Feud

Thanks: to my absolutely fantastic beta, Sarah, whose careful attention and insight improves the quality of this story immensely!

Chapter 25: [Sanctuary and Sanction]

Stretched out in complete relaxation, carefree and without the need for heightened senses to constantly rifle the air for sounds and smells that would signal alert, Legolas welcomed sanctuary. His ears could lend themselves to the jovial joking of the meandering brook and gentle Song of Living sung throughout Tawar. His nose could busy itself in the joy of identifying flowers and plants of tremendous variation, cataloging the diversity in olfactory images. His bare skin could luxuriate in the sensation of pillowing mosses andklinkling flower petals pressed under him where he reclined in the sheltered environs of the hallowed glen.

Sanctuary.

The concept encompassed the glade as a physical locality, a condition of favor within Tawar's expansive soul, and his present state of cogency. The feeling of security granted complete unconcern for any physical want; he could wallow in unadulterated mellow truancy, thinking not of Tasks, Orcs, Dol Guldur, or his ill-fate. Indeed, he let his mind revolve on nothing, watching only the illusory visions of pretty dreams flitting past his closids.ids. The need for an arm to shelter the shuttered eyes because his face ached from squinching up under the strength of the glaring rays from a cloudless sky; this was sanctuary, too.

These were such anomalous sensations that Legolas would happily remain reclining in the glen for days on end just to come to know them better. He wanted to mark every reaction of his body: feel every curling blade of grass under his back, acknowledge every insect and bird that moved near him through the breeze. Three days after the battle, cleansed of the black poison, he blissfully pushed the memories away, content to allow Tawar to lull his senses into insouciant serenity, harking only to the pleasurably entrancing codas of the Song, rejoicing in the simplest of delights: sensuous summer air, sonorous water, and dulcet life. The Tawarwaith knew solace and succor.

He could remember well the last time he had known something similar, and it was fitting that it was in the same spot under virtually identical circumstances.

That day had been over two years ago and he had been sick from an injury, a black arrow piercing his calf. The flet had not been built yet and the gracious clearing was only a wild tangle of rotting wood covered in fungus and ferns, coarse underbrush, and scrubby young saplings. He had crawled into the brambles to hide while he tried to tend the wound, believing that he would die from the poison for he had been unable to remove the dart. He had lost consciousness fairly quickly and was thus unaware of the wizard's arrival.

Aiwendil never told the Wood Elf how he knew where he was. When and how the wizard had discovered that the properties of the fungus would counter the noxious venom on the orc arrow likewise remained a mystery. None of that had seemed important after he had recovered his senses and met the kindly Istari.

Radagast the Brown, not one of the more influential of the wizards, was unconcerned with the political subterfuge practiced among the free peoples. He was dedicated to counteracting the injures and corruption of Melkor, and found little in the current Age that differed from the other two, when the various races were considered, and none seemed very helpful to his purpose. From his standpoint, all of them were still caught in the misconception, the same skewed impression of power that the vainglorious Vala had propounded. Few of them truly recognized what they were fighting about or against, and seldom made the distinction between power and control.

It saddened the mild tempered wizard, for he saw how the distorted thinking made them lowly dupes in a fruitless struggle to master what was in reality unmasterable. The three elven Rings of Power were his favorite example of this misguided interpretation. The rings held no magic of their own, and barely controlled even the smallest bit of the magnificent energy of the Making with which all of Middle Earth was infused. So scant was this control that the keepers of the rings had to keep them hidden, and the Realms they purported to protect were miniscule in comparison to the Elven Kingdoms of Doriath or Nargothrond, or of the Greenwood for that matter.

It amazed him that among the free peoples, especially the elves, there were so few that could comprehend this simple concept. Within the Music of the Ainur, a voice might choose to sing a different note and alter the melody slightly, but the Song itself was not disrupted and never silenced. In fact, each time such disturbances were introduced, a new melody was begun and the Music swelled again in even greater glory. It was a paradox thaat wat was considered good and that which was deemed evil had as origin the same source and as such both were within the design of that one Omniscience. Then again, even most of the Ainur did not seem to understand this part of Iluvatar's Making.

Aiwendil's insights were aligned more with those of Legolas, centered on the greater connection between all the life of Arda and Eru, and thus the two were almost instantly friends. There was no need to explain what was important or what must be done; each knew instinctively that the other understood, and they worked in a closer harmony than Legolas, and possibly Radagast also, had ever known before. It had been difficult for Legolas to leave when he had healed and needed to get back to the Tasks.

Now, he lay beside the brook basking in the bright beams within the sanctuary he and the brown wizard had made together, awaiting his arrival. Aiwendil always knew when he was near, and Legolas fully expected him to appear at any moment.

The Wood Elf was alone, for the first time in a ten-day, and never would he have imagined that such an event would be a welcome one, given the long periods of isolation he had to endure. But the Noldor tried the limits of his lenience and their incessant bickering and unreasonable manners were more than even the most temperate of personalities could bear for any period longer than a few days. Perhaps in a larger community, where he would not have had to engage them on a nearly constant basis, Legolas would have found their company at least tolerable. Here, though he was in his own lands, he could not get free of them.

Legolas had argued with them all morning about the next course to take. He was determined for them to go while they were as adamant to remain. They had demanded to be taken back to retrieve their goods from the old guard's talan. Legolas had no intention of backtracking. They had objected to his remark that they had plenty of possessions in Imladris and could bear to leave the packs behind. The healer had insisted he required his supply of medicinal plants and powders. The warrior had been appalled at the very notion of abandoning the valorous weapon that had served him in the Battle of Gondolin. Both Noldor thought it an indication of Legolas' obviously deficient breeding and upbringing for him to have pointed out that the worth of said blade had not availed the lost Kingdom of Turgon. At last he had had all he could stomach and sent them off, with guidance through Tawar, to get their precious things, and he reveled in the quiet peace their departure had granted.

"Tirno! How good to find you here!" the soft words were so gently spoken that just to hear them felt like being drawn into the welcoming embrace of safe and loving arms. Legolas leapt to his feet and did squeeze the Istari warmly. His sorrows betrayed him and he held tighter than he had intended to the cushiony softness of the plump wizard's ample anmformforting pecan-coloured robes. The strength of the outcast's distress was easily picked up by the sympathetic Maia, and he soothed Legolas within his protecting aura until he felt the elf's close grip relax.

"Aiwendil! I have been waiting, whatever delayed you so many days?" Legolas chided in good humour and the brown wizard chuckled, his happy countenance creasing at the eye's corners in deltaic fans of wrinkled skin. He stepped back, holding Legolas at arm's length to study him over, and did not like what he saw, though his smile only dimmed a little in revealing this.

"My friend, had I imagined you were in this state I would have come straight away! You are getting too expert at hiding your woes, Legolas," he replied and traced his finger along the bright pink of the new scar spanning the elf's left shoulder.

"That was not so bad, since I knew what to do," Legolas said and shrugged nonchalantly. "I was not in too much danger, only sick a couple of days."

Aiwendil gave a melancholic twist to his ever-present smile as he shook his head and let his hand travel down across ribs that were too sharply defined.

"You have been away too long. Cornered, I suppose? I have become aware of the Orcs' new pattern of patrols and determined you were the cause," he spoke with calm concern as his hazel eyes sought the depths of the deep blue elven pair. The new pain he found there disturbed him, fresh wounds on an unsalved soul that spoke of more than physical danger and deprivation.

Legolas willingly tolerated the wizard's scrutiny. For him, for Fearfaron, and at times for Mithrandir also Legolas would not look away, allowing his inner mind to be known. From these three, and only these three, he had always known compassion and friendship, and he trusted them.

"Aye, they have cut off the main trail out of that tortured country! I have been trying to brearougrough for nearly three months, and was only just successful, as you have noted!" the Wood Elf confirmed, and sighed an exasperated breath before continuing. "And you will scarcely believe what I tell you now! I have found spies in the Greenwood, of elf-kind! They are from Imladris, and say they are seeking information on the Wraiths' activity in Dol Guldur!"

"Manwë's wind! Imladris, you say?" the old wizard's perplexity was well expressed in his wide-eyed visage, and the sight of the ancient countenance transformed by a childlike amazement almost made Legolas laugh. However, at that moment he sensed the Noldor returning and motioned with his hand towards the trees.

Radagast turned to see and his eyes fairly popped upotnestnessing the emergence of the Lord of Imladris and his trusted seneschal from the branches. He whipped his startled face back to Legolas, lips agape, and beheld the wild elf's irritated yet unsuspicious expression. The Istari finally found the means to speak.

"Legolas, do you know who those elves are?" he asked, still in shock to find them there at all.

"Oh yes, though they lied at first, Erestor eventually told me and even admitted they were trying to recruit me to spy upon my own people!" Legolas responded in equal amazement as the Noldor approached them. "So you have met them before?"

"Many times, but never in such unexpected circumstances!" the wizard was actually scowling at the Noldor.

Legolas' response unwittingly played the Elf Lord's farce against the Istari's understanding; he believed the Wood Elf knew the true identities. Elrond and Erestor were well acquainted with Radagast as he was a member of the White Council and worked closely with Gandalf in the regions near the Gladden Fields. Indeed, his birds usually served as the most reliable messengers in troubled times.

The Imladrians halted a step or two back from the wizard and the Wood Elf and found each other's eyes. An exceptionally profound silence descended over the glade as the four of them stood, an awkward standoff of sorts in progress as each weighed the situation.

The Elf Lord was quite dismayed to find the wizard there, though Legolas' remark about their nearness to the Istari's home had at least given him pause to consider this encounter highly probable. He remained resolutely undeterred, regretting that his little scheme would be ruined, but fully prepared to absorb the shock to Legolas when the truth was revealed. He almost smiled, but found the necessary muscles resisted being forced.

He and Erestor had argued about Legolas nearly the entire journey to retrieve the supplies, and some of his old friend's remarks were more than just. Perhaps Elrond's assumptions were incorrect. Was there not something uniquely appealing about the archer that he should appreciate rather than scorn? Mayhap he had been avenging his tarnished pride, both from Ningloriel's selfish abandonment and the Wood Elf's misplaced solicitude. Was he reacting to deeper feelings for the Danwaith Queen than he cared to acknowledge? Legolas did not deserve to be used.

The meager attempt to present a pleasing demeanor failed utterly and Elrond met Radagast with an equivalently disgruntled frown.

Erestor was horrified at the predicament and could think of nothing about the next few moments that he would find congenial. Indeed, having witnessed both the fury and skill of the wild elf in battle, the seneschal was extremely relieved to have his sword at his side again. His hand found its way to the blade's hilt of its own accord as he earnestly hoped matters would not come to violence.

"What are you doing so far from Imladris?" the wizard asked almost the same question that Legolas had put before the Noldor. Radagast moved his eyes from Elrond to Erestor's hand upon the sword to Legolas and back, resting finally on the Elf Lord.

"It is as he has told you; I will not deny it," Elrond spoke with his naturally authoritative manner for he held the brown wizard in low regard, considering his usefulness minimal to the cause of Imladris. The Elf Lord did not answer to Mithrandir; he certainly owed no explanations to this lesser Istari.

"That is ridiculous! How would you come to think Legolas would aid you against his own?" Aiwendil spoke with amused condescension rather than anger, and neither Legolas nor the Noldor missed the derisive reprimand.

"We realize that now!" the seneschal spoke up quickly, sharing a wary glance that encompassed his Lord, the Maia, and the Wood Elf. "However, we did not know him then. At the time we only knew he was outcast and banished from his people. It seemed he might be open to the affiliation," he posited feebly. "For my part, I regret the whole idea; all of it!" the Noldo glared at his Lord. "Legolas has saved my life three times since I have been in Mirkwood, and has shown his character to be exemplary! I truly regret any deception I have been involved in here!" he re-emphasized his apology, speaking directly to Legolas.

The Noldo sincerely meant his words and was not simply trying to alleviate the detriment to himself the revelation of their ruse would create. He had come to the conclusion that his actions were not redeemable even under the guise of defeating the power of Sauron. Durihe the trek, his discussion with Elrond had yielded a compromise: he would remain silent about the lies if Elrond would agree for them to leave. His part in the little drama had already done a great deal of damage to the fallen archer and the injury that was about to be manifested upon the unsuspecting woodland warrior made the seneschal feel ill. Erestor found that he was ashamed of himself, and could not help thinking that Orophin and Dambethnîn would feel the same.

"You would do well to recall where your allegiance lies!" The Lord of Imladris sent his old friend a bitterly cold stare as he spoke this harsh rebuke. He would not have believed Erestor would betray him had he not just heard the words himself. Elrond seethed; the outcast had caused a serious rift between him and one of his dearest and oldest friends. He rescinded his decision to spare Legolas further torment.

Radagast allowed his inner senses to evaluate this exchange as he studied the Imladrians. Erestor's admissions were more than sufficient to convince the Istari that these two elves were responsible for whatever had befallen Legolas. He sensed a dark deception, but could not pick it out. Elrond was skilled ineldielding his thoughts and the seneschal was only a bundle of rueful apprehensions. He immediately wished his order did not forbid using his powers upon any of the free peoples directly. They had hurt the Wood Elf, the malice clear but the manner of the injury and its reason obscure. The wizard had almost decided to defy the rule and force the truth from the Noldo Lord when Legolas' hand upon his arm calmed him.

"It does not matter now, Aiwendil," the disinherited prince sought to diffuse his friend's sudden anger. Unclear as to what the undertone of rage was about, he considered the emotion to be out of proportion to his own understanding of events. The wizard must be reading his reactions to the Noldor presence and was agitated by them for his sake.

For that matter, they were also over reacting, especially the advisor. He had expressed remorse before, yet this seemed more urgent, more intense. As far as Legolas was concerned, the seneschal was forgiven; his lecherous predisposition had not really done the archer any harm. He decided the Noldo must be worried about what his Lord might do to punish him for his disloyalty in the face of the wizard's mild challenge. "They are leaving, returning to their lands today."

"Nay, we are not going from here until we have learned what we came to learn!" retorted Elrond hotly, his fiery eyes defying his compatriot to speak out again. Erestor uplifted hands and vision skyward in wearied defeat, murmuring several unwholesome expletives as he walked away.

"Aye, you shall go this day! The woodsmen's village I spoke of is only a few leagues northeast of here; there I shall lead you and leave you!" Legolas was so vexed by this endless contention that he was already shouting at the healer and advanced a pace towards him.

Radagast sensed the two elves had been trading similar words for many hours, and so intervened, literally putting his body between them. He would not grant the Noldo Lord further opportunity to manipulate his friend's emotions.

"I am glad you speak of the village, for that is the reason I was delayed! They have suffered from the heaving madness of the earth wrought by Sauron two days ago. No doubt you were caught in it as well, and that sto story you might wish to tell me later!" he said as he drew the younger elf away from his antagonists. As he had anticipated, Legolas' thoughts were instantly diverted.

"What has happened? Are there many hurt?" the Wood Elf was distressed to hear of it for he took the well-being of the forest dwellers personally, feeling that Thranduil had abandoned them unjustly. He was fond of the humans there, and they helped pass messages to and from Fearfaron.

"Yes, sadly, there were many injuries. It was not the shaking so much as the damage from falling limbs and trees. Two cabins were crushed and four were lost that way. The worst of the harm came from the fire, though. The most severely burned have already expired but there are some still struggling to live. Two are children, Legolas," the old wizard was overcome with sorrow as he spoke these words, the image of these unfortunate souls stirring his heart.

Legolas was beside himself. The idea of children suffering was unbearable and he shuddered as the colour drained away from his cheeks. Wanting to ask but terrified to know, he recalled each of the little ones he knew. It could be any of them and he could not bear to learn which of these innocents endured such horrible torture. He pulled free from the wizard, clasping and twisting his hands together, paced two strides out, then returned and abruptly faced Elrond.

"You are a healer! Please! You must help them!" his pleading voice was audibly afflicted, and the Elf Lord was taken aback.

"Of course I will help them!" he reassured. As soon as he had heard of the humans' plight he had begun checking in his pack for the herbs he would need. Healing was his true calling; it surprised him that Legolas thought he had to beg for such assistance.

Legolas' relief was palpable and he even reached out and clasped the Elf Lord by the shoulder in gratitude, giving him a look filled with such appreciation that the Noldo became even more disturbed. What sort of character did this elf think he possessed?

Legolas turned back to Aiwendil and stated his intent to retrieve his weapons as he hurried up to the talan. It no longer mattered to him what the Noldo had done to him three days ago as long as he would try to save the lives of the children and their kin. Legolas could fend for himself; he was an elf. The humans were helpless against the Shadow of Sauron.

Erestor filled up the water skins, wondering at fate's hand in this. The Lord of Imladris was still secure in his false identity; Aiwendil, for whatever reason, did not seem to care to reveal the deception. But that did not matter to the seneschal. His conscience demanded that as soon as the immediate exigency was alleviated, he would explain it all to Legolas.

Within the passing of mere moments the four were prepared and left the dale to bring aid to the suffering Woodsmen and their families.

The evil's wretched doom was apparent long before the company of four reached the Woodsmen's homes. So great was the loss within the forest that the wild elf had to go to ground two leagues from the glade, unable to find a consistent path among the branches. The full light of the sun highlighted the grisly scene of overturned beeches, oaks, maples, firs, and all species of wooded life. A large part of the Greenwood ie sue surrounding area was nothing more than a mass of wasted wood, soon to succumb to rot and decay. But for the present, among the uprooted and blasted trees some were still alive, crying out their last songs of expiring existence, sundered from even the ability to share these final moments with Tawar.

Only Legolas could hear them now.

He walked in silence as he listened and his anger and sorrow radiated from him in surging swells of restless yet helpless energy and a steady flow of tears. Safe in the sanctuary by the blackberries and the brook, beyond the range of the worst tremors, he had been able to block from conscious thought the injury the Greenwood had endured. While he had enjoyed his peaceful contentment, the trees had been in their death throes. Reason told him there was nothing he could have done to prevent the destruction, but his heart was guilt-ridden nonetheless. He deliberately goaded the Shadow to reveal itself, and now the forest received sanction in his stead.

Impeded by the devastation, their journey took longer than a normal excursion of such a small distance should. The five leagues seemed like fifty, and the hours required to cross the paltry expanse chafed against the concerned travelers' desire to help the unfortunates.

It was nearly annûn before the pathway outpost was reached. Beyond this marker, a great perimeter of stripped ground they crossed, twenty paces deep, devoid of any small trees and undergrowth. The Men had constructed a firebreak to prevent the spread of their disaster to the forest at large. The elves and the wizard stepped into the zone of tearful stoicism that the hamlet had become and simply stopped, overcome with the impact of the catastrophe.

The village was destroyed.

Many of the smaller huts had been shaken loose from their moorings, their bark shingled roofs askew and doorframes queerly bent. Two cabins had been completely crushed under the weight of fallen forest giants while three more stood with one side down or the roof partially collapsed from the burden of fallen limbs and younger trees. Six had burned; four reduced to nothing but ashes and blackened, stark stone chimney stacks. The rest were partially intact, and still in use by the beleaguered population. Of the original thirty or so dwellings, only twelve stood uneffected, and one of these had been commandeered to house the maimed and burned.

The humble abodes were built right into the forest proper without any of the elder trees having been cleared away first. The only alterations the humans had made involved removal of the underbrush and scrubby saplings, and occasionally trimming out dead wood before it could fall and harm anyone below. This careful husbandry had spared the bulk of the woods from the blaze, and only two trees would never recover from the scorching, these growing up against the remnants of the completely incinerated dwellings. The height of the scorched, blackened bark on the standing trees marked the dire fury of the conflagration.

Everywhere the litter of broken branches, huge logs, and discarded, charred furnishings blocked the narrow cobble-lined pathways. A bonfire was aflame under careful tending. The putrid odor issuing from it told of the loss of small domestic fowl and hunting hounds, no doubt penned up during the horrendous calamity and either suffocated or crushed. A second fire heated heavy cauldrons of water for use in cleansing the smoke and ash from clothes and possessions, bathing, and providing clean bandaging for the burn victims.

All the adults were engaged in the work of sawing up the fallen trees and stabilizing the wobbly buildings. Children of all ages collected and hauled the lumber into piles, sorting it by size and type for later use. Many homes needed to be rebuilt, and basic furnishings replaced; none of the lost trees would go to waste. If it seemed macabre to use the very wood that had killed a loved one to rebuild the survivors' new homes, the inhabitants would never discuss it. So engrossed were the villagers in their salvage activities that they did not at first notice the silent entrance of the wd and and the elves.

Legolas recovered from his shock first, for he was desperately dreading to learn whom among his friends was dead. He stepped forward purposefully towards the makeshift house of healing, easily identified by the horrendous cries of torment issuing from its open doors.

Elrond moved forth after him, but Radagast placed a restraining hand upon his shoulder and held him back.

"No, we will wait," the wizard said and turned his attention back to the scene before him, keeping a hand on the Elf Lord's arm.

The Lord of Imladris graced the Istari with a bewildered expression and looked over to Erestor to share this silent perplexity. The seneschal, however, was watching Legolas.

Before the Wood Elf could reach the doorway, he was spotted by a young child who cried out and raced right for him.

"Tirno!" the little one piped in gleeful joy. Legolas was just as excited, dropping to his knees to catch the youngster flu flung her small body into his embrace.

"Chloe! You are unharmed! Where is Amethyst?" he was saying as a second and identical little girl careened into his arms and smothered his face in kisses. Soon a small knot of little ones had nearly buried the archer and he was carefully counting heads and checking over each one. At last he stood up, sorrowfully meeting the eyes of the older children and adults that had joined the small huddle. "Where are Carnil and Cemendur?" he asked fearfully.

A tall young maiden with soot-stained auburn hair, her green eyes misted with despair, sobbed as she stepped forward, her hand clamped hard over her lips as she shook her head. Legolas reached out for her and soon she was crying raggedly as she tried to explain what had happened through her tears.

She was Llannadh, the oldest of the five siblings, and her broken story confirmed that both her baby brothers and her mother were among the burn victims still alive, but her father was not. The tale of this one family seemed to summarize the grim entirety of the devastation the humans had endured, and everyone fell silent as the elf and the girl wept quietly.

Gradually Llannadh gathered her composure and her sisters, loosening the little fingers that were entwined together, ensnaring Legolas around his waist with their arms, one twin on either side.

There was a shifting in the crowd and the people stood asio alo allow the Village Elder to approach the Wood Elf. She was a wizened old matriarch, and no one knew exactly how many years she had lived.

Legolas remembered her from her childhood days, when he had come through once with Talagan's patrol. It had been a rare trip to the south for him, when a particularly massive influx of Orcs had threatened the border, then much further to the south, and extra patrols had been mustered.

He recalled a frightened pair of shining brown eyes staring at him from an ivory skinned cherubic face, a mass of curly brown locks, and a hound puppy whimpering in her arms because it was held too tightly. It had been a shock to him when first he met her again and had recognized those same brown eyes watching from the care-lined ivory visage of an old woman. He had wondered then if she would be able to remember him, for he had changed dramatically, too.

He stood before her and bowed with respect and then pressed his forehead to hers, each hand upon a fragile shoulder, as was the human custom in greeting the Elder, before straightening up again.

She tried to smile through her distress but could not speak. He need not have wondered if she recalled that day of her young years when the Wood Elves came to drive away the demons and make safe the land. She would never forget it and had recounted the story to her children and her grandchildren and even great-grandchildren time and again.

How terrified she had been of the fearsome elven warriors! She had frozen like a troll at dawn when she discovered one of them staring right at her through piercing blue eyes! He had gotten down from his horse and come straight to her, kneeling down in the dirt and looking from her to the whining puppy and back with such distress that she had abruptly held the dog out to him. The smile that had lit his eyes as he caught up the little hound had illuminated her soul as well, and she secretly believed she had lived beyond her years because of a blessing that smile had bestowed. He had not kept the pup, though, merely calmed it down and handed it back, admonishing her to always be gentle with the lesser creatures of Yavanna.

He had returned to them five years ago, and though she had been surprised to see an elf so poorly kept, she recognized Legolas as he did her, from the eyes. No questions did she ask for she knew he had reappeared to drivck tck the demons and make safe the land.

"I am sorry I was not here to help," he was apologizing and she immediately pressed her gnarled fingers over his lips and fixed him with a look of gentle displeasure.

"You will not speak those words! You are here now, and if you could have been here before what could you have done?" she said sternly. It amazed her that although he far outnumbered her years she had surpassed hn exn experience and wisdom in many ways. She could tell he was blaming himself, like all youth that believed their simple presence would somehow avert disaster, and she patted his cheek affectionately, wiping away the tears from his eyes. "Who are these you have brought with you?" she asked.

"Aiwendil you know; the others are elves from Imladris. One is a healer," Legolas answered and looked back over towards Radagast and the Noldor. Only then did the wizard come forward, releasing his hold upon Elrond. They greeted the Elder, following Legolas' example, and she gratefully guided the healer into the dreadful gloom of the sick house. Legolas made to follow, but Erestor and Aiwendil held him back, forbidding him entry.