Feud
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Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
125
Views:
27,623
Reviews:
413
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Ist Thurin [Hidden Knowledge]
by erobey erobey@gmail.com
unbeta'd
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Ist Thurin [Hidden Knowledge]
Legolas sped from the vaults and up the stony spiral stairs with all the speed he could muster, eager to be gone from the fortress before Thranduil realised exactly what had just happened. The Tawarwaith could hardly believe it himself and shifted the box of gems to his disabled limb, plunging his hand into his pocket to tightly curl awed fingers around the warm circle of gold that would soon adorn his mate. He was of the opinion that perhaps his uncles had played a part in the unexpected benefit, exerting subconscious influence over their brother's thoughts at a vulnerable moment. Legolas half smiled, half frowned, considering what consequences might result. The King would not be overly pleased to behold the symbol of his parents' unending fidelity marking the union of his discarded son and the Noldo advisor from Imladris. The reaction was more likely to be explosively aggrieved than gracious and complimentary.
I doubt a soul bond between a scion of the House of Oropher and a noble of the Mariner's line ever occurred to Thranduil, not even in his most horrendous nightmares!
It mattered little, however, for the ring had been a gift and the King could hardly demand the seneschal remove it from his finger and deliver it back to the vaults. He hoped not at any rate. Such an action would denigrate the sacred, gentle, mutual captivity of united hearts the simple article of jewellery represented. Surely even Thranduil would not disgrace such a holy estate for the sake of spite. But for that possibility, the expression of disbelief and outrage sure to transform the Sinda's features upon observing the band's ultimate disposition would be amusingly gratifying.
The height the steps ascended seemed greater than he recalled, the passage more steeply inclined and far more twisting or perhaps his body was more thoroughly depleted than he had realised. Aye, all of that is true. Soon Legolas found himself breathing hard and straining to reach the landing at the rear of the kitchen. He would not be deterred, however, and the dreary tunnel grew steadily brighter. With a final grimly determined push he burst through into the anteroom of the huge cavern utilised for the stronghold's cookery, bakery, pantry and scullery.
So abrupt was the Tawarwaith's exit from the curling stairs that he nearly collided with a pair of young elflings he had met on a previous ascent from the lower reaches of the fortress. Legolas skidded left against the wall as the taller boy leaped right and yanked his brother back with him. The trio stared at one another in silence a second or two, all of them presenting a fair imitation of deer startled to stillness by the bright blaze of a torch-lit hunting party.
If Tirno in yellow pyjamas had been too daunting a figure to meet face to face, then trading stares with the Tawarwaith, bloodied, bandaged, and unmistakably regal even in his exhausted state, was beyond the elflings' endurance. The youngest tore loose from his brother and fled into the kitchen, shouting in excited tones.
"Alae! Ho si, Glânduin!" [Behold, he is here, White River]
His elder sibling wasted no time except to gasp at being left alone with the imposing warrior and followed at once, heedless of Legolas' silent entreaty in the form of an outstretched arm.
"Sen Cenon, Cemendur," [This I see, Servant of the Earth] replied the chef for Thranduil's household, a merry smile on his lips and hands upon his hips as his body filled the narrow arch. "You were supposed to warn us before he reached the kitchen, thêlion dithen."[little sister-son]
"But he was running very fast and his feet do not make enough noise," complained the little one, peering from behind the comforting bulk of his uncle. His huge round eyes swept over the form of the fabled forest fighter, taking in the luxuriant cape, gory leggings, and fresh white wrapping around his shoulder. A small shudder worked through him and he pulled his face completely out of sight.
"Ai! I meant not to startle you, Cemendur," spoke Legolas softly and smiled. He was rather upset to see the elflings' shyness in his presence, for he fancied he had a way with the young of all kinds: elves, Men, and even the non-speaking things of Arda. "Why were you watching for me?"
"The carpenter bade us to," answered the elder brother, coming forward to stand next to his uncle boldly, though he did not relinquish his tight grip upon the ellon's fingers.
His courage inspired Cemendur to sidle out from cover, his vision shifting from Glânduin to Legolas cautiously. "Did you really try to stab the King?" the small, high chirrup queried.
"Cemendur!" hissed the older elfling, his arm swinging out, intending to land a rebuking slap upon the youngster's cheek. The blow never fell, for Legolas seized the offending wrist and held it firm.
"None of that!" he admonished. "It is a fair question and he has every right to ask it. I shall give my answer, but first I would know your name, young warrior, and to what House the pair of you belong."
"Oh no need to worry for these two, Brannon Tirno," [Lord Watcher] the chef objected. "These are my sister's children. I am caring for them now." His nephew, however, refused to be silent.
"I am Anardur [Servant of the Sun] eldest son of Taurendil, Nanethen [Friend of the Forest, my mother] and Arfenras, Adaren. [Noble Horn, my father] Adar died at the Battle of Erebor and Naneth is Athedrainyn [Border-crosser (messenger)] to Imladris. She is there just now, sharing news of our prince's birth. Cemendur is my baby brother and I make sure he does not get into trouble." This long speech was announced proudly by Anardur while he stood as tall as he was able and met the serious blue eyes of the newly reprieved outcast with his impetuous amber ones.
"For your loss I grieve and hope your naneth returns with all haste possible, Anardur," spoke Legolas with a polite bow. To his dismay, the dip of his head produced another loss of equilibrium and a faint roaring in his ears reminiscent of the crashing waves from his dream of the Crossing.
A jumbled murmur of concerned and sympathetic words swirled about and hands cautiously grabbed his sturdy arm as two small palms pushed against his belly and a second set grabbed on at the waist. When the dizziness cleared, Legolas found he was seated on the floor against the wall, both elflings crouched before him staring with intense concentration. Glânduin had left them, but this was explained as he soon hurried back, bearing a cup. He knelt and held the rejuvenating water to the Tawarwaith's lips.
"Hannad," said Legolas with a shaky smile, "and I am not a Lord, Glânduin. Tirno is adequate, or my mother-name: Legolas."
"If you so wish it, then I shall try to remember. Yet now the Judgement is lifted and is it not my right to proclaim allegiance to our Tawarwaith?"
Legolas could only stare in exasperated surprise at the elf, unable to think of a fitting response that would not seem like a rebuke.
"What is wrong, Brannonlas?" asked Cemendur. "Did the Black Knife harm you badly?"
"Cemendur, he does not want to be called that!" scolded Anardur, sending a sidelong glance in the archer's direction when ringing laughter intermixed with his words.
"Nay, your brother has bestowed upon me a fitting title." Legolas liked this diminutive honorific, deciding that if he must be named lord, then a leaf-lord was appropriate. "I am more tired than I realised, Cemendur, for the Dark Dagger bites hard and deep. Yet I will respond now to your just inquiry. I would never harm the King, merely wishing for him to think that I might."
"Why ever would you want him to think that?" blurted Anardur and winced when Glânduin squeezed his fingers very hard.
"Hush your impertinent tongue, elfling!" warned the chef.
"Now you are the one making wrong questions!" snickered Cemendur, glad he was no longer alone in gaining their uncle's censure.
"Nothing is improper to ask when it concerns the safety of our home," announced Tirno firmly. "I should not have so wished. It was a foolish idea from a mind lost in sorrow and I have learned the price paid for that mistake by every elf in the Council Chamber this morn. I hope I will be excused for it in time."
"Oh yes, we have forgiven you, Brannonlas!" announced Cemendur sincerely and overcame his timidity at the sight of the contrite and wounded elf, scooting forward on his knees to wrap small arms around Legolas' neck.
"Ah! You have a generous heart, pen dithen," [little one] sighed the Tawarwaith and encircled the slender back in a hug that was possibly more comforting for him then the elfling. "Then all is well now for Thranduil has acquitted me, too. Look! Here is a gift from his vaults." Legolas rightly guessed the change in subject would divert the child's mind from the unpleasant discord within the ruling Lord's unorthodox family. He released his hold on Cemendur, balanced the humble wooden box upon his outstretched knees, and opened it, displaying the prized emeralds to appropriate oohs and ahhs from the brothers and their kinsman.
"Oh there are so many of them!" exclaimed Cemendur. He wanted very much to touch them but knew this would earn a punishment later A sharp smack upon the palm with Glânduin's long handled wooden stirring spoon. and so he wisely held his wish in check. "Are you going to share your treasure with the Noldo Lord?"
"Ai, hên raug!" [demon child] Glânduin's exasperated cry erupted and he shook his head. "That is not a polite question. It is Brannonlas' business, and none of yours, with whom he wishes to share those gems."
"Peace, it is well," assured Legolas and regarded the elfling quizzically, head cocked slightly to one side. "I had not thought to do so, for I have something better for him. Would you like to see?"
Both Cemendur and Anardur nodded unspoken, emphatic assent and their mother's brother barely managed to refrain from doing the same as his own curiosity almost eluded his control. Legolas was now grinning widely as he searched the pants' pocket for his real treasure. He brought it out concealed within his tightly furled fist and held this up before his chest. In suspenseful slowness that skirted the bounds of his audience's patience, he opened out his hand by minute increments until the gleaming band was displayed upon his flattened palm. Silence greeted the unveiling and he waited anxiously for some comment.
"Oh it is fine," said Anardur, remembering his manners quickly and smiling up at Greenwood's champion.
"Indeed, a perfect choice and high time, if I might be so bold, Brannon'eth, [young Lord]" Glânduin spoke up. "We all understood the banishment prevented you from formalising your connection to the seneschal, yet it was not fitting for the bond to go undeclared."
Legolas' raised his brows slightly as he gazed at the chef, thinking he quite understood from whom the younglings had learned to be so forthright.
"Nay, it is not as pretty as the emeralds and not worth nearly as much. Will he not be sad for you to keep the jewels for yourself?" asked Cemendur, clearly unimpressed by the simple metal circle, regardless of its soft, rich glow.
Before Anardur or Glânduin could remonstrate the child, Legolas laughed lightly, replaced the ring in his pocket, and reached out to lay his hand upon Cemendur's shoulder.
"I hope he will not be! Mayhap I will give him one or two along with the ring, just to be certain. What do you think; is it fair?"
"I suppose," the elfling shrugged and smiled back.
"Then I shall do just that," said the Tawarwaith. He gathered the box in the crook of his arm and began to rise. The chef at once came to his side to steady him and Anardur unceremoniously gripped his sides as Cemendur wrapped both hands around his wrist. Legolas could not help his wide grin over this fussing and did not attempt to pull free too quickly lest his new friends believe they had caused offence. "I must be getting home now, mellynen." [my friends]
"And everything is in readiness, Brannonlas!" exclaimed Anardur and at once raced ahead of the rest, passing through the kitchen and out into the rear courtyard where Ningloriel's garden blended seamlessly into the cultivated herbs and vegetables used in the cookery. Beyond this was a small low, stone wall separating the domestic area from the dusty, busy stable yard. There the youth waited just inside the open archway between the two worlds, for he was not allowed amongst the soldiers, chafing in eager expectation amid a sizeable gathering of elves, mostly warriors and staff employed in the stronghold. The same air of animated anticipation pervaded the quietly conversing crowd and every eye was trained upon the garden path.
Legolas walked slowly, allowing Cemendur to guide him by the hand as Glânduin matched him stride for stride in case he might falter. At the breech in the wall he halted and stared in wonder at the scene before him. There stood a trio of elves, one being supported between the other two, his hands resting upon the withers of a fine woodland pony bedecked in silk and coloured streamers.
The fragile ellon was shocking to behold, for few were the elves to survive so far into grieving as this debilitated creature had withdrawn, and those that did were kept sequestered among family, protected from gawking gazes and pitying stares. His skin was of a sickly hue, dark yellow as a Man's tanned by long years under the sun; his, hair brittle and ragged, had faded to a drab and lifeless grey, though care had been taken to comb and braid it in elaborate warrior's patterns that bespoke a long career of courageous service. Stooped as though he had spent years in servitude under a harsh master's whip, the elf's body was nearly skeletal from the constant ague of his wasting soul. His eyes seemed too large for his gaunt face and peered with fevered excitement upon the approaching Tawarwaith; a sickly smile curved his burgundy lips. Suddenly, his features reworked into anguished despair as his vision tracked over the archer's bandaged torso, and the disabled veteran cried out hoarsely, calling Legolas' name and lifting a trembling arm toward the deposed prince.
Legolas hastened forward as Glânduin and his nephews fell back. Tirno was too overcome with distress to answer the quavering call, and cautiously gripped the bony shoulder of his old comrade. He had to swallow twice before he could trust to speech and then decided it was impossible to contain the tears and let them flow. Here before him was the fifth elven soldier dispatched to provide distraction for the goblin king's body-guards that fateful day on the plains before the Lonely Mountain. The sole survivor of those brave volunteers had plainly not weathered the onslaught of grief and misplaced guilt over the deaths of his fellows.
"Gildin!" [Silver Spark] Legolas said in woeful tones and leaned his forehead against the ailing ellon's.
"Aye, Legolas, I am here," answered the warrior, bending to meet the prince's filial gesture. He leaned heavily on the Tawarwaith's uninjured shoulder as the two elves beside him let go to allow this reunion. "I ask pardon; I did not understand how things were. No one told me or…my mind has not been sure of…things…" his voice trailed away into a whisper softer than the slightest breeze of spring at dusk.
"Ii is I who must beg forgiveness, for I did not think on what had become of you beyond the knowledge that you did not die that day," Legolas breathed back, shamed that this was the truth. He had not considered that Gildin would suffer from the aftermath of battle in this way and so profoundly.
"Sîdh, you had troubles of your own."
"As did you, only it has been hidden all these years. Where have you been?"
Now the collected warriors and servants milling about in hopes of seeing the Tawarwaith emerge from the vaults were drawn into the new drama. None had expected this elf to return to Greenwood, for his status upon departure had warranted many to opine that he would not last the journey hence. That Legolas had not been made aware of any of this was obvious, and the crowd surreptitiously advanced to witness his reaction to the revelation.
"We thought it was best to take him away. We meant to sail for Aman," answered the steady voice of Gildin's Naneth; she smiled at Legolas kindly and there was no accusation or anger in her eyes. One hand was gently rubbing her son's bowed back as the other gripped tightly to her mate's beside her.
"Yet Gildin did not wish it, for the sea, once we beheld it, was fearsome. It beckoned one moment, showing its peaceful dreamy side, but the next would rise up in violence and cast upon the shore pieces of ships and the broken, lifeless bodies of Men. In vain did the Noldor and Teleri under Cirdan's lordship seek to persuade us to board their vessels, for there are no communications from any that have gone West before. Mayhap they are on the shores of Eldamar, yet just as easily they may reside in Mandos. I refused to put my son in the clutches of so unpredictable an entity!" Gildin's father was even more adamant than his wife in defending their decision to remain in Middle-earth.
"I would have spoken up; I swear to you. I would not have let the charges stand. I was not…my thoughts will not move beyond the battle…" Gildin was weeping almost hysterically but that he had not strength to provoke so frenzied a state. He was wracked with shuddering tremors and grasped Legolas tighter in his efforts to contain his sobbing lament. "…and then I was no longer here though I do not remember journeying away. I could not see how to come home…I was…am…confused…"
"Valar! No notion of this has ever entered my thinking," insisted Legolas quietly. "Be at peace, for this was not something within your control. I have never held you to blame; you could not have known what transpired upon the ridge. Be at peace at least on my account."
"We knew of the Judgement but did not stop to consider its verity, for Gildin returned to us broken. We left before Gwain Ithil [New Moon] and have been living in Mithlond. Gradually our fears of the sea diminished and we came to trust that the Teleri understood the ways of Ulmo and the moods of Ossë. We began to plan for the Crossing. Of your fate we knew nothing, believing you dead from the perils of the Tasks, until Ningloriel arrived and her ship was being readied. Great was her lament for your low estate!" intoned Gildin's mother.
"We thought we would go forth to the Blessed Realm with her entourage, yet rumour of her words reached Gildin and once more he refused to board. He would return and speak of the battle, but I was staunchly against it. I do not ask you to forgive me in this; my son is dearer to me than another's and I will never apologise for that fact," said the elder ellon in tight phrases that somehow betrayed that he did, indeed, feel remorse for putting his own child's welfare first.
"I would never ask it of a father to do so," spoke Legolas sincerely. "And yet you are here."
"I made them bring me back," Gildin's speech was briefly reminiscent of the stalwart soldier he had been for centuries out of time. "Once I knew you lived under this curse, I would not let them remove me from my duty."
"The road was hard on him, more so than our long departure was, for as you see his end draws close. I am sorry it took this many years to travel hence, but often Gildin could not be moved for the severity of the pain. We were forced to halt two years in Evendim and the sacred waters rejuvenated us all, somewhat, after crossing Ered Luin. [the Blue Mountains] Then again we stalled north of the shire-folks' holdings…" the mother catalogued their journey.
"No explanations are owed to me from any of you." Legolas could not believe these elves were begging clemency for the number of days required to transport their dying child from the Havens! "Tell me only that there is something I may do to lessen the agony of Gildin. Ask anything and I will find a way to make it happen!" he concluded passionately, knowing already that what they most would wish was not in his power to grant, and he wept more over this vile certainty than for the past hardships the family had endured.
"You have already seen to it," said Gildin. "I had need to unlade my feä of your suffering. I have arrived after the trial but before my death, and now that I see your honour restored I am at peace over the oversight my grief provoked."
"Nay, old friend, none of this was ever your burden!" Legolas raised his head to meet the failing elda's troubled eyes. What he saw there was perhaps more unnerving than the poor invalid's steadily draining life and light. Gildin held firm to his notion of responsibility and looked to be on the precipice of perishing from the pressure of such a sin. "What makes you believe this lie?" asked Legolas warily, for the certainty in his comrade's soul showed through the welling misery and sorrow.
"It is no lie, yet none will heed me!" the shattered warrior was beset by fresh tears and trembling and both parents drew closer to comfort and soothe their deranged son.
Some among the gathered elves bowed their heads and shed tears as well for such a horrific outcome. Erebor had yet to claim its final victims, it would seem, and ever would the battle's memory inflict fresh wounds upon their Tirno's spirit. Many turned away, unable to bear more of the disquieting meeting between the former comrades in arms. Indeed, Glânduin ushered his sister's children back into the kitchen, for while little Cemendur was too young to truly comprehend what was being said, Anardur perceived the full measure of the misery on display. The youngest was thus fraught with questions while the elder grew sombre and withdrawn, shushing his baby brother, and as he hustled them inside, their uncle was overwhelmed with bitter foreboding that he had marked the elflings for tragedy by exposing them to the scene.
"You can see plainly how it is with him," spoke Gildin's father. "Ever since he returned from Erebor it has been thus. For some six months, he would not speak at all, withdrawn and cold to us, refusing food and even water. If we had not forced him, he would have left us ere the year was done.
"I am not the one that contributed that stoic fatalism into his character," added the warrior's mother, "and I refused to accept such an end to so an honourable life. I provoked him into speaking at last and then it was impossible to silence Gildin's raving confessions of guilt. Thus was the madness revealed; my son has never had an unkind thought much less plot the destruction of his fellows."
"He insists he could have stopped the deaths of his comrades and that the Judgement was his to claim," the father took up the recitation anew. "Reason had left him; his mind shattered under the horrors of what he had seen on the battle field and his inability to make sense of his specific survival. It was nearly thus after Dagorlad, yet there were his grandchildren to consider then and he overcame the grief."
Legolas nodded, but inside his mind was screaming that it was the elder elf's words which held no logic. As Legolas knew him, Gildin was not an elf given to nervous brooding; there was no cooler head in Talagan's company save Annaldír. Gildin had been a warrior hundreds upon hundreds of years; indeed, he had survived the slaughter of his wife, a son, and a granddaughter at the Last Alliance. Could a stable mind so easily become faulted and fissured? The Tawarwaith shifted uneasily and returned his questioning eyes to his colleague.
And Gildin's orbs sparked brightly for just a second as he perceived that Legolas sought to learn the truth, that finally someone would hear him and allow his feä to disgorge the poisonous admissions, unimpeded by potions and herbs that rendered him sleepy and uncertain of the passing of time.
"Nay, I have not lost my reason, Legolas, you must believe me!" he gushed in manic fervour, eager to have his errors expunged at last.
"Be calm, Gildin, do not excite yourself," crooned his mother gently, tugging softly on his arm to draw him back into her embrace. Yet Gildin resisted.
"Gildin, I will hear you, no matter what you wish to say. Yet I must beg your discretion!" Legolas held on to the warrior, his eyes locked with the wandering vision of the fading fighter, and would not let the elleth take him back. "There are innocents to consider!" he urgently implored, his voice less than the hushed whir of hummingbirds' wings, for he was convinced that Gildin had not lost his sanity without cause, and that cause was indeed wrapped up in the detrimental actions of the true kinslayer.
"Aye, Valtamar's son, aye, Legolas," sobbed the distraught elf, "but I cannot carry this weight any longer! I shall not pass to Mandos with so heavy a stone bound to my heart!" Gildin was in frenzied torment again, grinding his teeth amid a disturbing, high-pitched reedy wailing.
"Peace, child, peace," begged his father, weeping uncontrollably as well, aiding his wife in taking the wreckage of their son from the Tawarwaith's hold. "Let it go, Gildin! He is alive, do you not see? Legolas is restored and Lindalcon is a prince among our people now, his naneth the bearer of Greenwood's heir and a fair princess of the woods, too."
This only incited a louder keening from the warrior and the parents tried to lead him from the yard. Gildin fought them with all his ability, but that was insufficient to thwart even an elfling's grasp.
"Ai! Wait! Please, where are you taking him?" demanded Legolas, following across the courtyard.
"Do not be concerned; we will care for him," the mother managed to utter this through her teary sobs.
"Aye, we will be in our granddaughter's great-granddaughter's talan until…for the time being," the father's husky voice growled out. "You may come to visit later, when Gildin is calm again."
Those remaining in the stable yard flinched at these words, understanding that Gildin had come home to die, and wondering at the frantic excitation in one so near to expiring. They stilled their actions and trained sensitive ears upon the actors in the compelling enactment of Vairë's latest play.
"I beg you will not let him have any other callers than family and the healer!" Legolas' voice was tight with apprehension and scarcely above a whisper. The parents halted instantly, turning to stare in worry at the elf behind them. "Do not let Gildin speak of these fears to anyone save myself or Gladhadithen," Legolas dropped his volume still lower to keep their converse secret. "Not even Thranduil, especially not Thranduil, nor any of his household. You understand of whom I speak? I must demand your oath that this will be so. Swear to it now!"
The parents peered in startled dread at the relentless determination in the fallen prince's cobalt orbs, so much ferocity was held within them and a look as of impending catastrophe limned the dilated irises. Gildin's mother caught her breath and relinquished her child's arm to cover her mouth. Until this moment, she had truly believed her son's rantings were the incoherent delusions of grief-induced insanity. Yet Legolas clearly did not find these statements irrational and instead feared them. She shared a desperately gleaming, visual communication with her husband and clutched Gildin against her breast.
"Eru's Mercy! He would harm no one! No one!" she shrilled. Her son made an effort to hold and comfort her, though his eyes were glazed in confusion and pain.
Now the crowd in the stable yard began to murmur in accord with the elleth's distress, for it was evident some new influence had roused this unexpected reaction from the formerly calm, subdued inu. Some soldiers edged closer as though to eavesdrop upon the quartet, others crept away, intending to grant privacy yet reluctant to leave before the scene reached its conclusion.
"Silence!" commanded the Tawarwaith with gentle intensity, loud enough for all to hear, and her soul obeyed. Indeed, everything in the vicinity of the word became motionless. "It would have been better had he stayed in Mithlond and sailed to Aman, yet I see how it is for him. He must speak." Legolas made those words audible then dropped his pitch to nearly undetectable decibels and continued. "Do as I ask and never leave him unguarded, for if she learns of his arrival Gildin's end will not be a peaceful one. I ask again for you to swear to keep him under watch every moment."
"It shall be so, Hîren," the father bowed his head, alarmed over the gravity of this caution, stunned by the authority of the voice of Tawar. Automatically his vocal range fell to mimic Tirno's such that none but the four of them could gather their meaning. "We do swear to obey your request, for I see it is for his good that you ask it." Then the elder elf raised his voice slightly, enough to carry into the hovering crowd, as might any parent watching their child's reason disintegrate. "We love our son and would see him end his days free of this torment. Yet it is as you have spoken; he cannot contain the irrational ramblings of his thwarted mind any longer. Who will listen to these unhinged notions, taking them from his fractured soul that they may never trouble him more? Alas, his mother and I have failed to achieve it. Thus have we carried him home, for to speak with you once more is his final request."
"I will do so and gladly," answered Legolas vehemently but added in the earlier, inhibited tone. "For his sake and for those innocents that must not come under the pall of grief such as this!" Legolas passed his shaking hand over his brow and shook his head, drawing a deep breath and lifting his eyes while lowering his voice even more. "We will do it together; he shall be free of this torment and the future of the little one's preserved. But go now, for I must seek out my foster-father and request his aid. Him I trust as no other, and Fearfaron shall come to abide with Gildin until I am able to visit. No harm will befall him if we hold to this pact."
At this he drew near and embraced them, Gildin and both parents, and if they were surprised to hear that Annaldir's father had adopted the Tawarwaith it was not sufficient to distract them from the current bloom of debilitating sorrow.
As for the bystanders, they dipped their heads in sympathy to see Tirno face the loss of yet another friend and in such a tragic manner. They saw what their eyes expected, the poignancy of the Tawarwaith, so close to this level of fading just weeks ago but for Mithrandir's intervention, desperately clinging to the false hope of saving his colleague from this fatal disease. None could bear the image too long and dispersed even further from the knot of strife on the stable yard's verge.
The four elves were silent save for the subdued sighs of tear choked respiration as they leaned upon one another for comfort and courage. After a long sequence of minutes had fled away beyond recapture, Legolas eased his disconsolate hold from Gildin and offered his old comrade an encouraging albeit meagre smile.
"Go and rest now, mellon, and I shall visit soon. We shall speak of all that is in your heart and it will plague you no more," he said with calm assurance and a final squeeze upon the frail shoulder. But Gildin looked back in vague befuddlement, obviously trying to seam together his segmented thoughts and discover what Legolas was referring to and perhaps even whom Legolas might be. That much he recovered at least as a small light of recognition glittered briefly through his hazy concentration.
"Aye, Legolas, visit tonight or in the morning, or as soon as you may. For I need to…I must…" Again the fog interfered and the warrior could not retain the track of his reasoning.
"Tomorrow, Gildin," reassured Legolas and watched the three elves depart from the yard in the settling twilight.
Yet he was but one of many that witnessed the veteran's departure, and amid the crowd was another elf that genuinely understood all that had taken place, though she was not privy to their softly uttered converse. Ben'waeth made sure to move in slow and careful steps, no faster nor slower than she was wont to tread, drifting with the slowly thinning crowd, and let her feet carry her away from her duties in the stronghold as she tailed the wake of the broken soldier's family.
Legolas did not take note of her for Ben'waeth was ever present in the fortress, more a member of the household than was he in many ways, and in all his memory there was not a time when he would enter the caverns and not pass her somewhere in the corridors. Besides, his mind was troubled as he turned to travel through his naneth's garden and seek out Fearfaron's talan, hoping to find his foster-father there. He had absolutely no doubt that Gildin held specific knowledge of Meril's involvement in Erebor, though how he had come to hold these facts was still a mystery. Gildin and Legolas had never been close, and if the archer had failed to learn the names all his comrades' relatives that was common enough, for he was never completely accepted by the guard. It never entered his thoughts that this great-great-grandaughter might be Ben'Waeth, Meril's bosom companion from their maiden days.
No doubt he was meant to die that day as well, thought Legolas as he stepped, or retreat to Aman as his parents said. Indeed, Meril so spoke, gloating to me that not all the warriors were available to give testimony, many being dead and the rest beyond recall. She will do anything to prevent Thranduil from meeting with Gildin.
Through taut lips and clenched jaws, a muttered curse slipped into the twilight from the Tawarwaith's lungs as he stalked along the kitchen garden path. Though he chastised himself for thinking it, he could not help but be frustrated that his reunion with Berenaur was now overshadowed by the looming threat of Gildin's unprecedented return. How could he turn his thoughts to pleasure and easy contentment with the gloomy possibility of chaos lurking anew in the periphery of his siblings' future? He must settle his heart over the decrepit soldier's welfare before he would be capable of reclaiming his soul-mate.
So deep in such ruminations was Legolas that he failed to heed the voice calling to him from the stable yard. Not until running feet carried the speaker to his side did he startle and turn to see what new troubles awaited his discovery. He was surprised to behold Talagan there, walking beside him as if it was the most natural thing in Arda to do.
"Aduial vaer," [Good Evening] said the captain genially.
"An le sui vae," [To you as well] Legolas' stilted answer automatically followed.
"It is a fair night for strolling, I think, yet perhaps a tiring exercise for an injured elf to undertake."
"My health is not in jeopardy."
"Indeed it is," scoffed Talagan, "though I am not surprised to hear that claim. Thranduil has the same fault."
"What is it you want?" demanded Legolas, halting and confronting his former commander. It was one thing to put aside ill-feeling toward the captain but quite another to bandy pleasantries with him as though the two were chums of old. For Talagan to offer up this casual reference to a sire Tirno had never before this day been allowed to publicly claim was insufferable.
"I want to make amends, but that is not why I am speaking to you tonight. Or at least, it is but a part of the reason."
"Riddles are something I have no patience for just now, captain. Say what you feel you must and do so plainly; many concerns occupy my mind and to these I would give attention."
"So I noted. Gildin is a sad case; it is too late for him to reach the healing gardens of Irmo now."
"Talagan," Legolas scowled impatiently, for the Sinda soldier was still postponing whatever words he felt so obliged to utter.
"Aye, you wish me to get on with it for you are very busy. So be it. Your adopted father charged me with seeing to your safe and healthy arrival at the clearing and I have made arrangements to fulfil this duty. I must ask you to accompany me back to the stable yard."
"What?"
"There is no need for that, captain," spoke another elf behind them and his words mingled with the chiming tinkle of tiny silver bells and the muted cadence of hooves upon the leaf-lined walkway.
Legolas turned to find one of the Woodland Realm's many silvan archers smiling diffidently and treading the way toward him by the shoulders of the forest pony. It was from the restive equine that the subtle ringing arose. She tossed her head and sent the long tendrils of her silver forelock dancing in the breeze, raising another glissando expressive of both joy and impatience into the surrounding space, for the mare's mane and tail were plaited with the jingling metal balls.
Unlike most of the Greenwood's chargers, this one was not marked in piebald patterns of brown and white. Her short fine coat was the colour of newly ripened wheat seen in the fields around the farmsteads of Dale. The flaxen fur was still sleek and the abbreviated sample of winter's nature had not been lengthy enough to promote the appearance of the thick, shaggy under-wool that would grace her form throughout the bitter days of Rhîw. [Winter] Mithril coloured but tipped in black, her mane was fine and free of tangles, draping over the delicate arch of the graceful neck, weighted by the myriad bells and entwined with vibrant silken streamers of ochre and olive, the defining hues both of Oropher's House and of the Greenwood. Her silver tail was equally coifed to perfection and trailed over the dormant perennials, sweeping forward to fan against her hind legs and once more lend the air the gleeful tones of the tiny cymbals worked within its strands.
Dark as pitch from knee to hoof, those legs seemed the refined and limber limbs of a Lady's gaited palfrey rather than the sturdy locomotive instruments that propelled the warriors' steeds through mayhem and death, yet this was a deception indeed. All of the small horse's appearance, her elegant head with its black-velvet muzzle and matching ears, deep dark eyes of infinite depth and indeterminate cast, perfect conformation and proportion in line and carriage, all bespoke grace and genteel jaunts amid the guarded groves of Greenwood's city. This was not the mount of a timid elfling, however, but a bold-hearted chaser bred for speed and endurance, a courser for Athedreinyn, and a direct descendant of Emmelin, Oropher's worthy war horse. Eager to get on with her task, she blew a loud sigh and stamped one hind leg, eyeing the Tawarwaith speculatively from her right orb.
The motion set off another round of twinkling peals and elicited a mild smile from Legolas. He bent his unbound arm to lay that hand upon his hip and regarded her with amusement.
"Why are you so grandly adorned this eve, Tuilinn?" [Swallow] he demanded, knowing not her name but finding this a fitting way to describe her sveltely compact form. It was easy to imagine her weaving amid the boles with fluid speed similar to the swooping turns and rolls of gnat-catching swifts in the dusk draped canopy. He reached out and felt the luxuriance of the blue satin cover cloaking her back, this hanging nearly to the stifle [horse's knee] and trimmed all round in a fringe of white with four large, belled tassels to weight it securely in place.
"She is your means to getting home without reducing your strength further," replied Talagan as he leaned forward and rubbed the mare's forehead. "Fearfaron's orders, " he added as soon as Legolas opened his mouth to retort.
"What is she called?" Tirno asked the silent archer serving as groom for the moment, suddenly realising he did not know the elf's name and perhaps it would have been more polite to inquire after that first.
"Tuilinn is better; I think she would like to be known thus henceforth," the evasive answer sounded as the silvan gave a slight shrug. If the Tawarwaith wished to call the horse Tuilinn, who should gainsay it?
Legolas did not feel like arguing over it; too many serious matters awaited his action to waste valuable time on this minor quandary. Now that he considered it, Fearfaron's idea was a sound one, as was usually the case, for he did feel weary from the long day's turmoil and his bandaged shoulder persisted in throbbing with a dull, relentless ache. A moment of awkward silence proceeded as the three warriors tried to find their respective places in the new order of things and settle the long years of general indifference and outright derision that had marked Tirno's career as Thranduil's embarrassment. In the end, Legolas could not muster the temperament to confront this either and sighed quietly.
"A leg up then," he murmured and the archer complied, boosting the Tawarwaith onto Tuilinn's back with ease.
The silvan fiddled with the blanket, twitching it as though to settle it better when truly it had not moved a mite under Legolas' light weight. He glanced briefly up to the Tawarwaith's face and away quickly when he found he was being regarded in turn. The warrior cleared his throat.
"I would like to say," he began and nearly lost his nerve, taking a deep breath and finally letting his eyes meet those of Greenwood's hope. "It would be more than I deserve, yet I would ask it."
"Of what do you speak?" Legolas tried hard not to allow his irritation to show through but the darkness of his mood was easily discernible to his own ears and must be more so to this soldier's. He tried to compose himself and offered an encouraging smile, patting Tuilinn's neck as he did so. "Ask me what you will, I will not be offended."
"A commission in your company, Hîren," the archer hurried out the words, standing straight as if in line for inspection by Thranduil. "I would put my bow to work upon the Shadow's destruction and at your side."
"I have no company," Legolas was taken aback by this request, for he had not considered any such thing, "nor am I your Lord. And your arrows are already employed in this travail, as are every warrior's under the eaves."
"I am Thôngolf [Pine-branch] and I bid you to recall me when next you leave for the southern borders. I will not disappoint you; my aim is true," the silvan persisted.
"That is not in doubt, yet I am not of rank to summon you to war at my side. It is more likely that I…" but here Legolas faltered, for he had no concept of where he stood regarding his service in the King's guard.
"You are Tawarwaith; that is rank enough for me. I will be ready; no notice is too short for I am not wed," Thôngolf doggedly insisted and grinned up into the clearly perplexed expression on Tirno's face. "You, however, are but newly bonded and should not tarry here in the garden." He did not wait for an answer, bowing quickly before he turned and strode away into the gathering dusk.
"You will have to get used to that." Talagan chuckled over Tirno's nonplussed stare and gave the horse a friendly slap on the rump. "The Wood Elves will follow you down to the dungeons of Dol Guldur if you ask it of them and consider it an unpardonable disgrace if you do not call for their bows beside you. Yet Thôngolf is right; this is not the time for such considerations. Go home to your mate." Thranduil's most trusted captain turned to leave but stopped when Legolas called him back.
"You said you wished to make amends, and I would ask something of you if you meant those words," said Legolas.
"I meant them. My actions at Erebor are a discredit to my career and one I would eradicate, no matter the toll exacted to achieve it. What do you require?"
"Find Fearfaron and send him to Gildin. Say that I beg he will stay with the fading warrior until I can go to him myself."
"That is a small thing, unworthy of removing any part of the debt I owe, yet I will gladly do it anyway as it pains me to see our comrade so far past any relief. If Fearfaron might grant his mind some peace, I would be happy for it." Talagan pulled a wry face and shrugged, for he felt insulted to be asked to perform so trivial a service. Any stable boy or, indeed, one of the water maids could complete this simple summons. He gave a stiff nod of his head and turned to leave, but his direction was not outward into the city but back to the barracks.
Legolas was alarmed to see this and instructed Tuilin to bar the soldier's way.
"What I ask is of highest importance!" he contradicted and leaned low over Tuilinn's neck, dropping his voice for Talagan's hearing alone. "Do you regard the future of Taurant and Gwilith insignificant? Gildin's arrival is like a dagger upon their necks, yet no harm must befall him even so."
Talagan was struck speechless by this, for he could see no connection between Thranduil's offspring and the dying elf nor envision the debilitated remnant capable of presenting a threat to the innocents, even had his character been such that he would do so base a thing. Legolas must have noted his incredulity for he leaned even closer and lessened the volume of his voice again.
"It is not Gildin but what he knows that bears upon their doom. I would not have the King learn he is here, nor anyone in Thranduil's household come to knowledge of it."
"That is hardly possible; you know what gossips inhabit the fortress. Word of his sudden return must have reached Meril at the very least, and what she hears is reported to Thranduil over their evening meal. Just now, in fact, I predict she is spinning out the tale of your encounter in the stable yard."
"Nay, if she has heard she will say nothing to him, of that I am certain. Yet she may unwittingly cause the very tragedy she plots to avert. It is thus more imperative for you to heed my request. None must speak with Gildin save myself, his family, and Fearfaron. Will you ensure it?"
"I find your reasoning incomprehensible, but I have already said I would fulfil the task. Will you not explain? Thranduil at least has the right to know anything that might prove a danger to his children."
"Indeed." The Tawarwaith's tone filled this simple pronouncement with bitterness. "Thranduil is more a menace than any other, for he does not let matters lie but instead stirs things up, desiring to control everything under his hand."
"That is in the nature of a King's duty, I think," intoned the warrior drily.
"Perhaps, but in this instance he will only cause the ruin of all he has tried to achieve. You are his friend, would you see this befall him? And what of the children, they are blameless and no tribulation should hound the heels of life barely begun. I ask for your oath not to repeat the fears I have revealed to you."
"I have already sworn an oath, Digaun, [Lesser-prince] and that is to Oropher's House."
"I am of Oropher's House also. I seek only to protect the little ones; do not thwart me in this."
Now Talagan felt he had been placed in an untenable position, for his fealty was to Thranduil yet the intensity of the Tawarwaith's plea defied dismissal. None would doubt his devotion to the elflings, especially staring into the indigo depths at that moment. Likewise, the Sinda soldier could not deny the loyalty every silvan warrior had already pledged to the voice of Tawar arisen among them. To flout this essential fealty would be to invite disaster for his Sindar were not only hopelessly outnumbered by the Wood Elves but intimately intertwined with them, mated and bound with offspring descending to several generations since the advent of Oropher's reign. After all the turmoil and confusion, intervention and contradictions, the shift in power had come about and Thranduil was no longer supreme in his own right. The King's influence now sprang from the tolerance showed him by the wild elf, and the respect he tendered to the Tawarwaith.
The silence lengthened between them until Legolas exhaled a disappointed breath and looked away at last.
"If you cannot promise this then I must go to Gildin now and there remain until his feä rejects his hroa," and so saying Legolas decided this was how it must be and urged Tuilinn forward along the walkway. "Send word to my father, and I mean Fearfaron, to find me, for he shall have to explain to Berenaur as best he can what is amiss."
But Talagan rested his hand on the mare's back and stalled her progress.
"Hold, Tawarwaith; you are too quick to dismiss your old captain," he waited until Tirno paused and met his sight again. "Let it not be said that I am blind to the flaws of my dearest friend; often throughout the long centuries we have shared have I been forced to act covertly to amend Thranduil's errors before they brought him down.
"You must understand; it will be hard for me to adjust to the new order of things, but I am unwilling to remain on the outside of your trust. I will give you my oath not to reveal what you fear, even though you will not explain the nature of the harm that imperils your siblings. Yet I deem it is as much a brother's right as a father's to protect those he loves as he feels best. And I will summon the carpenter to guard our fading friend." With those words Talagan jogged away toward the city and the humble talan.
"Hannad," spoke Legolas solemnly and did not smile as he and Tuilinn resumed the trail, the soldier's observations resounding through his thoughts. Readjustments indeed. He shook his head lightly, unable to take in what had just occurred. Did I just give orders to the King's right hand and see them obeyed? He turned to look after the retreating figure but Talagan was already obscured by the shadowed welkin betwixt the sturdy boles as night pressed closer.
A tingle of uneasiness worked through his spine and he shifted on the mare's back, causing her to twitch back her ears as yet another sigh left his lips. Tuilin bent her neck to gaze at her rider, waiting to see if his tension might signal a change in course again. Legolas patted her shoulder absently and met her eye, confiding his worry but no intent to alter his destination. He let Tuilin saunter toward the postern by the great Sentinel, his childhood friend when none of elf-kind could be found, and smiled up into the lofty, age-gnarled limbs of the mighty beech. Ere he could call out, the gate keeper leaped down from his post and hastened to open the portal.
"Suilad, Brannon o Gladgalen," [Hail, Lord of the Greenwood] he called with a smile and an elaborate bow, fairly sweeping the ground with his trailing tresses.
"Avesto nin sen, an immen gwend. Pedo mellon, Tirno, egor Legolas sennui," [Do not call me this for between us is friendship. Say friend, Tirno, or Legolas instead.] corrected the weary warrior, wondering if this elf was trying to be amusing with his exaggerated courtesy.
"Sui anirach, Tawarwaith," [As you wish, Tawarwaith.] the silvan grinned. "The path you know well, yet Fearfaron bids me caution you not to stray from it this evening. What dire consequences might result should you fail to adhere to his directive, even I cannot imagine."
Now Legolas understood it was indeed some subtle jest concocted by his adopted father and relaxed somewhat, gazing down in puzzled indulgence at the guard, whom he knew by sight but not name. He wondered briefly if the ellon recalled the last time he had crossed this threshold some seven years ago at this precise time of twilit shadows. With effort he drove the unpleasant memory of the final chastisement away, taking heart in marking that night as the one in which Fearfaron made him second son.
Tuilin's step was jaunty but gentle, more than a walk yet not so eager as a jigging trot, for it was certain she sensed excitement in the way ahead and was pleased over her place in the unfolding events. Just past sight of the gate, a sprinkling of merry laughter erupted overhead and from the branches descended a misty rain of shimmering motes, as if someone had gathered up particles of the Moon and showered them upon the solitary rider.
"Ai! What is this?" exclaimed Legolas, surprised. More giggles drifted down but the sound diminished as whomever had played the prank raced safely back toward home. Then Legolas grinned, brushing at the fine coating and rubbing it between his fingers to learn its composition. It was a fine powder of weightless mollusc shells and the flakes gleamed faintly in the dull light beneath the eaves. In the open clearing wherein lay his home, however, the light of Ithil would adhere to the dust and the lustre of his subtle nimbus would be enhanced. He would look like a vision from Aman to any catching sight of him there. He chuckled appreciatively over Fearfaron's ingenuity and creative enhancement to the archer's plans for the ensuing seduction of Berenaur.
Not that he actually had any specific strategy worked out. He had more or less considered things would just happen, as they always did, for he had ever been the one pursued and not the suitor. His heart gave a small skip of apprehension that he just as quickly squelched.
A turn in the trail revealed a transformation in the woods, for apparently the ground beneath them was covered in a million minute glowworms, though this was not possible at such a time of year. The pathway glimmered and gleamed with tiny pinpoints of light so that it seemed his mare tread upon a swath of the heavens laid down to guide his way. Legolas could not at first fathom what manner of illumination was granting the leafy mould this delicate phosphorescence and was tempted to get down and gather up some of the glitter to satisfy his curiosity.
The only explanation he could contrive was that a store of luminescent pebbles had been cast by the handful over the narrow road, and in fact this was the case. Such were common amid the stream beds and caves around the city and much favoured among the younglings. Indeed, Legolas had collected them as child and cherished his 'Ithil hern' [Moon stones] far past his majority.
Next, a soft melodious chorus of voices filled the space all around him with a jubilant carol used to celebrate the eternal joining of two lives. This was another tradition reserved for the formal recognition of a bond that Legolas had not expected to enjoy. For the whole community to sanction his choice of the foreign elf was deeply gratifying for the Tawarwaith, and their undaunted faith in the strength of the bond to overcome the enchantment encouraged him. Within these thoughts rose anew the vow to rid his home of the ills that plagued so kindly and humble a folk.
It was easy to see his foster father had prepared these simple effects in hopes of distracting his mind from anything save a complete recovery of the seneschal's memory and the couple's renewed binding. Yet Legolas could not help it if the tender strains of the age-old ballad sounded bitter-sweet to his hearing, nor could he entirely quell the fear that the path of light might lead to emptiness instead of fulfilment.
TBC.