Legolas and the Balrog

Legolas and the Balrog
A Little Legolas story
By erobey, robey61@yahoo.com
Beta'd by Sarah AK
www.feud.shadowess.com
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: The settings and most characters were created by JRR Tolkien. Only the words and other characters surrounding them here belong to erobey.

III. Let the Wood Elves Laugh and Play

Now the relief of the Imladrian councillor on encountering the Sinda King was great, both because he was loath to return to his Lord defeated and because this elf was not garbed and decorated like some savage from Harad. The Wood Elves' ruler was regarding Erestor with bemused curiosity and his lips seemed pressed too tightly together as they smiled. The advisor realised this might possibly be to withhold merriment that was certainly at the Noldor's expense. For, barring the paint, feathers, and bones, the proud emissaries were nearly as under-dressed and dishevelled in appearance as their would-be attackers and hardly looked like representatives of the Wise. Erestor tried to project some semblance of refinement and deportment as he lifted his chin and squared his shoulders, meeting the King's dancing eyes with stoic resolve.

"Mae Govannen, King Thranduil!" he said soberly and bowed his head respectfully. "I bring greetings from the elven realms to the West! We have been sent on a mission of great urgency, Lord, to seek your aid and that of your good people."

"Indeed?" the King's brow creased in surprised concern. "What can be amiss for Imladris and Lorien to require the assistance of the Nandor? Say not that Men cry once more for the blood of the First-born to be let upon the altar of their mortal doom!"

All three Noldor cringed at that, for it was true the Wood Elves had fared worst of all in the Last Alliance and felt bitterly toward the humans for failing to resist the call of greed and the lust for power. Isildur's Folly, the woodland folk called it, but it was spoken in notes of cold hatred for the loss of the Ring at their borders had brought the Necromancer to their lands. Dol Guldur was an inexorable pestilence and a blight unto their world, and all around them the Greenwood was slowly succumbing to the black Shadow that sought the dread talisman of Sauron.

"Alas! It is not for the sake of mortal Men that I am sent, but for the salvation of Arda herself!" said Erestor seriously and waited to learn if the famous temper of Oropher had passed to the veins of his youngest son and only surviving kin, and whether his statement would trigger it.

This pronouncement was greeted with a deep frown of pensive introspection as the elven King turned his gaze away and looked back amid the towering trees, an expression of deep sorrow suffusing the clear indigo orbs. It was most disheartening to behold, like the sun overtaken by the thick obscurity of advancing ranks of stormy clouds, and all of them, horses, hounds, and elves alike bowed their heads before Thranduil's grief.

Then he shook himself a little, lifted up his drooping heart and smiled his beaming grin, his eyes twinkling once more with mirthful cheer, perhaps yet tinged a bit with pain, as they returned to meet his unexpected guests'.

"A grave matter indeed, Lord Erestor. Yet not one to be settled here upon this accursed disfigurement so casually referred to as a road. Let us away! Join us! My warriors and I are hard upon the hunt, and if you would lend your swords to the task we would not be displeased."

"Aye! The trail cools! Forth the Hunters!"

"I did promise a trophy to my beloved!"

"A feast! We must give cause to celebrate this eve!"

"Three more blades would be welcome help!"

This soft murmur of rejoinders, all expressing encouraging agreement, erupted from above and behind the King, and the Imladrians suddenly realised they had been silently surrounded again.

The woodland warriors were all dressed inconspicuously in green and brown clothing, simple tunics and leggings, and were a fairly even mix of male and female. Some were perched amid the treetops as had the strange fey creatures preceding them while others could vaguely be detected upon horseback between the bolls and bark. They all wore bow and quivers upon their bodies and some held long knives, delicate and deadly. They were mostly brown-headed, with infrequent glimpses of black and a startling one with hair the colour of moonbeams. That one was female and she was richly dressed while upon her brow was a coronet of iridescent pearls. It was she who had called the welcome to the strangers' service.

Cugu and Toloth shared cunning grins and unsheathed their worthy swords with ringing flourish, crashing them together with a hearty shout.

"We are with you!" called Cugu, answering for all the Noldor.

The elven King laughed aloud and drawing his mighty weapon held it aloft as he looked among the branches at his warriors.

"An Cúroniel ar 'nin Tawarwaith!" (For Cúroniel and for the Tawarwaith!) his deep voice boomed out into the air as the dapple-grey steed reared upon his hind legs, twirled about, and with a loud trumpeting neigh plunged into the brush, hounds beside him stride for stride.

"An Cúroniel ar 'nin Tawarwaith!" the Wood Elves answered as one, a sounding blast of silver horns called out the command to resume the chase, and they were off!

Toloth pointed his horse at the same spot just vacated by Thranduil's charger and urged him forward without hesitation, Cugu and Erestor right on his heels, but even so they nearly lost sight of the elusive silvans as soon as the darkness of the woods closed round them. A sharp, short, growling 'woof' captured their attention and there, pacing patiently at their side, was another of the tremendous hunting dogs. Confident they all understood he was to be their guide, the hound loped forward just ahead of Toloth's steed.

Erestor was slightly dismayed to find himself part of the Wood Elves' sport, for he had hoped to be taken straightaway to the hidden stronghold, there to complete his mission and gratefully head for home. Yet he could not gainsay the King's offer without giving offence and would look doubly dour if he over-ruled his companions' obvious delight in the invitation, so he joined the melee.

Once his eyes adapted to the shadowy world under the eaves, he had to revise that somewhat derogatory definition. The woodland warriors were moving at steady speed in calm precision, their ranks above and on the ground creating a multidimensional wedge formation such as he had never witnessed before. He was stunned to find that the elves running through the trees kept pace with the horses below them, and alerted one another to changes in the direction of their quarry with clever signals that mimicked the whistles and songs of birds. Other than this, they were absolutely silent, even the hounds and the horses progressed with eerily quiet quickness, not even the hooves nor so much as the rustle of a single leaf disturbing the solitude.

For better than an hour the hunting party continued thus, grimly determined and dedicated, yet no sign of the pursued game was seen. Just when Erestor was starting to wonder what manner of animal required this large number of stalkers, the nature of their prey was revealed. The scouts ahead sent back a rapid series of calls reminiscent of the cry of hawks on the prowl. Immediately the hounds raced forward into the lead, baying with their excitement and showing fangs of white that nearly glowed. Loud cacophonous growling and yelping commenced, into which was mixed the foul coarseness of Black-speech cursing and shouting. Directly the proud fugue of the mithril horns blared out the charge and the Wood Elves unleashed their wrath upon the demon-spawn of Dol Guldur.

The next few strides of his charger carried Erestor into a broad clearing among the trees, and for a moment the glare of the full sun blinded his sight. The harsh caterwauling of a charging warg-rider sharpened his view and he unsheathed his sword, beheading the soldier of dread as his stallion pivoted and danced, evading the gnashing jaws of the huge beast carrying the evil creature. As soon as that one was dispatched, another appeared in its place, and as the Noldo battled his opponents his senses detailed the rest of the warriors' efforts.

Close at hand were Cugu and Toloth, swinging their mighty swords amid the enemy like scythes through tall grass, reaping blood and death. The Elven King and the silver-haired female fought side by side, and the inu was singing a solemn dirge as she wielded two slender blades, darting them in and out among the mob, the swaying motion of her arms almost mesmerising. Indeed the words of her chant seemed to drive terror into the shrunken hearts of the orcs, and they fought one another in their haste to flee from her advance.

Everywhere Erestor turned he could see the orcs engaged in a deadly struggle, yet they were doomed. From above a constant hail of missiles pierced armour and bones as the hidden archers shot them down. Upon the forest floor the mounted elves crashed through the thronging glamhoth, slicing and slaying with ferocious dedication, the light of rage shining within their immortal eyes as their skilled hands cleaved and decapitated, dismembered and gutted the gruesome servants of Sauron. A smaller party formed among the riders and the archers and separated from the main host, hounds along side, taking off after the few orcs able to get free of the attack, and these elves were not seen again by the Noldor until much later.

Gradually the battle wound down. The sound of arrows cutting air and steel swords clashing diminished and died away. The song of the elf with Ithil-hued hair was the only thing to be heard, and slowly all the other elves joined her in the sombre anthem. In a great rising crescendo the tune changed in timbre, becoming a triumphant hymn of victorious glory, yet underneath their bold melody the sense of deep sadness remained. They were singing the names of the most recently lost Wood Elves due to the evil of Sauron, including those who gave their lives at Dagorlad. At length all voices fell away and only Thranduil's remained, telling the toll of woe extracted from among his kin, and thus was heard Oropher's name, and that of his first born, Langlagor (Swift Sword) and last spoken was Cúroniel, for whom the chase was called forth.

Erestor knew not who this elf was, but that she was beloved among all the Wood Elves was plain as tears were shed and prayers whispered. A moment of silence followed and not until the last muted overtone of this tribute dissipated did the forest again stir and the normal bustle and chatter of birds and wildlife return.

The King guided his stallion to the Noldor and smiled a weary grin. "Are you well? Have you taken any hurt?" he inquired with concern.

Toloth grunted and spat. "Nay, that scum of Morgoth could not touch us!"

"Well said; I am thankful for it!" Thranduil's deep laugh was jolly as he leaned forward and slapped the warrior's shoulder soundly. "Yet I implore you all to take the remedy being prepared by my wife, for even the slightest of scrapes from one of these fiendish blades may introduce deadly poison into the body."

"Poison! The vile cowards!" cried Toloth.

"Aye, we will heed your advice," added Erestor.

"What of your troops, oh King? How have they faired in this sortie?" queried Cugu with equanimity.

"Well enough; only minor wounds among the elves and horses but three hounds fell. I thank you for your aid in our endeavour and ask pardon for not recalling your name, though your countenance I have seen upon the battle plane before this day."

"No apology required, good King!" Toloth waived away the plea. "I am Toloth and this is Cugu, my mate. You are right; we met at Dagorlad long ago."

"Ah. I am pleased to have your names and your company once more." Thranduil gripped each by the forearm in turn. "Now, excuse me, for I must assist in disposing of this wreaking mess." With that and a polite nod he turned his steed away and rejoined the silver-haired elf. Together they dismounted, as had all the other elves, and began dragging the remains of the foul orcs together to be burned.

The sight of the King and this inu, whom must surely be his wife and Queen, participating in the noisome task astonished the visitors. The Noldor advisor shared swift and silent communion with his countrymen and then all three alit and added their backs to the toil, pausing when the silver queen passed them each a small vial of amber coloured liquid. She did not speak but neither did she budge until they had swallowed down the potions, after which she smiled gaily and returned to her husband's side.

From out of the trees the rest of the warriors had come down also, and Erestor was surprised that their number was far fewer than the thick barrage of arrows had suggested to his mind. There were twenty-four archers and an equal number of cavalry and hounds. Only the dogs had suffered fatally and those three the elves wrapped reverently within their cloaks and draped over the backs of horses to be returned to the stronghold. This small battalion had defeated a throng of orcs three times greater in numbers, not including the wargs. The Imladrian advisor was suitably impressed.

All the elves were soon working diligently, sorting through the havoc of dismembered bodies and strewn battle gear, searching for anything serviceable that could be gleaned from the grotesque display. Erestor understood what sort of trophy had been meant by the earlier remark as a call went up and a fine dagger was held high. Even from a distance he could see this was an elven blade and surmised the woodland folk were scavenging through the mass looking for items lost by kin in previous encounters. Before long every worthy tool and weapon had been retrieved and the hulking mound of putrefying flesh was ablaze.

The hunting party divided then, with four archers remaining, two on ground to oversee the burning and two climbing high to keep watch for any retaliation among the demons' fellows. The cavalry mounted as the King strolled back to his guests, dapple-grey at his left shoulder.

"Again, your efforts are more than we expected from outlanders!" he said with a gracious bow. "Allow me to offer you the hospitality of my House. I bid you return to my stronghold to be honoured for your selfless deeds on behalf of my people. A feast!" He called out the last words and a cry of jubilation rose up from his soldiers.

"It is a most welcome invitation, King Thranduil, and we gladly accept," and Erestor bowed as well, but at this the Sinda laughed and clasped him by the hand.

"Nay, call me by no title, for this day you have aided my House and that of the noblest and oldest among these good folk. A wrong that can never be healed has at least been partially avenged, and your swords joined ours without ever asking the reason for our foray against the Darkness or considering the risk to your persons. You are worthy to be counted as kinsman among the Tawarwaith!"

Another loud chorus of affirmation rang through the clearing, signifying everyone's agreement with the Sinda Lord.

Erestor, Cugu, and Toloth shared their surprise at this announcement. But Erestor was wise and understood that this had all been as a test for them and had they been found wanting, no further converse with the Wood Elves would have been possible. Thus, he was silently grateful to Cugu for his impetuous acquiescence to enlist with the hunt.

The Noldor remounted as well and fell into step behind the King and his Queen upon their fine horses as the remainder of the patrol assumed ranks to either side, once more spread out among the trees in the shape of a spearhead. The return to the hidden fortress was boisterous and noisy in dramatic counterpoint to the bleak solitude of the long pursuit. Several lays of cheerful mien were sung among the small troop, recounting tales of days long past and heroes from the timeless expanse of years before the arising of Anor and Ithil. Their speed was leisurely after the exertion of battle and its subsequent foul chore.

The light had turned to subdued shadows of brown and dun as dusk deepened and evening was hurrying under the heavy cover of leaf and limb when at last the twinkling as of stars bound upon the earth appeared in the distance. This was the gleam cast by hundreds of silver lanterns lining pathways on the ground and hanging among the branches. The trees thinned away as the path broadened into a proper road and the riders could conglomerate, forming ranks two abreast as they cantered between the trunks of two tremendous beeches, each one easily the width of six adult elves standing side by side with arms outspread. These marked the limits of the Wood Elves' city and their bark was carved with magnificent skill, depicting in miniature the same track winding through the woods and over an elegant bridge toward the looming citadel.

Long before they reached this causeway and the Great Gates on its opposite side, the Noldor were goggle-eyed from staring this way and that at the exotic location illumined by flickering lamplight. Excitedly, Cugu pointed to the bright standards that had somehow appeared within the riders' hands, each pair of elves bearing the emblem of their particular House. These banners matched various sections of the city, for the same design could be seen carved into the guarding trees flanking the entry to those enclaves' designated holdings among the woods.

Most of these were named for specific species of trees, so that oak, hemlock, elm, ash, pine, myrtle and yew all had elven Houses associated with them. Thranduil himself carried the beech tree leaf banner of his father's House. Beside him his wife bore a standard taller than any other all in white satin and upon this pristine field was emblazoned a great incense cedar worked in silk embroidery. No banners among the woods matched it. As the couple moved forward, everyone bowed low before them as befitted the rulers of a royal House.

Besides the various affiliations to plant life, there were also clans dedicated to the hawk and the boa, the wolf and the panther, the stag and the serpent. One banner showed a shimmering replica of a water dragon, and Toloth nudged Cugu; it was the same as that adorning their fearsome female foe of the early hours. Then they noticed the flag of the Monarch Butterfly and the one of the Raven, and felt they understood even less the bizarre encounter with the primal elves. It surely seemed those aboriginal beings had purposefully presented emblems of their heritage, yet all of the silvans the Noldor could see now were simply yet conservatively dressed, much as any elf one might encounter beneath the Mellyrn in Lorien.

High up amid the branches the elves' dwellings were built into the trees and from the delicate tracery of latticework balconies matching flags hung down and drifted lazily in the humid breeze. The homes reminded Erestor of the elaborate talans seen in Lorien, yet the bright buntings and dancing lanterns leant the whole place the atmosphere of a carnival or a bazaar. Each dwelling had several levels and some of these were shielded from view by the clever placement of silk draperies. Every flet had an awning of dark green and brown silk that could be rolled up, as some were, or stretched out to provide protection from the elements. He could see small streamers of blue smoke twisting high in long, thin curlicues toward the canopy, and knew the inhabitants must keep covered braziers in their talans for cooking, just like the Galadhrim.

Every tree seemed to hold a dwelling, and every home appeared to house a family of several generations, for the inhabitants of any given talan were many. As the procession made its way through the street, numerous folk gathered to welcome home the hunters. As soon as they were within earshot, the warriors began calling out to loved ones, sharing news of their success and the ensuing feast, and adding in the story of the gallant outlanders. Now that word brought a veritable crowd to the fringes of the road and among the over-arching limbs as everyone tried to get a look at these strange elves, for none had come within their city since before the Great Battle that ended the previous Age. That was more than two millennia hence.

Mild laughter and slender smiles, stares ranging from curious to shocked with 'O' shaped eyes and mouths to match met the hearing and sight of the emissaries from Imladris, and occasionally an elfling would point rudely and receive a hasty reprimand from a parent or some other adult kinfolk. Cugu and Toloth grinned broadly, enjoying the joke right along with their hosts, but Erestor was beside himself with absolute mortification.

Here they were, the first elves to visit these lands in over two Ages, representing the Council of the Wise, the Lord of Imladris, and the Lady of the Golden Wood, covered in orc gore, mud, insect bites, and half-naked to top it all. The noble advisor sent a sharp glance over his shoulder to try and instil some solemnity into his companions, who were smiling, waving, and calling out greetings to everyone, but Cugu just shrugged and Toloth shook his head.

Erestor glowered. He could already hear Glorfindel's belly-rolling laughter resounding through the Hall of Fire as this story found its way into the clever clutches of Lindir's mind, emerging as a ballad of comedic legend, patterned after the sort of epic storytelling so frequently demanded from Imladris' citizens; set, no doubt, to the kind of tune that got verily stuck in one's head for days on end. The type of song elflings ended up singing as they went about their childish games.

Erestor, Cugu, and Toloth went forth to meet the Elven King.
Oh! Perilous was their journey North, seeking aid to stop the Ring.
For five days straight the heavens heaved and soaked the trio through,
What? I thought there were ten, toloth plus two, travelling beneath the leaves?
Nay! Toloth, Toloth the Mighty, a warrior bold, with Erestor and faithful Cugu,
What? Could they not find an eagle? What good is a dove on a trip with elves so few?
Nay! Cugu, Cugu the Brave, a soldier renowned, veteran from battles untold…

The esteemed advisor's bitterly rambling and silent ode was suddenly ended as a loud clarion of trumpets filled the air and reverberated from the stony walls of the stronghold, for the column of warriors had rounded a wide curve in the path and were within sight of the fortress.

High into the darkening skies soared Orod Im'elaidh [the Mountain Amid the Trees], brother to Orod Ereb [the Lonely Mountain].on the plains of Erebor. Before the forbidding expanse of onyx stone a wide, deep chasm had been cut by Aulë's hands, then delved and deepened by the Woodland King, diverting the flow of the Forest River to form a moat before the citadel. The water was motionless and black, but perhaps that was due to the lack of light remaining. Across the liquid barrier, rumoured to hold enchantment in its inky depths, a tremendous drawbridge spanned the divide.

Another fanfare bugled brightly through the twilight as the royal couples' horses stepped first upon the wooden planks, and a loud welcoming cheer arose from within the confines of the palace on the opposite shore. Victorious and proud, the hunters were returned.

Tbc.