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Thranduil made his way blindly down the hill, his soul in despair,
finding his route through the instinct of long years. Tirnan’s
reluctant words reverberated in his mind. ‘One of the riderless horses is Pavisel.’
That meant that Legolas was missing; either captured, or – or
killed. Thranduil knew, with bitter certainty, that this
latest loss was one too many for him to bear. He had faced death
and grief too many times in the past, but always before there had been
something, someone, left; something for him to live for. When his
father died, there had been Telparian, and the challenge of
kingship. When Telparian and Lissuin died, there had been
Legolas. But now, if Legolas was dead – there was nothing left,
nothing but memories. And it was not enough.
He did not even have the luxury of grief, not yet – all he wanted to do
was to lock himself away, far from the well-meaning sympathy of his
people, to rage and weep at the Valar for their cruelty. But he
could not even do that – Lasgalen was under attack, and despite his
personal turmoil, the realm had to be defended. Tirnan commanded
the troops with skill and expertise, but people looked to their king
for leadership at times like these – and they would find it.
Summoning every scrap of his legendary iron will, Thranduil thrust
aside his torment and despair and turned his mind to battle plans and
tactics. The time for grief would come later.
~~**~~
On the hill top, Tirnan watched in despair as the three remaining
members of the elven patrol made their final, hopeless move. They
stood their ground defiantly, but it was obvious that they were vastly
outnumbered. Beside him, Mithrandir raised his hands and murmured
something. A blinding light blazed forth from something hidden in
the wizard’s right hand, flooding the scene with brightness. A
sharp crack split the air,
and the orcs fell back in dismay. Some cowered on the
ground. Mithrandir moved his hands once more. The light
came again, but this time all those caught in its flare fell.
Tirnan caught his breath and turned to the wizard. Before he
could say anything, Mithrandir whirled and barked: “Go after them,
now! Bring them back!”
Completely confused, but operating on instinct, Tirnan obeyed. He
retained enough wits to snap rapid orders at his warriors. Taking
several others he galloped to the battle scene, following in the wake
of the reinforcements. On the way, his thoughts whirled in a
confused haze. What had Mithrandir done? While he had
obviously meant to defeat the orcs, what effect had it had on the
patrol? And he had still not been able to identify the three
riders, other than the fact that Legolas was one of those
missing. His concern deepened. What had happened? He
just hoped that the three he had seen would be able to explain what had
occurred. Please, let Tani be
there, he begged soundlessly.
As he drew nearer he could hear the sounds of battle. The
remaining orcs, who had escaped Mithrandir’s lightning bolts and were
now fleeing in terror, had met with the warriors who were dealing with
them very efficiently. The orcs were so panic-stricken that all
discipline had broken down. They fought haphazardly, for
themselves alone, and were no match for the elves. None of them
would remain to take word back to Dol Guldur.
Bypassing the battle, Tirnan at last reached the place where the
patrol had been attacked. All was ominously still. The
orcs, some much larger and more evil-looking than those he had just
seen fleeing, lay where they had fallen, dead. The three
remaining members of the patrol lay motionless on the forest floor at
the centre of a ring of dead orcs. Tirnan’s heart sank. Had
Mithrandir killed them as well? Their horses stood nearby, calmer
now but still trembling, heads hanging low as if they were
exhausted. Pavisel stood protectively over one of the figures on
the ground, pushing at him with his nose.
As he drew nearer, Tirnan could recognise all three. He had to
believe - he had to! - that they were presumably safe, unharmed,
but could scarcely bring himself to find out. His frantic gaze
went first to Taniquel, he could not help it. ‘Oh, thank you merciful Elbereth!’
At least she was there. Without her - he broke off that thought,
unable to contemplate it, and turned instead to the other two figures,
still unmoving, identifying both with a sense of deep relief. ‘Legolas. Thank the Valar.’
He had feared the Prince was missing. If anything had happened to
him, Lasgalen was surely doomed.
And Alfiel. His friend, vital in the realm’s chain of command,
one of their greatest warriors. All three were safe, the three he
had feared for most had returned.
In sharp contrast to his relief was an overwhelming sorrow for those
still missing, tinged with guilt over Eléntia. He had
never particularly liked her, but was desperately saddened that she had
not returned.
Some of the elves who had escorted him went immediately to the horses,
calming, soothing them, moving them away so that those fallen could be
tended. Healers were already attending to the three still
figures. There was no obvious sign of injury, so Tirnan hoped
that Mithrandir had deflected whatever he had done to the orcs.
The vermin were all dead, scattered about the clearing. He left
them there, kicking a body aside as he went to Taniquel’s side.
“All right. We head back to Lasgalen. You five, take the
horses. Use these.” He threw rope halters to Rohyn so that
the animals could be led, then turned to Tirana. “Are they
injured?”
She looked up, her expression far less concerned now than it had
been. “They seem unharmed, but I cannot wake them. We need
to get back.”
“Very well. Is everything ready?” Directing two others to
take Alfiel and Legolas, Tirnan carefully lifted Taniquel, holding her
close. She was limp in his arms, breathing shallowly, long lashes
dark against her cheek. Her hair, worn in two long, rope-like
plaits, hung loose over his arm. He felt anxiously for the pulse
in her throat. He could feel it beating, slowly, steadily, and
breathed a sigh of relief. Several others had now arrived, and he
indicated the orcs behind him. “Deal with that, please.”
Nudging Mithrilyn with his knees, Tirnan rode carefully back to
Lasgalen, carrying Taniquel before him. He turned to Rohyn,
riding behind with the horses. “Rohyn? I want you to ride
ahead, as fast as you can, and find the king. Tell him that
Legolas is alive.” Tirnan had seen the bleak expression in
Thranduil’s eyes, and could at least relieve his concern over his son.
At length they passed the tall oaks, standing like sentinels at the
boundaries of Lasgalen. The first part of the grounds they reached was
the practice field. Benches were pulled forward and the three
laid down gently. There was a stir among those crowding round and
Tirnan looked up to see Mithrandir approaching. Anger and anxiety
boiled over, and he turned on the wizard. “What have you done to
them?” he demanded furiously.
“I saved their lives,” replied Mithrandir testily. “Would you
rather I had done nothing?”
Tirnan drew a deep breath and sighed. He could not let his
concern and frustration overflow into anger at Mithrandir. There
was a long pause before he spoke. “No. No, of course
not. But what did
you do?”
“I killed the orcs,” Mithrandir pointed out, as if it should be
obvious. “I shielded these three, but there was a backlash.
They will awaken soon.” He sounded confident, but Tirnan had
known the wizard for a long time. He never admitted to any
uncertainty, even when the outcome was far from sure.
This time, though, Mithrandir’s optimism seemed well founded.
There was a murmur from those around as Taniquel stirred. Her
dark lashes fluttered and suddenly lifted. Her eyes moved around
the faces looking down at her. She held out her hand and Tirnan
helped her to sit up. She gratefully accepted the cup of water
which he offered. Drinking it, she looked at him curiously.
“What just happened?” she enquired.
Tirnan knelt on the ground next to her, watching her anxiously, his
hand just barely touching her face.
“I was hoping you could tell us that,” he told her gently.
“Math’rin, Elthan and Eléntia are not here. What happened
to them?”
Taniquel’s face clouded. Then her eyes lifted, searching the
crowd surrounding them. At the edge, she could see Elthan’s wife,
turning away, crying. “I should not tell you yet.
Wait.” She twisted around, looking about her. “Where are Legolas
and Alfiel?” She relaxed, the tension leaving her as she caught
sight of them beside her.
As Legolas returned to consciousness he was aware that he was
surrounded by people, crowding all around him. He tensed
momentarily, but then realised there were no orcs, just his own
people. He opened his eyes, and saw a canopy of beech
leaves above him. He was home, but how? The last thing he could
remember was the orcs closing in on them, and a sudden blinding light.
He tried to sit, still disorientated, and welcomed the eager hands that
helped him up. Taniquel was just in front and Alfiel lay to his left,
just beginning to stir. He looked at the anxious, relieved faces
all around him. “Is my father here? I need to report to
him.” He stood, a little too suddenly, swaying slightly as a wave
of dizziness swept over him. He saw the wizard at the edge of the
crowd, looking almost worried, and made a sudden intuitive leap.
“Mithrandir! I did not think to see you here! I take it the
fireworks were yours? Thank you for your aid.”
Over the heads of those clustering around, he could see another
familiar figure approaching. He moved forward to greet his
father, aware that everyone had moved away, giving them privacy,
although Mithrandir had joined them. As Thranduil approached his
gaze flicked over those who had returned, lingering longest on his
son. They clasped hands, wrist to wrist, in a formal greeting,
and Thranduil’s hand touched Legolas lightly on the shoulder, in a
gesture that spoke volumes. “I am glad to see you safe, little
one,” he murmured very softly.
Legolas returned the greeting with a tired smile. “My Lord, we
have discovered the nature of the evil in Dol Guldur, but I fear
Eléntia, Math’rin and Elthan were slain,” he said without
preamble.
“And what is the nature of the evil?” asked Thranduil, heavily.
Legolas looked away, scarcely able to watch his father’s expression as
he related his dreadful news in a succinct report. “It is worse
than we feared. Nazgûl. At least two, that we
saw. There may be more. They have many orcs, and some are
much larger than the goblins we have seen before. The
Nazgûl ride hideous winged creatures, the size of a young
dragon. I killed two of them, I think, but it is likely there are
others.”
“Nazgûl.” sighed Mithrandir. “That is evil fortune.
And you prevailed against two of them, and their orcs? You have
done well indeed.”
Legolas looked bitter. “No. Not so well. Three were
lost, and I fear we would not have returned at all if you had not
helped us.”
The wizard snorted. “It was the only way to get your news.
I fear Tirnan was not best pleased with the nature of my help.
Tell him next time I may not bother!” He sounded displeased, but
Legolas knew him very well indeed.
“Well, you have my news now. I wish it were better. Now, if
you will excuse me, I have some business to deal with.” He gave a
slight bow and left. He did not relish the next encounters.
Although word would inevitably already have reached them, he would have
to talk to Eléntia’s brother, and the wives of Math’rin and
Elthan.
~~**~~
Much later that evening Legolas joined his father at supper. He
had bathed, and changed out of the soiled clothes he had worn for the
last few days. He felt deeply weary. The meetings with the
families of those slain had not been easy. They had not blamed
him; indeed Eléntia’s brother had seemed almost grateful for
what he had done, but he could see the unspoken question in their eyes,
‘Why?’ Why Eléntia, Math’rin and Elthan, when the other
three had returned safely? He had had no answers for them.
They dined alone in his father’s rooms. As he entered Thranduil
offered a cup of wine, but then put it down and instead pulled Legolas
into a rare embrace. “Welcome home, elfling. When Tirnan
said you were not riding Pavisel, I feared - I feared the worst.”
Legolas drew back a little, and studied his father’s expression.
“He was injured, so I rode Bahnfrei instead. That was all. Were
you worried?”
“Worried? Aye, just a little. Pavisel was injured? How?”
As Legolas described his wild ride through the forest, with the orcs in
hot pursuit, his father laughed. “Then Alfiel came to help, but
when we returned we found that Eléntia had been captured.
We followed the orcs south to Dol Guldur.” He paused, then slowly
described everything that had happened at the tower, and the ambush
that had led to the deaths of Math’rin and Elthan.
Thranduil said nothing, letting Legolas pour out all the grief, guilt
and anguish of the last few days. Then, as the flow of words
finally stopped, he said, “I see. Mithrandir was
right. You did well to return at all against those
odds. And we know at last that the shadow has indeed
returned, and its nature. With this knowledge we can guard
ourselves against it.” Unable to help himself, knowing his
words would fall on deaf ears, he added: “You did what you had
to. You showed great courage in what you did.”
Legolas made no response. There was silence for a while, while
Thranduil pondered the threat of Dol Guldur. Hundreds of orcs
from the tower had been killed that day, either by Mithrandir’s
thunderbolts or by the desperately fighting patrol. That, coupled
with the loss of the two winged steeds Legolas had shot, would surely
severely weaken the shadow. However, he could not afford to be
complacent. His own father had made that mistake and had paid
dearly for it. Patrols would be increased, the lookout extended,
beacons placed along the Mountains of Mirkwood. He could
strengthen the boundaries of Lasgalen to deter invaders even without
one of the Elven rings of power. And he would ask for help from
Mithrandir, Elrond and Celeborn if it became necessary. Mirkwood
had been isolated for too long.
Despite his resolve, his concern lingered, but now wandered in a
different direction. What effect would Eléntia’s death
have on his son? Thranduil knew, all too well, that Legolas would
never completely lose the sense of guilt, but over time the feelings
should diminish, and he would learn to come to terms with what had
happened. Thranduil could recall vividly the battles of the Last
Alliance, after Oropher had fallen, when one of his first acts as King
had been to end the life of a young warrior who should never have been
in Mordor in the first place. His name had been Malgalad...
The fire was dying now, crackling gently, and the room was in near
darkness as the flames died. Legolas was nearly asleep in a chair
by the fire, his eyes glazed. “I nearly forgot,” said
Thranduil. “While you were away I had a letter from Elrond, and
there was a message for you from Elladan. I put it in your
rooms. Elrond said something about trolls, and asked for your
help. Why in the world would he ask you to help him hunt trolls?”
“I have no idea.” But Legolas had a reminiscent smile, and
Thranduil guessed there was a lot he did not know about. He
wondered if he really wanted to; it would probably be better for his
sanity if he did not find out about some of the escapades his son had
got up to, especially where Elladan and Elrohir were involved.
Those he did know about were bad enough …
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