazed to see tears of joy slipping down Gimli's cheeks and into his beard. He stood and moved towards the dwarf. Gimli shook his head and glared up at Legolas through the tears. "Hug me elf, and so help me I will— OOF!" Legolas wrapped Gimli in his arms tightly, holding his stocky friend in a rare brotherly embrace that Gimli tolerated for all of three seconds before saying, "Enough! That is well. I am glad you are back too…but, Legolas! I need to breathe!" With another laugh, Legolas released his friend and dashed for the door and up into the tree with a whoop. Behind him man and dwarf sat wide-eyed staring at each other. Finally, Gimli found his tongue. "By Mahal, Aragorn, what have we done?" "We have released a terror, my friend." The man grinned. "I fear the days to come shall be…" "…the stuff of nightmares" Gimli finished for him, beaming back. "I look forward to it!" "And I as well, friend Gimli."
— o —
The rising moon shone down on the rushing stream for which Asgarnen took it's' name, the soft moonbeams shimmering across the surface of the water in flashes of silver. In the distance, an owl hooted, its soft voice blending in with the rustling of the leaves and the splashing water as it played over the rocks in the streambed. Legolas stood on the bank at the forest edge, teasing puffs of air playing in his hair and lifting the loose strands to dance around his face as the light gusts wafted past him. He stared at the play of water in the moonlight, a smile on his face. For the first time in over thirty years, he truly felt like himself. He sensed another presence detach itself from the shadows, and come to stand by his side. He glanced down at Lancaeriel, her mahogany hair billowing around her face, until she pulled it behind her in irritation, fastening it with a leather cord. Legolas felt his lips twitch at her frustration with her hair, and he grinned at her when she peered up at him, the moonlight reflecting in her eyes. But she did not seem to sense his teasing, because she just gazed up into his eyes, her expression searching his. Finally, she gave voice to the question that she had probably been wishing to ask since he had barreled out of his talan and into the woods earlier that afternoon. "What has happened?" Lancaeriel frowned, then her expression cleared. "You are much different." She arched a brow as he just grinned even more widely. "Forgive me, my lady, I am having trouble containing the joy I have not felt in many years. Indeed, I do not wish to contain it!" He laughed brightly, tossing his head back and smiling at the moon which kissed his face. She watched as he giddily turned in a circle, arms outstretched like an elfling. Then she seemed to just accept him as he spun, her giggles joining his laughter. "I used to do that as a child," she told him. And she began to spin with him in circles. They laughed and spun until they fell into a dizzy heap. Legolas rolled to his back and looked up at the stars. "They are so beautiful. I had forgotten." Lancaeriel scooted so she was lying beside him, and turned her own gaze heavenward. "They are beautiful. I can never get enough of the stars, for they remind me I am not alone." The smile fell from Legolas's face as he sobered at her words. "For years, I have felt alone more times than I can count. The sea and its call isolated me from what gave me joy. Alone. Such a frightening word, is it not?" Lancaeriel sat up and looked down at him, watching his eyes move among the stars. "It is…but Lass, as long as you remember there are those who care for you, you are never alone." Legolas's eyes met hers and he reached up and touched her cheek, a smile on his lips. "I am glad I found you and brought you here." Her eyes glittering with starlight, she replied, "As am I."
- o - **Quote is from The Two Towers, JRR Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings Author's Note: Aragorn's recollections about his and Legolas's very bad day, as well as learning proverbs, can be found in my story, Instruction In Youth.
I am working on an epilogue and this story will finally be complete! Thanks for reading!
Epilogue Several weeks later…
Minas Tirith Gondor
Aragorn's formal robes flowed around him as he strode towards the door of his private chambers, his irritation making him frown. The ever present guard outside his rooms saw him coming, took one look at the expression on Aragorn's face, and had the door open before he reached it. Without breaking his stride, Aragorn entered, hearing the soft click of the door behind him. It would have helped his mood to have been able to tug the thing closed himself. Or slam it. I would certainly like to slam someone! He grit his teeth in annoyance, having no means to vent his inner agitation, other than bellowing, which he preferred to avoid. Kings did not bellow, or so Erestor had taught him, back before he knew he was destined for such a role, when he thought he was only being tortured with lessons. He paused in the entryway. He would normally search out his son for some sparring to alleviate his annoyance, but Eldarion was out with the patrols. Listening for a moment for some sound that his wife was present, he heard nothing, and deflated. He would have liked to at least vent his frustrations. Arwen would understand them, but from the silence it would seem she was not there. He could detect no rustling sound of cloth, no humming of song. With a deep sigh, he continued into the main room and stood glaring about it, as if just by glowering he could make the one who had wronged him suddenly appear and take the tongue lashing coming to him. Which, of course, was ridiculous, and he knew it. "Is everything all right, my love?" Arwen's curious voice asked from across the room. He started, and jerked around, his eyes alighting upon her form curled up in the window seat, a book in hand. At just the sight of her, his eyes softened. She was a vision of loveliness, unchanged from the first time he had laid eyes upon her. Furthermore, she understood him better than any other, and he felt some relief that he would have an understanding ear upon which he might release his torrent of frustration. "Have you seen Legolas?" he asked, attempting to keep the ire from his tone and failing when it came out as a growl. "Yes," she replied, a teasing glint in her eyes. "Tall, golden hair, grey eyes, likes trees and the screeching gulls…" Aragorn's gaze narrowed on his wife. Perhaps she would not be the listening ear he needed today after all. Not if she was in such a playful mood. Oh no, she would tease and cajole him— She smiled. "Oh, you meant today?" Her smile turned coy and she curled a finger to beckon him over to her. "Yes, today!" he grumbled, but was unable to truly be angry, not with her. He moved towards her, but stopped a few feet from the window and raised a brow, waiting for her response. "No, not today," she clarified, her smile turning thoughtful. "Is he supposed to be here?" "Yes." He released a heavy breath and walked to her, leaning over and kissing her on the cheek when she tilted her head up to him. Then straightening, he said, "But I fear our dear Lord of Asgarnen is missing." Aragorn ran a hand through his hair, forgetting for a moment that he had a narrow circlet around his head in lieu of the crown, which he only wore when seated upon the throne. His fingers tangled with the thin strips of gold and he cursed as he worked to remove the foul thing from his hair. Arwen tsked at his language, than began to laugh, which only increased his irritation, at least until she reached up to help him unravel the entwined hair, circlet and fingers. Once she had him free, she patted the seat beside her, and when he had sat, she ran a hand over his arm in a caress and asked, "What has Legolas done to cause you to be in such a foul mood? Stolen your horse?" Her smile turned to a grin as she reminded him of how Legolas had somehow managed to make off with the new stallion Eomer had gifted to him upon his return from Eryn Lasgalen in the spring. "No," Aragorn stated flatly, but made a mental note to check on the stallion later. "He missed the meeting with the mayors of the new townships in Northern Ithilien — the ones arguing over grazing rights with which he so kindly insisted I get involved." His irritation began to rise again as he remembered being stuck for several hours dealing with the petty issues brought before him at the meeting. Legolas had much to answer for by leaving him to face it alone! Arwen eyed her husband inquisitively. "Was he truly needed at this meeting? Was there some item you could not resolve with his absence? Or are you just upset you had to sit through it without his suffering alongside you?" Seeing his wife was trying to hold back her laughter at his expense, Aragorn glowered at her. "It is not funny! I had to spend hours — hours — arguing over whose horses belong on which side of a creek!" He stood and began pacing back and forth before the open door leading to the terrace overlooking their private gardens, not caring that his voice carried out into the hot, sunny day. "He could have resolved this matter himself weeks ago, or brought it to Faramir, but he let them insist on bringing it before me…" Arwen raised a brow at him, now completely serious as she inquired, "Do not the mayors have the right to ask for the king's counsel?" "Elves", he muttered, shaking his head in annoyance at her reminder that the mayors did indeed have such a right. But they would not have asked if not for Legolas's suggestion. Aragorn halted his steps, coming to a stop before the door and letting out an exasperated moan, letting his head fall back. The day was unseasonably hot, and his heavy robes, combined with his excessive pacing, were causing him to sweat profusely. A hint of breeze stirred through the open door, and the sound of the fountain, which bubbled from above the terrace down into the garden, lured him out into the sunshine. No sooner had he cleared the doorway when a spray of cool water splashed over him. He stood dripping and blinking in surprise at the unexpected wetting as the sound of bright laughter came from above him. Looking up to the fountain's source, he found the object of his irritation perched on the stone work at the fountain's head, grey eyes sparkling in mirth as Legolas gazed down at him. "You looked terribly hot, my friend. I thought you could use a cooling down!" the elf quipped, eyes shining. "Legolas!" Aragorn felt his ire rise within him, but then he remembered that only a few weeks prior, he had wished to see his friend act so carefree and mischievous again. Now that the elf was so joyful and full of life, he just could not be angry. Annoyed, yes, but not angry. Besides, he had noticed that Lancaeriel was perched in a similar manner not far away, a hand covering her mouth and an embarrassed expression on her face. It had been her laughter he had heard. He turned his gaze back to Legolas and motioned for them to join him. They dropped onto the terrace in the silent manner of woodelves. Lancaeriel wincing as she glanced over his wet robes, and Legolas beaming. Then in a move to help set Lancaeriel at ease, as well as get even with Legolas, he said, " You look a little warm yourself." And reaching out, he drew Legolas into a tight hug, managing to get the elf wet in the process with his drenched robes. "Ai, Estel! Must you soak me as well?" "Yes!" Lancaeriel let out another snicker of amusement, and through the open window came the sound of Arwen's melodious laughter. Aragorn released Legolas, then fixed him with a stern glare. "I am angry with you. Where have you been? You missed the meeting." "Please do not be irate with my lord," Lancaeriel beseeched him. "It was not his fault." Aragorn lifted his brows at her. "It is always his fault," he decided. "It is not!" Legolas added in affront, but then his smile faded as he explained. "Daehul went lame a league from Asgarnen. I had to walk him back and that took over an hour." "Is he—" "He bruised a foot, and will recover just fine. But I could not ride him to Minas Tirith." But Legolas had more than one horse, Aragorn thought. "What about Thinnen?" "Thinnen is in foal," Lancaeriel explained. "But the pregnancy is—" She winced. "Well, there is some concern she might miscarry, so he could not ride her." He turned his glare back on Legolas. "And Thinnen would not be in foal if you had not stolen my stallion to breed to her." "Borrowed," Legolas threw back at him. "He was returned to you." He made a gesture towards the direction of the stables on the sixth level. "We do not have many mounts in Asgarnen, Estel. And before you ask, Tathar has Glauri out with him on patrol to the East. Lancaeriel offered to let me borrow Naurun, but he will not let any but Caeri ride him." Aragorn glanced to Lancaeriel in time to see her wince again. "Naurun has become a one rider horse, I fear," she told him. "He threw Legolas—" "Caeri!" Legolas chastised. "You promised not to mention that part!" She bit her lip, more to stop a smile, Aragorn thought, than in chagrin. He could see the amusement in her eyes and wished he had seen the elf get tossed himself. That was most certainly a story that would need to be relayed to Gimli. "I told him to take Dinnif, instead," she said, "but then Dinnif would not leave without Naurun." "She has made pets of them," Legolas said with a hint of disgust. "And Daehul is not spoiled?" she asked, placing one hand on her hip as she narrowed her eyes at him. Aragorn found himself looking back and forth between both elves as they conversed, his lips twitching with mirth. He could hear Arwen's giggles coming from inside as well. "Daehul is not spoiled," Legolas retorted. "He is the son of Celedae and thus was born with an inflated ego!" "Like you?" Aragorn laughed aloud at that, and from inside, he heard Arwen's laughter turn to something resembling a snorting pig. Legolas threw up his hands in exasperation. "I told her to pack a bag and come with me. She has not yet had a chance to see much of the city, so she came along and here I am. When we arrived, I was informed the meeting had adjourned and you were headed here, so we took a short cut to meet you." "So you see, it was not Legolas's fault that he did not make it in time for the meeting." Aragorn was finding he no longer cared. He had not seen Legolas in the weeks since they had spoken in his talan — not even when the stallion had gone missing and been returned. It did his heart well to see Legolas acting like the elf Aragorn had known his whole life. He had missed this side of his friend. "Very well, I will concede that it was not Legolas's fault, if you, Caeri, will agree to join us for the evening repast." She blinked at him and said nothing until Legolas leaned over and whispered where they could all hear, "He wants you to join them for the evening meal." She looked at Legolas and made a face. "Then he should just say so!" Then she turned to Aragorn with a smile and said, "I would be honored, my lord king." Legolas shifted uncomfortably and glanced down at himself then to Aragorn and said, "Since we have explained the delay in my arrival, and I appear to be all wet, we shall take your leave so I might change and make arrangements for a room for Lancaeriel." Aragorn nodded, wishing to be rid of his own wet clothing. "By all means. In fact, I believe the room next to the one you share with Gimli is not being used. That would be easiest, I think." Legolas inclined his head and ushered Lancaeriel out, through the main door this time, after greeting Arwen and sharing a few pleasantries. Lancaeriel was still rather shy around his queen, Aragorn noted, but hoped that would change once they had supped together. When the two elves had gone, Aragorn moved to his wife, who looked at him in his wet garments and began to giggle once more. "I like her," Arwen said. "She is good for Legolas." Aragorn nodded. "She is, so do not start playing matchmaker or he will run!" "That princeling does not need a matchmaker," she told him, making him blink in surprise. "He will manage just fine on his own," she tilted her head thoughtfully, "in time." "Not if Tathar has anything to say about it," Aragorn told her with a laugh. "He is determined to win Lancaeriel's affections for himself, or so I hear." But Arwen shook her head. "She has no interest in Tathar," she declared, then added, "And Legolas—" "Legolas is oblivious," he agreed, reaching out and wrapping a still sodden arm around his wife's shoulders, drawing her close. She allowed him to pull her into his wet arms, laughing when his hair dripped onto her face. "You do realize that now we shall both have to remove our wet garments and find dry ones?" Arwen asked him as she pulled back sporting a mischievous smile of her own. Grinning back, he looked into her grey eyes and lifted a hand to trail down her cheek. "What a pity," he retorted and leaned in to capture her lips in a kiss.
The End
Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading and joining me for this journey! and a BIG thank you to everyone who has taken the time to review! Your reviews truly motivate me! I hope you've enjoyed the story. Lancaeriel shall be making appearances in future stories set in Ithilien, but next up is a story I've been working on for several years and decided it was time to complete. I've included a sneak peak trailer below. — o — It was just a simple outing… A sunny summer day in a large, peaceful meadow bordering a lake. A small child's laughter echoes as we hear the splashing of water) Glorfindel's voice only as the camera pans over waving flowers and shimmering water: "We are simply going to picnic in a meadow, perhaps swim in the pond, watch bugs, do little boy things." Elrond: "I trust you to keep him safe, my friend." (screen breaks to the courtyard in Imladris and Elrond kneeling in front of a three year old Estel.) Elrond: "Estel, it is very important that you do exactly as Glorfindel tells you. You must obey him in all things. Do you understand?" Estel: "Do what G'orfin'el tell me...or I get twubble." (The scene shifts to Glorfindel and Estel walking towards the stable with Elrond watching with a troubled expression. Words flash on black screen as the music begins to take on a more ominous tone: Should not a sense of foreboding on such a peaceful day have warned him of what was to come? (camera shifts back to the meadow and we hear a rustling of leaves. The music grows more dark and foreboding. The grasses wave in the breeze as we hear a guttural growl, pounding hooves and a voice calling out….) Glorfindel: "Estel! Do not move!" (Another growl. A child's scream echoes through the meadow. Words flash on black screen as music turns exciting) An unseen danger! (Camera zooms in on pounding grey legs and hooves speckled with blood as a horse races through the forest. Words flash on black screen as the music builds A peaceful day turns to disaster (Music slows to suspenseful strings as we see Elrond pacing a room as a woman enters looking concerned. Camera zooms in on Gilraen's face) Gilraen: "…something is wrong with Estel!" Elrond: "I feel it as well…" (Scene shifts to the door of the Last Homely House being thrown open and then all goes black as the music stops. Words flash on black screen) Some wounds go much deeper than skin and bone. (Mournful music as screen flashes to a close up of troubled blue eyes partially obscured by strands of golden hair) And some lessons are learned through much pain and sorrow. (Camera zooms in closer on blue eyes filled with tears. In the background we hear voices raised in anger, followed by a crash of something breaking) Will a family come together in such crisis? (Scene changes to Gilraen, tears on her face as she spins and points off camera) Gilraen: "It is all your fault!" (Screen changes to Elrond standing in the healing ward, his jaw clenched. He turns to look off camera) Elrond: "There is nothing you can do. Now leave!" (Flash back to close up of tear-filled blue eyes. In the background we hear a young child screaming and crying.) Or will a household be ripped apart by tragedy? (Music stops abruptly as screen goes black. All we hear is a rumbling growl, then a snarl… Glorfindel's voice echoes in despair: "ESTEL!" Healing Hope A story by Nieriel Raina Coming soon to a fan fiction site near you |
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