In Twilight

A/N: Beta read by Ilye, thanks love! Chapter 7 is up, next chapter will be coming as soon as it can. Don't know if this chapter came out as funny in the end as I would have liked it to be. Well, I'll let all the readers decide. This story is almost halfway done, by the way. I hope everyone has been enjoying it.

/ / denotes thoughts.
~~~~~~~~~~ denotes changes in scene or POV.

Chapter 7: Hellacious Encounter
Summary: The short stay in Lil’ Bree proves interesting and a bit troublesome for the young elven princes and princess, especially since the mannish town has not seen elves in quite some time.

A faint hush fell over the already crowded tavern as the six new arrivals entered and took a table in a darkened corner. Though it was still early evening, the Trotting Stallion was already filled to almost full capacity as men and dwarves returned from their daily comings and goings to enjoy a hot meal and fine ale and mead at their favorite gathering spot in Lil Bree. All their attentions were turned from their plates and conversations upon the entrance of the arrivals, eyes fixing on the figures for a moment longer before turning back to begin new talks. The cloaked elves said nothing until Bowman arrived at their side.

“What can I get you this fine evening, my young friends?” The princes and princess turned to one another, silent conversation passing between them as their eyes met. Their intense gray, blue and green gazes from underneath dark gray cloaks made the tavern owner a little uneasy as he waited for their answer. After a moment’s time, that seemed much longer to Bowman, Arondil spoke from the owner’s elbow.

“Bread, cheese, aruitruits you may have and wine, kind sir,” the prince said, lifting his eyes to Bowman momentarily.

“Will that be all you gentlemen will be wanting?” A simple nod was his answer. “Would you be preferring some ale, or perhaps mead rather than wine, friends?”

“Nay, wine will do,” Elladan replied, eliciting a nod from Bowman who moved off quickly to fill their order before attending to other guests, leaving the elves to observe the room around them in silence.

“They are…difft frt from those I have seen in the wood,” Nimriel commented as her gaze fell from one dwarf to a second and then upon the man they were conversing with. All three were dressed in rough brown clothing, their faces dirty and dusty, but they laughed heartily as they drank from tall tankards. “I would not fancy myself as being an expert on the company of men, as I have seen and interacted with few. But it is to my current observation that the men of this town seem far from the hard working village people of Mirkwood.”

“Aye, they are,” Legolas agreed. “I liken that they are also different from the Dunedain. The Edain of the North are rather gruff and weather worn, but these men and dwarves place a new perspective on them. But appearances can be deceiving, gwathul-nîn. The men, and even dwarves, that you see before you might in fact be as hard working as the men of the wood, but at the present moment they are forgetting their cares and enjoying their time.”

“I agree with Legolas,” Elrohir said, his voice dying as Bowman returned, balancing trays piled with the food and wine they had ordered. Smiling warmly, the tavern owner laid out the plates and cups before his guests before bidding them an enjoyable meal and leaving them to their own devices.

As they ate, the elves kept their conversation between themselves and in whispered tones. Speaking in Sindarian, in voices that could only reach their own keen ears, they spoke of Imladris; the children of Mirkwood questioned the twins further on the valley dwelling. Elladan and Elrohir spoke with relish about their home and visits to Lorien, promising the others tours and introductions. Now and then they found themselves having to switch to speaking in words of Westron when their elvish senses alerted them to prying eyes and ears. This town fascinated them, though it was far from any of their expectations upon arrival; they were not inclined to reveal who they truly were until they left in the morning, if at all. Conversat aro around them went on as normal, almost as if the strangers were nothing unusual to Lil Bree. Almost.

Very rarely has an elf become so intoxicated through the vintages that he or she could not remember whaey dey did or said once they woke up with a hangover. Most knew when to stop themselves from becoming too drunk. Nonetheless, elven wine was not so much potent as it was sweet in taste, agreeable to the palate for even those who preferred something without a sugary taste. The bitterly strong taste of mead and ale, even human wine, was often too much for elves. But the princes and princess were accustomed to such potables having associated with men previously. Unfortunately, some of the men in the Trotting Stallion were not, though one would think that they would have some inhibitions sincey dey drank in the tavern so often.

A heavy hand suddenly rested itself on Nimriel’s shoulder, startling the princess just slightly from her conversation with Elrohir. Turning, green eyes gazed up past the elven cloak and into the stern, slightly red-tinted face of a rough man. He was as tall as she, but much broader in shoulder and limbs than her brothers, even more so than the twins. Coarse, dark brown hair covered his chin, as long, oily strands fell from his scalp to brush his shoulders. His tunic was as rough and coarse as his hair, sleeveless and fitting him snugly across the chest; his clothes seemed to be of a brown color, but whether that was the fabric’s natural color or due to layers of dirt was unknown. The smell of his breath flowing from him alerted the elves quickly to his intoxication.

“Well well, look at what have we here?” the man said, his voice gruff and hard with just the barest hint of a slur despite his woefully drunken state. He spoke loud enough to elicit the attention of everyone else in the room, driving conversations to death or to faint whispers.

“Is there a problem?” Nimriel asked, her voice devoid of fear for she felt none. Even as a she-elf and a princess, she was more than capable of handling a man such as this. Her eyes, as she knew her brothers and the twins were doing, flickered over the man, assessing him quickly and discretely before returning to his face, awaiting his answer.

“You are the problem, all of ya.” Six elegant eyebrows arched delicately in confusion and faint annoyance at the accusation. “Damn Rangers riding into town, walking through the village with an arrogant swagger like ya’ll own the place.” The man seemed not to notice the brief smirks of delight that illuminated the elves’ faces at his blatant mistake of their identities. The man frowned slightly as dull brown eyes flicked from one cloaked figure to another, his annoyance rising when he realized he couldn‘t see any of their faces clearly. “What ya’ll want in Lil Bree anyway?”

“Just a night’s room and board and a little food before we’ll be on our way in the morning,” Elladan replied, eyeing the hand that still rested on the princess’ shoulder. It was clear that Nimriel was becoming uneasy by the close proximity of the man, though she remained stoic and calm. “We’ve been riding all day. Surely the horse who carries the burden of a rider throughout the long day may take some rest at the very least.” Murmurs of approval and agreement swept around the room at the twin’s delicate reasoning. The truthfulness of his words only seemed to anger and annoy the man further, as he was joined by three others who the elves could only assume to be his friends; they too were also intoxicated.

“Well we don’t like Rangers in this here town,” one of his companions interjected. “I dun rightly care if your lame horse is tired or not. Ya’ll aren’t welcome here and we’ll thank ya kindly to leave.”

“Abel, now calm down,” Bowman tried to soothe. He didn’t like fighting among his guests in his place. The owner felt he had to stop the men from provoking the strangers further, as he goe fue funny feeling that his six new guests were much more than they seemed.

“Now you stay out of this, Butterbur. We dun intend to muck up ya place so there’s no reason for ya to worry too much.”

“For once, I agree,” Arondil said, getting to his feet. His motion was mirrored by the others save for Nimriel. The hand, which remained on her shoulder, forced the princess back into her seat as well as causing glares that could have rivaled the flames within Khazad-dum to ignite in the eyes of her brothers. Arondil worked to keep his voice steady as he spoke again. “I shall thank you kindly to unhand my companion.”

“Yeah? Or what, boy?”

“Or be unhanded.” There was a moment’s pause before a yelp was let loose through the tavern. Legolas had barely finished speaking when he sprung over the table from where he was opposite his sister to land nimbly at her side, painfully wrenching the hand off her shoulder. With a twist, the prince had the man pinned facedown on the table and hands held behind his back.

“Unhand him!” the one Bowman had called Abel demanded, moving on uneasy feet toward Legolas in an attempt to free his friend. The prince whirled on his heels, pulling the man up and in front of him.

“As you wish,” he said, pushing the man forward whilst springing back to join his brothers. The two men stumbled into each other in a tangle of limbs and curses. Unable to keep their balances due to the combination of ale in their systems and their collision, they fell backwards into a table occupied by a group of a half dozen dwarves. This particular group had continued their conversation animatedly in whispered voices despite the confrontation going on just behind them. Upon the toppling of the men, however, not only was their conversation rudely interrupted, but their table was upset by the force of the man‘s fall, spilling their still-unfinished mead in a dozen directions.

“Ingrates!” the dwarves shouted, springing to their feet and brandishing broken table legs and chairs, whatever was within reach. “We shall teach you a lesson in manners, filthy humans!” With that they pounced, again toppling Abel and his companions, upsetting more tables, plates, cups and guests. A simple misunderstanding led into an all out tavern fight, in which no one, save for Butterbur and the elves who had retreated to a different corner, was left out of.

“This was not quite the excitement we were looking for when we came here,” Celeron commented with a sheepish looking grin as he and the others observed the chaos around them.

“Aye, though this is certainly not something you see everyday,” Elrohir replied. “At least I never have.” The others nodded their agreement while Legolas looked over at his lover; Elladan fought to control the laughter bubbling up within him at the sight of men and dwarves yelling obscenities at the top of their lungs while trying to throttle one another in their drunken states.

“Rangers indeed,” huffed Nimriel. “I admire the Dunedain, but to be mistaken for one of them!” The undignified, annoyed pout held on the princess’ face was enough to send the twins and her brothers into peals of laughter. Their mirth, however, was quickly interrupted as a hand swept out, grabbing hold of a corner of Elrohir’s cloak and pulling him to the ground. The twin landed unceremoniously onto his back while a large body fell upon him. Rolling to his side, Elrohir narrowly missed the fist aimed at his face, scrambling to his feet and to his brother’s side, discovering that he and the others were backed into a corner.

“Think this is all very funny, do ya?” Abel sneered, peering through disheveled hair and sporting a split lip. “We’ll teach ya’ll a lesson in respect!”

“Nay, it is us who will be teaching such a lesson,” Elladan replied, unsheathing the sword at his hip. The light caught the elven made blade, its deadly edge warning the men away. The sound of more swords being drawn was heard, a hush falling over the tavern, all eyes turning towards the strangers. dil dil and Celeron had also unsheathed their swords as Legolas brandished a pair of knives in each hand; behind them stood Elrohir and Nimriel, arrows nocked, bows drawn taut. In the process of arming themselves, each of their hoods had fallen away, revealing fair features and leaf-like ears.

“What manner of being are yee?” Abel cowered, his voice trembling as he fell to his knees before the elves.

“Antolle ulua sulrim,” Celeron hissed, his voice barely a whisper but carrying through the now silent and awe-stricken room. None but the elves knew the true meaning of his insult, but the ferocity of his voice was enough to convey his anger, as well as the brandished weapons. The men and dwarves instantly released one another, backing away from the elves. Slowly and cautiously, the six put away their weapons as Elladan turned to Bowman and bowed.

“We shall be taking our leave of you tonight and retiring, kind host,” he said politely. “Please see to it that our mounts are saddled and ready to leave early tomorrow morn.” Bowman merely nodded, dumbfound, as the elves turned and made their way up to the rooms given to them.

Silently, Arondil, Celeron and Legolas disappeared into one, reappearing later laden with their belongings to join their sister and the twins in the second room; a silent agreement ran through them that they should spend the night in a single room. Each slumped upon a bed or the floor once the door was closed and locked, a moment of silence filled the room. The moment was broken when, as one, the six broke out into more peals of laughter, their silvery voices carrying in the room, echoing faintly against the walls.

“Did you see their faces?!” Celeron asked through laughs wracking his body. “I thought their eyes would pour out of their heads when they saw us! What a sight we must have made, six elves with swords, knives and bows in hand against a tavern full of drunken men and dwarves.”

“Must have been quite a shock,” Arondil commented. “Still, it was amusing. I dare say we shall not forget this adventure for a while to come.” The others nodded their agreement before making preparations for sleep. Nimriel was given the bed while the others spread themselves about the floor. Leaning against the door to prevent any unwanted entrances were Elladan and Legolas, the pair of lovers leaning against each other, hands clasped and fingers entwined.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Think we’ll have any trouble trying to leave the town?” Legolas asked. Morning had come; the elves had arisen just as Arien was ascending in the sky. Each took turns washing up while the others kept busy preparing their things for the last leg of their journey. They had decided to skip the morning meal, still having enough lembas to keep them hearty till they reached Imladris.

“I hope not, gwanur-nîn,” Arondil said, slipping a knife into his wrist guard. “I should hope after what occurred last night, the men and dwarves would give us a wide girth and allow us to leave in peace.”

“Let us hope it is so,” Elladan replied, a faint smirk of amusement crossing his face as he recalled last night’s events. The shocked look on Abel’s disheveled face flashed into his memory, forcing the twin to bite down on his lip to keep from roaring in laughter.

Once ready, the princes and princess hefted their possessions, making their way downstairs and to the stables. Not a soul was in the tavern, but Bowman was awaiting them at the doors to the stable, their horses refreshed and ready for the journey. Each stallion and mare nudged their riders, greeting them as the elves began to burden their friends with first their belongings and then themselves. With a gracious smile despite last night’s incident, Bowman wished the companions as safe journey as they rode off. They were halfway out of the town when Nimriel reined her mare to a stop, staring with slack jaw at the street before her. Her brothers and the twins exchanged confused glances before stopping beside her, turning their eyes to where her green orbs were focused. Their mouths too slipped open at the sight before them.

From their stopping position to just before the gates were each and every inhabitant of the village, men, women and children alike. All were kneeling prostrate on the ground, heads bowed in deep respect directed toward the elves who they seemed to revere as some sort of holy, spiritual beings. A flood of laughter thenedened to overwhelm Elladan; instead, he smirked wickedly before starting his horse into a trot. The others followed suit, laughter barely suppressed on their fair faces, eyes fixed on the road ahead of them.

None looked back as they left the town, hearing the gates close behind them and the people shuffling to their feet. It was not until they were well into the surrounding forest did they allow themselves to laugh in utter amusement to the sight they had seen. Their mirth was carried by the wind back to the town, the sounds of their musical voices frightening many villagers who feared punishment for upsetting the starlit beings, same as the night before.

The children, however, delighted in the laughter they heard, impressing the sound into their minds along with the faces of the strangershey hey told many a tale each night to their children, who passed it onto their own children for generations to come, long after the ships had sailed for Valinor. No elf was ever seen again within the gates of Lil’ Bree, but many were careful not to upset a stray Dunedain who might pass, fearing he would be another spiritual being who would not be as merciful.

Translations:
Antolle ulua sulrim-Much wind pours from your mouth
Gwanur-nîn-My brother