Execution
They moved as one. Weaving in an out of trunks, leaping downed trees, ducking low lying limbs. The four horsemen were a force to be reckoned with and anyone who happened upon their journey would tell the story to their children. Their children would pass it down to their children and so on until the myth of the four determined specters would instill fear into misbehaving young ones.
Animals ceased in their daily tasks as the riders passed. Birds paused in their singing, forest squirrels stopped in the gathering of their food, deer froze in their grazing, all to be witness to the passage of the elves. One could have sworn that even the fish halted in their swimming.
One by one they leapt the small brook that dared cross their path, each clearing the water perfectly, raising no spray onto the rider behind him. In tandem they dodged a series of hanging branches, not even their quick passing elicited movement from the trees extremities.
They exchanged words and direction as they rode but the communication was inaudible to all but the foursome. At the bidding of the lead rider they simultaneously raised a slender hand and pulled their hoods up over their heads, concealing their elven heritage. Now, their faces were barely visible beneath the drawn hoods eliciting an even more eery, ethereal aura.
Soft words were spoken by the riders to halt the movement of the horses as small buildings came into view. Drawing into a canter, four sets of eyes turned to the high set sun, four hearts began to pound in unison and four elven beings dismounted at the edge of the small town.
“We do not have much time.” Angrod’s words were rushed. “The townspeople seem to be moving toward the center of town. Let us move.”
Raising a halting hand, Glorfindel spoke without removing his eyes from the scene before him. “We must remain calm and inconspicuous.” His eyes followed the people moving before him. His ears tried to pick up the hurried conversations going on amongst the inhabitants. Word of an elven execution circulated furiously. Everyone who moved about the town moved in the direction of a large platform centered there.
“Angrod, take the horses to the East of the town, just beyond the tree line. Have them wait and then join us in the town’s center.” Glorfindel turned his head toward the other three elves as he spoke buts his eyes remained rooted on the rostrum. “Elladan, you take the West. Elrohir, take South. Angrod, you remain to the East. Do not move in on the elf until you receive a signal from me.”
The blond elf gave his horse one last pat then stepped forward, the two identical elves following directly in his footsteps. Angrod moved slowly out of sight to their right and was immediately lost amongst the thick trees. But Glorfindel’s train of vision didn’t waver, his eyes remained glued to the platform directly ahead of him and the twins.
Tugging the hood of his cloak a little lower over his eyes, he subconsciously picked up the pace of his steps. The people of the crowd that had formed around the platform became more solid to his sight and grew in size the closer he got. Consisting of approximately three dozen people, equal parts men and women, the people didn’t appear malicious in their observation. Curiosity seemed to plague each of them as their eyes scanned the crowd and their words spun stories of the murderous elf.
The trio separated on the edge of the crowd and moved into their respective areas on each side of the raised platform. The platform was made of plain wood, no intricate craftsmanship adorned it as would appear in Imladris or Mirkwood. Two simple steps rose from the southern side leading up. One large branch from an oak tree loomed overhead, a long rope dangled from it. Glorfindel’s eyes followed the rope which lay over the branch then stretched out coming to end just to the North of the platform, tied securely to the pommel of a saddle strapped atop a large black stallion.
The sight made him cringe, the hairs on the back of his neck rose and his stomach turned. This wasn’t to be a quick hanging, the town was too simple for that, the elf that was to be executed was to be executed by strangulation.
Glorfindel’s attention was then drawn to a shrouded being stepping out of the woods just left of the horse. Angrod casually made his way across the clearing and Glorfindel couldn’t help but sympathize with the young elf when he noticed a pause as Angrod’s own eyes caught the rope and horse.
No sooner had the foursome settled into the crowd when hushed voices became raised and excited. Something was entering the crowd from the South. Glorfindel twisted and raised up on his toes to get a better look of what was causing the commotion. As the crowd began to part he felt his own anxiety rising and the probability of what was about to occur. He had already decided that regardless of the identity of the elf to be executed he would do everything in his power to still the punishment.
His senses detected the straining nerves of the other three elves in the crowd as the prisoner came into view. A tall dark man entered the crowd, Glorfindel could just make out the top of the man’s head. It was who he guided by the elbow that seized his attention. White bandages were all that he saw to begin with, the elf’s head was bound tightly. A pale face is what he saw next and not matter the pallor of the complexion, Glorfindel would never mistake that elf for another.
He turned quickly in the direction of the other elves and leveled each of them with a glare, telling them that if they moved he would personally see to their removal from Arda. When he turned back to the direction of the prisoner he steeled his nerves for what he saw and was about to see. The elf looked so young with his head covered, dressed in oversized men’s clothing. His arms were bound very tightly behind his back and his head hung, his chin almost coming to rest on his chest.
Yet, the elf seemed more resolved then frightened. The man lead him very gently through the crowd of people who had gathered to watch this spectacle, clearing townspeople out of the way and ensuring that the elf didn’t trip or run into anyone. His large hand remained firmly on the elf’s elbow as he guided the prisoner up the stairs and onto the platform. The elf was then quickly handed over to another, rather obese man with no hair before the first man’s shoulders dropped and he removed himself from the platform more quickly than he had arrived.
“Interesting.” Glorfindel watched the man as he walked to the edge of the throng. As soon as the man stopped, the blond elf moved hurriedly in his direction. Perhaps he could stop this before it went to far.
Locke scanned the horde before him as he tried to still the quivering that seemed to have overtaken him. He didn’t feel fear for the events which were about to occur, yet he could not calm his nerves. He had resolved himself that death was a much more desirable outcome to his predicament then spending the rest of his days searching for his life only to eventually discover that it was not a life he wanted to have.
He had tuned out the crowd as Leandir had guided him through the curious onlookers. He didn’t want to look at them, nor acknowledge their presence, he just wanted it all to be over with. Yet, the people had been remarkably calm, there had been no shouting or shoving, there didn’t even appear to be any anger. All that Locke felt was curiosity and apprehension although he was not sure what the townspeople could be feeling uneasy over.
Climbing the steps up to the platform took all of his strength. Locke could feel his chest constricting with each step as the hollowness of the stairs reverberated in his still aching head. All sound seemed to vanish as he strode, slowly across the platform toward the councilman, Torrill, who was stationed in the center of the platform, one hand holding tightly to a noose dangling from a heavy branch, which hung overhead.
Locke restrained himself from following the length of rope with his eyes but he suspected that - because of the absence of a trapdoor or stool - his hanging would not be quick, nor painless.
He could sense Leandir’s hesitation as he was handed over to the councilman and Locke raised his eyes to the marshal, giving a comforting smile to the man who had been his only friend since his arrest. “Thank you.” He whispered as Leandir backed away a guilt-ridden expression marring his dark face. He followed the marshal as he finally turned and descended the stairs then made his way across the town center to the edge of the crowd.
He then allowed his vision to rove over the gathered multitude stopping momentarily on faces and studying them closely. Locke could see the intrigue in their eyes, the questions and the small doses of fear. He hadn’t gone far into the crowd when he started at a familiar, unnerving presence.
Standing just to the left of the platform were Thad and his cronies. They leaned into each other as though they had spent the morning in the local pub, drinking in celebration. Laughter could be heard over the rest of those gathered and, because of his acute hearing, Locke could make out the crude jokes and slanderous remarks coming from the group. Thad, however, did not speak. He just stood in the center of the group of drunken men, a malicious smile on his face and when Locke made eye contact with the man Thad tilted his head in mock greeting. He then lifted his black, stained hand and twitted his fingers at the elf.
Locke nearly lost his composure at the complete disregard for life and lack of respect. Even this close to his death the man taunted him and it made the elf’s stomach roll in disgust.
He pulled his gaze away from the disgusting men and moved deeper into the crowd. He caught the eyes of a young mother, her baby pressed firmly to her shoulder, a look of sorrow in her eyes. He then moved on to an elderly gentleman, not much younger than Adras, profound indignation set forth on his complexion. Then onto an older woman, standing hand in hand with, what Locke assumed was her husband. The woman carried a look of hatred, the man pity.
Locke’s vision then skirted across other members of the collection until they landed on him. Hidden deep beneath the hood of a cloak were a set of the clearest, gray eyes that the elf could ever recall seeing. He tried to delve deeper into the mask but the eyes were all that was visible and Locke found the image unsettling.
Forcing himself to move along, Locke nearly stumbled backward when he fell across the same cloaked figure, grey eyes shining. He turned his head back to where he had seen the other figure and his breath caught in his throat when he discovered the being still there. Two of them there were and Locke found his head swinging back and forth between the two.
Something pulled at him from the opposite side of the platform and Locke turned his gaze only to be met by a third cloaked figure, this one with intense blue eyes staring back. The elf swallowed heavily and his eyes grew wide as the being took a step forward, coming closer to the platform. Now the elf’s head cut, rapidly amongst the three. The longer he stared the more familiar the eyes became.
Who were they? Could they have come to escort him to the other side? But, though the figures instilled a sense of fear in him, they also comforted him. A discreet awareness of recognition inkling at the back of his mind.
Seeking some kind of guidance Locke looked in the direction that he had last seen Leandir. He nearly gasped when he saw a fourth cloaked figure engaged in an intense discussion with the marshal. The mysterious figure seemed to be shouting at Leandir but Locke could not make out what the pair were saying to each other.
A slight breeze picked up, catching the leaves overhead and the rope dangling next to him swayed subtly but it was not these things that made Locke freeze. The shift in the air had caused a hair to come loose from the fourth figures cloak. A long tendril of gold flipped out but for only a brief second before the mysterious creature snatched it back and tucked it under his hood once again.
Gold hair. A vision shot through Locke’s mind at the sight and the elf look another step back before being grasped tightly by the arm by Torrill. But it was what he saw in his psyche that made his heart ache. The picture of an elf of royal stature, a loving look in his eyes as he regarding the troubled Locke. His heart swelled at this vision and he closed his eyes to keep the picture in his mind. He clung to the image even as it faded from his vision before being lost to him. Then the present situation slammed back into him.
“Locke the elf.” Torrill began, his hand still firmly grasping Locke’s arm. “You have been charged with murder and horse theft and found guilty before the council of this fair town.”
The monotone voice of the councilman continued on but the words were lost on Locke as he searched the crowd for the intimidating figures he had noted earlier. Each, with the exception of the golden haired one still arguing with Leandir, moved steadily forward, coming closer to the platform.
It was the movement of the larger man to his right that caught his attention yet again as a noose was slid over his head, snagging the bandage wrapped tightly there and coming to rest upon his slender neck.
“You must stop this. You know not what you do.” Glorfindel was frantic now as he tried to instill the level of importance into the marshal without raising his voice.
“There is naught that I can do master elf.” Leandir refused to make eye contact with Glorfindel as he spoke, his eyes rooted on Locke. “I have done my job, the decision is that of the council members.”
“For what is he being executed?”
Leandir shifted uncomfortably as though his feet burned beneath him. “He is charged with murder and theft. There were many witnesses to his crime.”
Glorfindel clenched his fists at his side. “He could not have done it.”
“He has no memory.”
Glorfindel didn’t pick up on the severity of the statement. “It matters not, we have a witness in Rivendell who says that they were attacked on their journey and only retaliated in self defense. You must believe this. You know not you who hold. Who you are about to put to death.”
This series of statements got Leandir’s attention and he finally turned his head to meet the eyes of the elf accosting him. That it didn’t matter that Locke had no memory at all stunned Leandir. How could this elf think that. The elf had lost everything in the blink of an eye. He had lost his own identity. How could this be of no importance?
“What mean you?” He enquired of the regal looking elf.
“This is Legolas, Son of Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. If you put him to death you will have the wrath of the elves upon you. Do not do it.” Glorfindel pleaded. He wasn’t above groveling in this instance. The life of his young friend was at stake as well as the life of many others if this execution was allowed to continue.
Just then a breeze kicked up, knocking a strand of hair loose from Glorfindel’s cloak. The elf snatched it back quickly but the similarity was not lost on Leandir. “Is he your kin?”
Glorfindel seemed shocked by this question and turned an inquisitive eye on the marshal. “Please, you can not allow this to go on. If you do not stop it then we must.”
The man upon the platform with Locke began to speak now and it took every ounce of Leandir’s and Glorfindel’s restraint to keep from looking.
“I can not stop it.” Leandir spoke softly. “I would lose the respect I have worked so hard for. Criminals would come from all over to this town because word would get out that I was lenient. It is my job to protect these people.”
“And yet you let the real criminals go unpunished and risk a war over an unrightly death?”
But before the marshal could answer the elf’s inquiry the words they had both been dreading rang about the town. “ENGAGE!”
Why did he look frightened of me? Why are we not moving to stop this? The questions ran through Angrod’s head too quickly for him to keep up with them. He glanced to his left to make quick eye contact with Elrohir, who was obviously asking himself the same questions as a look of despair crossed over his fair face.
Elrohir stepped forward and Angrod found himself mimicking the action. He was drawn to Legolas, he wanted to fly up there and release him from the grasp of the large man who stood reading off some absurd charges. Legolas would never kill a man for his horse. The thought angered him and he found himself taking large breaths to calm his anger.
He knew that they had been told not to move on the platform until they had received the signal from Glorfindel but when the man slipped the noose over Legolas’ head Angrod fought to hold his ground. He took another step forward.
As Legolas made eye contact with him again, confusion and anxiety marring his bandaged head, he took another step forward.
He noted a wince of pain on his Prince’s face and he felt Elrohir and Elladan moving forward and he took another step forward.
He could hear Glorfindel arguing with, what he perceived to be the marshal, making no ground in his case to let his friend go and he took another step forward.
Then the word that he had been dreading rang out and that was all it took. Angrod was in motion before the councilman finished the order. “ENGAGE!”