Gifts of the Valar.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the Original Characters and their adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et. al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.
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“You are certain that is what he said?” Erestor regretted he had not been present when Glorfindel had ‘spoken’ with the entity they now knew to be Naveradir.

Charika nodded. “I repeated exactly what I heard.”

The dark-haired counselor glanced at Glorfindel. “What do you suppose he meant?”

“I know not,” his friend replied. “He seemed to become distracted, as if hearing or seeing something we could not, and faded. I believe we will hear from him again. At least I pray so.”

“Legolas is with a dead Elf; Goroth, if we are understanding him correctly.” Erestor looked out the library window as he pondered the puzzle. “Goroth also means ‘dread’ in Sindarin,” he said. “But Naveradir would not have spoken that language so he must mean the former master of this keep. But what did he mean by ‘with’ him?”

Knowing Erestor did not expect an answer, Glorfindel did not attempt to pose a theory. He noticed Charika twisting the belt of her gown nervously and gave her a calm smile.

“Thank you for calling me. It was quick thinking on your part; otherwise we would have never known what he said.”

She gave him a small smile. “It never occurred to me that I would not be able to understand his words. He seemed to understand my questions; and I could understand the others, those from the pit.”

Glorfindel thought a moment. “Did the others say actual words to you?”

She was silent as she tried to recall exactly how the spirits of Goroth’s victims had communicated with her.

“Some did, but mainly it was feelings and pictures and I just seemed to know.” She tilted her head as she looked up at him. “Does that sound possible?”

“Indeed it does,” he replied. “You have been given the gift of communicating with those who have died. Perhaps it is because Naveradir is an Elf and Goroth’s victims were either mortal or only half-Elven at the most, that you were able to relate to them as a mortal and could understand them.”

“Or perhaps it is because Naveradir is not dead.” He raised a brow in askance. “From what I have heard, Elves do not truly die as we know it. Their souls are bound to Arda whereas mortals must move on from this world to whatever fate Eru has deemed for them. In either case, the fact that I can understand dead mortals and not un-dead Elves remains.”

“You may be correct,” he said with a small laugh. “Do you understand Goroth?”

“Only the feelings of anger and hate and malice.”

“Then that circumstance seems to support our theory.” He glanced at Erestor who was still deep in thought. “I dare say Erestor would be irritated to know we have solved our own mystery while he is still pondering the other one.”

Charika bit back a giggle and Glorfindel gave her a conspiratorial smile.

“I heard you and no, I am not irritated,” the dark-haired counselor said without turning around. “Congratulations on your breakthrough. Now, let us put your obviously formidable powers of deduction to understanding what Naveradir meant about our young friend being with a dead Elf.”

“I think it best if we do not speak of this matter to the others, especially Legolas, at least until we know of what Naveradir spoke,” Glorfindel recommended.

“He told me … well, when I mentioned warning Legolas of the danger, Naveradir shook his head and frowned, as if he did not think it the wisest course.” Charika was beginning to feel improved self-confidence as she spoke with Glorfindel and Erestor, two Elves of whom she had always been quite in awe. The fact that they took her seriously and seemed to value her opinion helped to give her a sense of being seen not so much as a fragile mortal to be protected, but someone with a real contribution to make.

“Why would he not wish Legolas be told of a possible threat?” Glorfindel mused.

“Perhaps,” Erestor said slowly, “because warning Legolas also means warning Goroth.”

Charika looked confused, but Glorfindel nodded.

“Indeed. By saying Legolas is ‘with a dead Elf’, it could mean that Goroth’s spirit now shares Legolas’ body. Perhaps that is why we have not felt or seen him lately.”

“He has given no indication that another is inside of him,” Erestor said, almost to himself. “Surely Goroth would not be able to resist some display of his presence.”

“Alexandra would know,” Charika sugested. The Elves looked at each other and nodded.

“Who better than his wife to recognize any changes in him,” Erestor agreed.

“Are we to ask her if she has noticed her rapist living in her husband?” Glorfindel asked.

“Of course not,” his friend said dismissively. “We must find a subtle means to gain the information.”

“I could ask her,” Charika volunteered. “I have often had questions about what it is … what it is like to love an Elf.” She blushed, but continued. “I mean, she has often been quite forthcoming about her feelings for Legolas and what it is like to share a bond with one’s mate. She will not think it odd if I were to ask questions about such things.”

“Take care not to arouse her concern,” Erestor instructed. “If Goroth is indeed dwelling within Legolas any sign of suspicion on the part of his wife may tip whatever balance is keeping him from harming her. Goroth blames Legolas and Alexandra for his ills and I am afraid he is simply biding his time until he can exact revenge.”


At first it was difficult for Goroth to control his rage and hatred. When he first saw Vanurion alone his hand had automatically reached for the dagger the young prince kept with him. He had not, however, achieved the heights of power he previously held by being quick-tempered and rash, and so he had smiled and greeted his kinsman amicably.

He discovered he could leave Legolas to the daily interactions of life and would not arouse suspicion. The western Elf did not seem to notice the intrusion as long as Goroth did not try to force things on him that went completely against his character so the Rhunian warlord only pushed him occasionally and then only when he was giving free rein to his passions.

Legolas patted the nose of the horse he had just finished feeding. He enjoyed working with the animals in the stable---taking care of others came naturally to him. He went into the tack room to put away the comb he had been using on the horse’s mane when suddenly he felt a chill, odd for one of the Firstborn, and a nameless dread seemed to cover him.

The Elf looked around but could not see anything out of the ordinary; still, though, he felt as though a darkness had passed by and felt the urge to hide.

Goroth sensed the presence that had been nearby on several occasions and could not help but feel trepidation. He did not know what it was, but knew it searched for something. He did not know if it hunted him, but inside he knew he could not let it find him and his need to remain concealed was passed on to Legolas.

The young Elf remained motionless, barely breathing, until the feeling of unease faded. He could not remember having similar episodes and wondered what he had sensed. He saw Sarendir walking by outside and called to him.

“I wondered if you sensed any disturbance just now,” he asked the eastern Elf.

“Nay,” the dark-haired warrior replied. “I have noticed nothing amiss. Why?”

Legolas laughed self-consciously. “Likely, ‘tis nothing. I simply had a moment of unease.”

“With the unknown things happening in this place, I can see how any of us might fall victim to such thoughts,” Sarendir said with a smile. “But if you sense it again, please tell us. Perhaps your western brethren may be more sensitive to such things than I or my kin would be.”

He turned to depart and Legolas realized his hand had tightened on the hilt of his dagger. He pulled his hand away, surprised at himself, though one word echoed in his thoughts and he knew not from whence it came.

“Traitor.”


Charika was wondering how to bring up the topic of Legolas’ behavior with Alexandra as she made her way to bathe. The water was cool but not frigid as one might expect from the weather outside, as it was heated by a natural spring. She was surprised to find her friend in the water, eyes closed, propped against one of the stones. She did not wish to awaken her, but Alexandra opened her eyes as she tried to decide the best course of action.

“I’m not asleep,” the woman said. “Come on in.”

Charika smiled and put her drying cloth and fresh clothes down. Unlacing her gown, she let it drop then stepped into the water, making her way over to where Alexandra reclined.

“Did you enjoy yourself running around the stairs of the keep?” she asked and the other woman nodded.

“It’s a good way to stay active.” She seemed to be thinking of something sad, as her gaze grew distant. “I won’t always be able to do the things I do now.”

The dark-haired woman tilted her head. “You seem melancholy.”

Alexandra smiled. “Just feeling sorry for myself. Thinking about growing old. Soon I won’t be able to run up the stairs like I do. Soon I’ll be afraid of falling and breaking something, and my hair will start to turn gray. I’ll get wrinkles, like a dried up apple and my fingers will ache and be hard to move. It’s years away, but when one lives with immortals, it’s only a few heartbeats into the future.”

“It will make no difference to Legolas,” Charika said, putting a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “He loves you. You have told me many times how Elves love even more deeply than mortals. I cannot think something so superficial as appearance and growing older would matter to him.”

“That’s what Orophin said,” Alexandra replied. She shook her head. “I suppose it matters to me and that is what makes it seem like it should matter to Legolas. But enough of my pity-party. Have you had a good day so far?”

“I have been working on a gown for Durisia. I wish you would allow me to make more gowns for you. There are several fabrics that would suit your coloring perfectly.”

“I have no need for more gowns,” her friend said with a laugh. “I have nowhere to wear them here.”

“We will not always be in this fortress,” Charika replied, practically. “Besides, do you not enjoy dressing in beautiful, feminine clothes, especially for your lord?”

A slow smile spread across Alexandra’s lips.

“My ‘lord’, as you call him, does not seem to be interested in my clothing these days. He prefers nothing between us when we are alone.”

“Indeed? Is that unusual for him?” She tried to sound casual in her question.

“He’s always enjoyed easy access,” Alexandra laughed. “But lately, he’s been a little more direct, more demanding, more dominant at times.” She glanced at the other woman. “I’m not complaining, you know. I would be happy if we simply stayed in our chamber all the time. It is just a side of him I am not very familiar with.” She shifted and grimaced as her bottom brushed over the rock she reclined against.

Charika noticed her expression and frowned.

“What is wrong? Are you hurt?”

“No. I just …” She hesitated a moment. Charika always seemed so innocent and open, it was easy to forget, sometimes, that she had been raised for life in a harem and had dwelt in one for a good portion of her life. While her official title may have been concubine or courtesan or whatever they called the females they kept for sexual pleasure, she had, in fact, been a sex slave and as such had far more experience that Alex would ever have in some matters. Her occasional reticence to mention things to Charika made no sense.

“Legolas decided he wanted to spank me this morning before we got up. I’ve never really minded, but he was a little more forceful than I’m accustomed to and so my bottom is a little sore now.”

“Does he enjoy that sort of thing?” It sounded out of character to Charika. “I have only known Rumil in my bed, but I did not think Elves enjoyed inflicting pain.”

“They do not, from what I’ve heard either. And it’s never really hurt before. I suppose he was just caught up in the moment. He’s been more aggressive than usual in that area lately. Maybe it’s just a way to pass the time and use up excess energy since we are stuck in this place until the spring thaw.”

“Perhaps,” Charika agreed. “I know I would be frustrated if I were accustomed to being free in the forests like our lords.”

“I suppose it could be frustration, but Elves are usually quite patient and the time here is short in their view. Still, the atmosphere here isn’t conducive to relaxation, so maybe it’s a combination of things.”

Their conversation drifted to other matters, though Charika occasionally asked about behaviors, always using Rumil as an example so Alexandra would not think she was focusing on Legolas.

Later, Charika sought out Glorfindel and he accompanied her to Erestor and she told them what she had learned from Alexandra.

“His behavior has been a bit more aggressive, she says,” Charika told them.

“In what way?” Erestor had not noticed any difference in the prince’s interactions with his wife or others, for that matter.

Charika bit her lip and Glorfindel could see her hesitation and deduced it was something personal.

“Has he harmed her?” he asked with a calm smile.

“It does not sound like anything was done intentionally to hurt her,” the woman replied. “From what she said their sport has been a little rougher than usual, but she did not seem to find it strange.”

“Still, any new behavior is suspect in light of the warning Naveradir provided,” Erestor said and Glorfindel agreed. “We must keep watch over both Legolas and his wife. Hopefully, he will be able to throw off Goroth’s influence on his own. Otherwise, I do not know how we will rescue him from one who wishes him ill.”

“Perhaps Naveradir will know,” Glorfindel pointed out. “After all, it was he who recognized Goroth’s presence and he has seemed to shield Charika at times.”

“I will try to ask him when I see him again,” the woman promised. “I only hope I can remember what he says.”


Several days later, Erestor glanced up as Legolas came into the library. The prince smiled and gave a slight bow.

“I am seeking my wife. She is prone to wander.”

The raven-haired counselor nodded. “She is likely bored, shut up in this place. Mortals do not possess the same patience as the Eldar.” He studied the Elf and noted nothing out of the ordinary. Perhaps they had misunderstood Naveradir; or, perhaps he had misled them, but for what purpose?

“Yes, patience is something many mortals lack,” Legolas agreed. He glanced down at the papers spread out on the desk. “I see you found a tally of the wealth held by the Rhunian Elves over the past several thousand years. I hope those who are its stewards now do not let it slip away. It was hard won.” He dropped the page he had picked up back onto its appropriate stack.

“I do not doubt that they will use it wisely and guard it well,” Erestor replied. “Vanurion is wise and he is trying very hard to redeem his people, as are the others.”

He thought he saw a flash of anger in Legolas’ eyes, but it passed so quickly it almost seemed an illusion.

“No doubt they will succeed,” Legolas said with a slight smile. “I must continue to search for Alexandra. She disappears far too often when there are dangerous things about.” He gave another slight bow, then left the library.

Erestor looked down at the paper Legolas had read from. It was indeed part of a detailed listing of the wealth accumulated over the millennia by Goroth. However, it was written in Quenya with a touch of the Rhunian dialect spoken only by the Elves of the east. Legolas could read neither Quenya nor Rhunian.