Ephemeros

Ch 5: The Hunt

“This is where Belthalion’s patrol said they saw it,” Elladan said excitedly as they emerged from the trees and found themselves at the edge of a pretty meadow sprinkled with summer blooms.  The mid-morning sun shone brightly down on them all. No stag in sight though.

They were now at the far eastern reach of the valley. The steep cliffs surrounding the heart of Imladris had now given way to green rolling hills and meadows, with the northern arm of the Bruinen meandering its way through the dells as far as the eye could see. Even further east, the snowy peaks of the Hithaeglir were visible above the treetops.

“That was some days ago at least,” Elrohir replied, looking around the clearing.

“Maybe we can pick up a trail,” suggested Legolas. “A beast that large must have left some trace of his presence.”

They all dismount and let the horses wander over the sweet grass. The hunters steadily make their way around the meadow, searching diligently for any tracks and tree rubbings. They comb the area till the sun rises high in the sky above, but for all their efforts, they have turned up nothing. Feeling a bit disheartened, the twins trudge over to where the horses stand munching quite contentedly in the shade of an old oak tree. They pull out their waterskins and take long sips while watching Legolas and Estel explore the far side of the meadow.

“Those two are inseparable,” remarks one twin to the other.

“Aye. They have scarcely been out of each other’s company since Legolas rode in through the gates.”

“It is a good thing though, I reckon. Estel will have need of such a friend in the years to come. I would like to see how well they perform together in battle.”

“The look on Legolas’ face was priceless, you know, that day he arrived and saw Estel on the steps?”

“Ha! That was one for the annals! Poor lad, it probably never occurred to him that Estel was no longer a youth, but a man by the standards of his people, for all the letters those two have written these last few years. Thranduil’s folk have limited contact with mortals, though they trade readily enough with the Lakemen.”

“He has been troubled, I think, but he is taking it well, somewhat. It cannot be easy to see the child who he dandled on his knee suddenly full-grown and of an age with him! But surely someone has spoken to him of this? And they sing of Turin and Beleg (see A/N 1) in Thranduil’s halls, do they not?”

Before the other had time to respond, a call from across the field brings them both out of contemplation.

“Elladan! Elrohir! Come look!”

Leaving behind their previous thoughts, they jog over to see what their companions have found.

“Look there! That’s a game trail or I’ll eat my hat!” exclaims Estel.

The narrow little trail was well hidden by long grasses and undergrowth, but to well-trained eyes, it was plain for all to see. The two younger ones were grinning from ear to ear as they turned triumphantly to look at the twins.

Elladan wastes no time. “You’re right. We should get the horses.”

Thumping Estel on the back, they call their mounts and lead them to the trailhead. On swift feet, they follow the winding path into the woods, looking for any signs of passing.

It is Legolas who finds the first print – a massive cloven impression in the dirt.

“Elbereth! That is the largest print I have seen in two centuries!” exclaims Elrohir.

“And these seem fresh. Not even half a day. Maybe he was here this very morning!” Estel can not help his excitement.

Exhilarated by the discovery, they leave the horses in a small clearing with soft instructions and continue on the narrow trail for a good while more. Soon enough, they find themselves beyond the protection afforded them within the borders of Imladris itself. Outside the protective sphere, they are now at the mercy of the elements, and also vulnerable to any number of enemies that have multiplied unnumbered in recent years. Warriors, all four are they, and such threats do not alarm them overmuch, and yet, instinctively, all four silently switch to a mode of increased stealth and awareness of their surroundings, on watch for anything that might come their way.

They follow the trail through the dense forest, the ground undulating beneath their feet as they draw nearer and nearer to the foothills of the Hithaeglir. They crest a small, steep hill and look down to see the forest floor spread out before them. And there, less than a hundred yards away and half hidden by the brush, stands their quarry. They watch spellbound as it wanders in and out amongst the trees, heeding them not, looking for all the world like a grand lord at rest in his demesne. 

Truly, Belthalion had not spoken falsehoods. The beast before them is magnificent. It is a trophy worthy of the greatest of huntsmen, standing a full metre and a half at the shoulder. The proud, kingly visage, held aloft by an elegant, curving neck radiates ascendancy while the sleek, russet coat glistens gently in the slanting sun rays. The legendary sixteen points stand proudly upon its majestic rack.

The four hunters marvel in awe for a long moment. None of them dares make a single sound as their eyes drink in the beauty of the creature in the distance while they crouch motionless in the dirt behind the shrubbery at the top of the cliff.

Finally, Elladan whispers so softly, the others strain to hear him.

“Legolas, you have the surest aim. You should take the shot.”

The others nod their agreement. Legolas has a clear line of sight to the stag, and silently he readies his bow and nocks an arrow. He brings his left arm up, holding the bow steadily, as he draws the bowstring taut to a pale cheek with the right, eyes dark and focused on the target. The forest grows still in that instant. No bird sings, nor does the wind blow. The stag slowly raises its stately head, as if sensing their presence.

There is no wind, and they are well hidden by the foliage on the cliff top. Still, the stag looks straight at them, liquid eyes piercing the distance between them. Five hearts beat in thunderous chorus. Four breaths are held in excruciating anticipation of the fatal shot.

But it does not come.

Legolas lowers his bow, his eyes not leaving the stag’s.

The other three glance at their companion, incomprehension in their gazes. They say nothing, but the question burns in their eyes. A new silence descends upon them all. They watch the stag pace the small clearing, then turn away and disappear deeper into the wood.

Still their silence prevails.

No one moves.

“I… I could not take its life,” A soft whisper finally meets their bewilderment. “I just couldn’t. That glorious creature did not deserve such an end… I am sorry, my friends. I could not do it.”

All at once, their confusion melts into empathetic understanding.

 “It is alright, Legolas. We understand. Do not be sorry.”

Estel is the first to speak. He turns to his friend and grasps him gently by the shoulders.

“We got to see him, remember? It is enough. And what you say is true. Such a glorious creature should live out his days in peace.”

He wraps a kind arm around his distraught friend’s shoulders, giving them a soft squeeze. Legolas leans into the warm embrace, grateful for this noble acceptance of what he perceived as failure in their eyes.

Elrohir places a gentle hand on Legolas’ cold ones.

“Aye, you have saved us from grave error, my friend. There is no need for apology, Legolas.”

Elladan rises slowly to his feet, gazing down upon his two younger companions with a tender smile and a mixture of guilt, admiration and brotherly love, squashing down the tiny twinge of disappointment he could not help but feel. There was guilt for having nearly been party to the stag’s unhappy demise, but also admiration for Legolas’ courage to stand by his beliefs, and then such love for these two he counted as brothers in all but blood. His twin comes to stand beside him, and they look out over the calmness of the forest, singing a sweet hymn of blessing upon the land.

Yes, it was the right thing to do.

They turn to begin the long trek homeward, but Elladan pauses to glance back at the now empty clearing, envisioning the beautiful creature that had stood there not so long ago.

“Fare thee well, good beast. May you live out your days in Yavanna’s keeping...”

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A/N 1: The friendship between Aragorn and Legolas has sometimes been compared to that of Turin Turambar and Beleg Strongbow because of the depth of these two friendships between an elf and a man. I am not the first to draw this comparison, but I can direct readers to take a look at Legolass' story Once Upon a Strongbow. It is a beautiful telling of that tale and highly recommended.

A/N 2: Thank you to all who reviewed the last chapter. Your kind words and encouragement are what keep this story going.