Ringspell

Chapter 12.
Homecoming...


"**I beg your forgiveness, Highness, but I can allow your friends to go no further.**" Kehlios told his Prince, before turning to the Fellowship and speaking fluently in the common-tongue.


"You are trespassing." He told them flatly. "The King commands that you leave his realm immediately. He also wishes to remind you, Gandalf the Grey, that you have been told, on several occasions, never to return to this forest. Should you choose to ignore this order, you will be punished, by imprisonment or execution."


Several bows creaked ominously, as the Hunters awaited their order.


"**Lower your weapons!**" Legolas demanded of the warriors.


They did so, but looked nervously at their Captain, obviously expecting conflicting instructions.


Aragorn glanced over at Legolas, thoroughly stunned. He had never before heard Legolas speak with such forcefulness and the sudden display of authority forced the Ranger to adjust his opinion of the young Elven Prince.


"**I will not have my companions threatened, Kehlios**" The Prince said quietly, to the Hunter. "**It is vital that Gandalf speak to my father, and I intend to see that he does.**"


Kehlios looked about to retort, but Legolas gave him no opportunity.


"You may protest if you like." The Elf said, in the tongue of Men. "I will be sure to tell Ada that you did so, when we arrive."


With that said, he turned to Gandalf.


"Shall we go?"


They travelled at an easy trot, along the many paths and trails that criss-crossed this part of the forest, Thranduil's Hunters spreading themselves around the Fellowship, escorting Prince and trespassers alike to the Halls of their King. As time passed, they began to see more and more Wood-Elves, dressed in green and brown, going about their daily business, and the citizens of Mirkwood stopped, and openly stared at the passing strangers, suspicion and even hatred, written plainly on their faces.


Aragorn began to feel unwelcome.


"Now I know why no-one ever comes here." Pippin whispered to Frodo.


"Quiet, hobbits." Gandalf advised. "You must watch, carefully your words and your actions. These are not the Elves of Rivendell, or 'Lorien." He explained. "A wrong word can have serious consequences, in this place."


The Wizard looked up ahead, at Legolas, who rode in front, speaking quietly in elvish, with Kehlios.


"Listen carefully now," The old Wizard whispered, conspiratorially. "There are things that it would be unwise to mention, in the presence of these Elves. First, you must make no mention of the Ring or our quest. Though Thranduil almost certainly knows what we carry, there is no need to advertise it, here. Many of these Elves are as greedy for power as the average Man, and quite willing to resort to violence, to get what they desire. Second,"


Gandalf glanced around again, making sure no-one was listening.


"You may see... unpleasantness, on the part of the King. You must say nothing about the King or his son, for that matter, to anyone you may meet here. There is much these Elves do not discuss and with good reason; Thranduil rules with something of an iron fist."


If he did not already, Aragorn now began to doubt the wisdom of this trip to see the Elven-King. They were, he suspected about to knock, uninvited, on the front door of a tyrant.


Without warning the path they followed grew into a wide road. The surface appeared to have once been paved with large, grey stones, but neglect and the passage of time had all but obliterated the road, tree-roots tearing up the paving in places and allowing grass and weed to grow through the cracks, while elsewhere, the stones disappeared beneath a thick layer of soil. Posted at regular intervals along the edge of the road, stood vaguely rectangular stone pillars, no more than four feet high, on top of which rested metal pots, filled with slow-burning oil that floated flames over the rims of the containers, as if by magic.


Aragorn could not help but notice that the entire place appeared to be in a state of terrible disrepair. Around them, amongst the trees, stood several huge stone towers, all with their sides crumbling and covered with moss and mildew. Over to the right, a hundred yards or so away, one tower had completely collapsed, and the rubble remained as a huge, grass covered mound that quite completely ruined the landscape. Several fallen trees lay, rotting, in the same manner, along the edge of the road and other trees were blackened and charred; standing, skeleton-like victims of fire.


At first sight, Aragorn had assumed the damage had simply occurred over time, but he now began to wonder if it had been some ancient battle that had so scarred the home of the Wood-Elves.


"This is it." Gandalf mumbled, and Aragorn tore himself from his appraisal of the woods, to look ahead, down the road.


Before them, the road disappeared, ploughing head-long into the foot of a mountain, the peak of which could be seen towering above the forest. The entrance to the underground was bordered by a high stone arch, inscribed with ancient elvish text, in a dialect that Aragorn could not have read, even if he had been close enough to see it clearly.


Before the huge portal, surrounded by faceless others, stood a solitary figure, robed in rich folds of dark green velvet. As the Fellowship neared the opening, the figure came slowly into better focus and Aragorn saw that the Elf wore a crown of gold and mithril, delicately woven in artful braids through the fall of silver locks that framed his face.


Thranduil, the Silvan King of Mirkwood, stood before them.


To be continued...