Part 1
Early October 3018
Once free of Mirkwood's dark borders, Legolas allowed his mare to run without restraint, and she took the opportunity, glad to be free of the brooding, constricting presence of the forest. The trio of horsemen rode west, seeking the Anduin River; once that obstacle was breached they would continue west to the foothills of the Misty Mountains, riding then northwards until a safe passage among the range could be found.
Legolas was not pleased to be back in the shadows of the mountains again; his last foray here had been an unhappy one. Indeed, the dramatic and tragic events of the last few months had severely dampened the Prince of Mirkwood's usual natural buoyancy. And now he rode abroad again, once more the bearer of bad news. He did not relish his arrival at Imladris.
June 3018
"The trail departs south!"
Barely had the words been uttered than already one elf could be seen sprinting lightly in the direction indicated, his blond hair slowly becoming less distinct among the dark branches as he receded out of the torch's light.
"My Lord, please wait!"
Legolas heard the desperate cries from behind him but was barely aware of what was spoken. He stopped briefly and dropped to one knee, fingers tracing patterns in the dirt.
"They are many, and they move in haste." He shouted back to the armed forces with him. He stood, intending to run after their quarry again, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. It was Niphindil, second-in-command of King Thranduil's personal company.
"My Lord, we must wait for re-enforcements." The other elf told Legolas carefully. "We have only just managed to fight them off with such a small number now as it is and..."
"If we follow now, we can still catch up to them, strike while they think we are at our weakest. Isn't that what General Gilphraen always says?" Legolas interrupted. He thought for a few moments. " Where is Gilphraen?" He asked.
The hand on his shoulder tightened slightly. "He was on a guard watch for the creature. He wanted to see to it personally this night."
The words cut deeply into Legolas's heart. There had been no trace of the guards at the site of the attack, but had he known his friend had been there, he would have looked harder. As it was, it deepened his resolve further.
"They may still be alive." He whispered hopefully. His eyes once more fell to the Orc tracks on the ground in front of him, clearer in the torchlight from Niphindil's hand. "Their footsteps are light, their trail would be obliterated by the tracks of the..." Legolas could not bring himself to say the name, "Of the enemy."
"My Lord, the chances are small." Said Niphindil, always the voice of reason, but never optimism.
"And what of the creature?" Legolas asked suddenly. "We are responsible for his whereabouts and he is gone too." Legolas lifted his gaze, hoping to chance a glimpse of the stars, searching for hope. "I warrant the attack and his disappearance are not unrelated events."
"I..." Niphindil still hesitated.
"Come with me or don't. Choose quickly."
The new commander-in-chief recognised the glint of vengeance in his Prince's eyes and a slight, malicious smile of agreement graced his features. "Green Company, report back to the King. Grey Company," He shared a grin with Legolas openly, "Move out and follow me."
And the hunt began.
The river crossing was uneventful despite the vivacity of its rushing waters, swollen by ice melted from atop the Grey Mountains where the river had its source. The summer heat had been fierce and now the waters hurried relentlessly on its way to the union with the sea, but the elves were wise to the river and its habits and crossed its path without incident. Now, in the shadows of the great mountains, Legolas shuddered. He had been here before, a little too recently.
"We must go further north," He spoke to his companion's, his first words in days, "The passageways through the mountains are not safe here, Yrch still roam a little too freely."
As he had found out from experience.
Niphindil took advantage of Legolas' sudden burst of speech to try and kindle a little conversation. The Prince had been quiet of late; although the troubles had touched them all, Legolas seemed to have taken much of the suffering to his heart. It was only a slight shadowing at first, but gradually his merry moods were becoming few and far between, and upon the return from the scouring of the Misty Mountains for the creature, a grimness now emanated from the elf who previously was illuminated with such brilliance.
"My Lord, those who accompanied you to search for the creature here will tell none of their adventures." Niphindil said with a calculated carelessness. "Will you not speak of it to pass the time?"
Instead of meeting his gaze, Legolas cast a glance up to the high peaks above them, the uppermost pinnacles hidden from view by the great dense mists that had earned them their name. "No."
The monosyllabic utterance should have told Niphindil to cease his efforts, but he could not bear to see his Prince so dour. "Then perhaps a song to lighten our spirits?"
He lifted his voice high in a cheerful song, but all Legolas could hear was it's echo from among the bleak cold rocks that he had been around and beneath not so very long ago. The sun flew high in the sky, but Legolas shivered, and unbidden his mind crept back to the dark confines of the mountain's belly, seeking in the darkness.........
August 3018
The summer sun beat down upon the grey upper slopes of the Misty Mountains, eagles soared, majestic, Kings of the Skies, the type of day that elves longed to be walking the lands of Middle-Earth basking in the glory.
But some elves shivered, deep within the bowels of the great mountain range, huddled together in the flickering shadows of the torches held in hands that gripped a little too tightly.
"Be on your guard," Legolas told the small company in a hushed voice. "Scouts report that Yrch have been seen in the area, any sign and we are to retreat, understood?" A murmur of agreement ran through the assembly. Legolas continued.
"Search for any signs of the creature, Sméagol. It talked often of returning to its lair somewhere in this vicinity and if it has returned here, it must be found. Split up, but into no less than two, and keep in regular contact." He paused, stroking the handle of his knife both for comfort and for luck. "Good hunting."
And so the contingent of elves separated, searching for any sign that the creature had returned to haunt its old residence under the mountains. It was a vain hope but no other trails had been found and Legolas, with the full support of his father, had refused to report the failure without exploring every option. And so it was that by his very insistence to find the creature, Legolas found himself paired up with the Green Company commander Nimdolan and together they took the furthermost left passage at the conjuncture of the tunnels. Their search turned out to be fruitless as the passageway led to a dead end, and with torches starting to flicker, at the end of their useful life, the two elves headed back to the cavern they had begun in. It was then they discovered a narrow passage leading off the main tunnel that they had missed previously.
"By your own admission sir, we must report back to the others first." Nimdolan tried to persuade Legolas as the Prince peered down the dark hole. "Besides, your torch is dying and mine will not last much longer."
Legolas was in no mood to be argued with. "We must explore everywhere while we have the chance." He proclaimed, choosing once more to ignore good advice when offered to him. Nimdolan was perhaps more likely to argue with the Prince than Niphindil was but a sudden cry of distress from further down the passageway stopped both elves in their tracks.
"Wait!" Legolas called after Nimdolan, but the other elf had already charged off back the way they had come, recognising a call of alarm when he heard one. Legolas made to follow, but at the sudden jerk forward into a run, the torch in Legolas' hand finally died, and the Prince found himself plunged into blackness.
In the darkness he held his breath, listening for the footsteps of his companion, listening for a sound that would guide him. The gloom surrounded him but he refused to let it panic him; he had been down dark tunnels before, did not his own father live in a system of caves in the Mirkwood Mountains? The cry that had alerted them before was not repeated but no longer could Legolas hear the light footsteps of Nimdolan. He was alone.
Reaching out with his right hand, he felt the rough stone of the tunnel wall beneath his palm, and knowing it would lead him to the conjunction of the passageway, he followed it willingly, his own breathing and footfalls the only sounds. Now that his eyes had become accustomed to the utter blackness, Legolas breathed a little easier and soon found the sharp edge of the entrance corner pressing against his hand. Now to follow the passage to the right and he would soon see the blessed torchlight from his fellow elves and this feeling of desperation and helplessness would be over. Even as he stared down the dark hole that he must travel down, already he thought he could hear the whispering of the Company coming to find him, their sweet voices echoing down the passageway.
Except that the voices coming towards him did not sound as they should. Something in their timbre was harsher, more gruff, more......... Orc like.
Yrch.
Retreating his steps, Legolas pressed himself against the wall of the smaller passage from which he had just emerged, his lips moving silently in a prayer to Elbereth, Iluvatar, and any great being who would listen to be merciful to his plight. It seemed that none were listening as the troop of Orcs continued to draw nearer to the elf. They carried no torches, their eyes accustomed to living in the dark, and only the sound of their cruel voices indicated their approach. Legolas hoped that in the darkness, they would not notice a single elf. He drew his knife just to make sure.
And then they were upon him.
And then they were past him.
Legolas dared not even breath a sigh of relief as the troop continued down the tunnel, away from him, jabbering noisily in a tongue that he did not recognise. It was only as they slowed and came to a halt that he gripped the handle of his knife harder, wishing he had retrieved his bow from back but now too terrified to do so for the noise it might make. For a few moments the troop conversed, pausing only for the group of creatures to sniff the air. Legolas closed his eyes, sliding a finger down the knife blade. Wickedly sharp, good; Legolas feared he might yet need it. He had counted at least ten, if not more Orcs, and for a moment he recognised the cold, clutching ache in his belly as absolute fear and resolution to his death.
Still, if he was to fly to the Halls of Mandos, he would at least take a few enemies with him. Still the Orcs chattered incomprehensibly, and Legolas wished the council would stop and the fighting would begin. It seemed his desire was granted as he heard two pairs of feet begin to come back his way. His face pulled into a warlike grimace, he prepared to meet his doom head on, until a gruff voice halted him.
"Don't expect any food left when you get back, we're starving!" Legolas froze at the sound of harsh laughter. "See you back there." And with that, the rest of the Orcs continued their journey home. Legolas merely smiled thinly; someone had heard his prayer. Two Orcs were much better odds. He listened carefully for their approach; they seemed little alert, only investigating what they thought an old smell. He sprang into action.
Legolas was planning the second death even as he struck the first Orc. It went down with a gurgle as the keen elven blade ripped across it's throat. Using his momentum, Legolas meant to plunge the knife deep into the heart of his other adversary, but instead of Orc flesh, the blade met nothing but air. The second Orc was more alert than it's untimely friend and had instantly withdrawn to put space between itself and the elf. Legolas ducked back into the relative safety of the thin passageway, knowing that the Orc would be able to see him perfectly in the gloom, and he cursed this golden hair of which he had always been so proud for making him an obvious target. He still held his knife before him, ready for any attempted attack that the Orc should make, but the blood of its counterpart dripped down from the blade and smeared itself over Legolas's hand and the handle, making it slippery. Legolas wished this were all over, one way or the other.
He closed his eyes, they were useless to him anyway, and concentrated on straining to hear any sound that might give away the Orc's presence, but aside from a brief scrabbling of claws on stone, he could hear nothing. Sure that his racing heart beat louder than any noise he was truly making, Legolas once more pressed himself against the wall of the tunnel, the sharp stone in his back a solid ally to protect him. Or so he hoped.
It was the droplet of warm liquid upon his head that alerted Legolas to the Orc's presence above him, as a seemingly deafening snarl echoed in his ears and two great clawed hands enclosed around his throat. Fighting for breath and with knife in hand, he slashed at the paws holding him, and was rewarded with a hiss of pain, as the Orc dropped from the ceiling where it had been hiding, and scuttled away once more, after a vicious kick to Legolas's head then it disappeared into the darkness once more. Breathing rapidly, delighting at each stale lungful of air, the elf sank to the floor, clutching at the walls behind him, eyes desperately searching the gloom for any sign of movement that would locate his enemy. Nothing. And it terrified him.
Legolas knew he was making enough noise breathing to make himself obvious, and that his foe could attack him from any angle, and the futility of it almost made the warrior want to break down and cry. Swallowing a sob, he gripped his knife closer to his chest, fearing the dark that could strike at any moment. Let this end, he begged to the blackness.
Yet it did not. The brief whistle of a weapon flying through the air jolted Legolas from his position, forcing him to roll as something heavy and metal collided with the floor where he had just been sitting. Another brutal kick caught him on the shoulder, and once more his assailant was gone, invisible and silent. Rubbing where the blow had struck, Legolas let out one brief sigh of pain and distress before clamping down on his panic. One Orc. Just one, how could it have such an advantage over him?
The answer was all around him. The blackness unnerved him, making him expect another attack at any time, playing with his mind. If only he could see something, anything, that would be welcome relief, but the darkness enclosed him, and as much as he tried to fight it's terrifying hold on him, he could not. Bolstering his failing courage, Legolas stood once more, determined that if he must he would go out fighting as a warrior of Mirkwood should. With all his nerves alert for any indication of his foe he stood ready, only shaking a little.
The next attack came from his left, again with the hissing of a weapon swung. Instead Legolas stepped into the swing, using his left arm to deflect the weapon arm of the Orc. He felt the impact reverberate up his own arm and lunged forward with his right with a shout. He felt the knife bite into flesh, heard the agonised screech of the Orc, smelt the blood that was spilt, and the Orc was defeated, the dead body falling to the floor. Legolas's nerveless fingers nearly dropped his precious knife, instead he clutched it close, regardless of the blood that stained his hands, his clothes.
Escape.
That was all that he could think of, staggering blindly what he thought was the right way, taking a few steps and collapsing against a wall. His legs took him right while his brain just screamed about escaping the darkness that still had him captured in it's clutches.
He thought he was imaging things as flickering shadows began to form on the stonewalls in front of him, but as he stumbled into torch light where elven hands grasped him in safety, he breathed a sigh of relief. Light, glorious light, more blessed in that moment than the sun in the sky outside.
"My Lord!" Nimdolan exclaimed, with an arm around Legolas's shoulders. "Are you hurt?" The elf prince shook his head with an effort.
"We must leave." He managed to say. "Yrch, there are yrch patrolling the tunnels. Out. Now." In the torchlight he felt much calmer, but still left the evacuation in Nimdolan's capable hands. Glancing back the way he had come, he suppressed a shudder and gratefully followed the Company outside into the sunshine. Sunshine? Was it still daylight? Of the same day? Legolas felt an age, longer, had been spent in the dark underground, he felt so much older than his years. How he longed for home, and yet he did not; his mission had failed, they had seen no sign of the creature and must return defeated by a simple being that continued to evade them. It was with a miserable, troubled and downtrodden heart that Legolas returned home.
"Do not despair my son." King Thranduil comforted his youngest son kindly. "It is not your fault, and you are alive and well despite your encounters." He squeezed gently upon Legolas's shoulders.
The Company had returned, and Legolas and Nimdolan had made their reports which the King had taken in with a sage nod. He asked that discretion be used with regards to the incident, but most who had gone into the underground did not wish to speak of the mild terror they had all felt about the darkness, least of all the youngest Mirkwood Prince, who refused to even mention how the dark bruises that encapsulated his throat had been gained.
"Rest." Thranduil advised his son with a smile, advice which Legolas accepted with the barest nod. He traipsed to his chambers within the palace complex of Mirkwood Mountains, eyes barely focused on where he was going. With a heavy sigh he leaned upon his door and flung himself across his bed, resting on his front for a few moments before turning to lie on his back.
And panicked as he felt the darkness enclose around him, and he tensed, expecting a blow from the gloom. It took him only a few moments to run from the room and did not stop running until he reached the gates to outside the palace. The guards parted without question to let the Prince out and he kept on running until he reached a clearing in the forest and gazed upwards. Beneath the tranquil star light Legolas felt a little more at ease but still the memories of helplessness in the dark haunted him. He rested little that night.
Nor any night after.
Mid October 3018
Maegalad was watchful. Although Orcs were kept down in the main passes across the Misty Mountains by those unknown to the elf, it would not hurt to remain alert, especially since his companions rested so comfortably. Well, at least one of them did.
"One pair of eyes is enough my Lord." Maegalad whispered, remembering Niphindil resting peacefully. "There is no need for you to watch with me. Rest."
Legolas gave up the pretence of sleep, seeing how it did not fool the other elf, sat up and tried to smile. "You are right of course my friend, but sleep eludes me."
As it has for many nights, Maegalad thought but did not say aloud. Both he and Niphindil had seen the slow but sure decline of their Prince; neither knew if such a thing were possible, but it would seem that their fair Prince of Mirkwood was quietly fading away. Watching him now, the radiance that had once surrounded Legolas like a fine mantle of burnished gold now was pale and barely luminous in the darkness. An unnatural pallid hue lay upon the once bright face and the newfound habit of clutching his knife close during the hours of darkness saddened Legolas' companion and friend. It had all started with the attack that secured the creature's escape, but everyone had grieved for lost friends that night, there was no need for Legolas to blame himself. Maegalad bestowed a sad smile upon his Prince and hoped that the Prince's noble sense of responsibility would not be ultimately responsible for his downfall.
Legolas saw Maegalad's smile laced with sadness and endeavoured to place some cheer in his voice. "Still, perhaps I will try. Good night." He lay without a reply with his back to the other elf, feeling the watchful eyes stray in his direction for a few moments before returning to their duties. Legolas knew that his friends worried for him, and as much as he longed to talk about the fears that he held, he knew he would never encumber another with them. Darkness surrounded him this night, but it was not the darkness of the night but a more dreadful dark that enveloped him.
He was a failure.
A complete failure. Every attempt he had made to right a situation had gone wrong. Any effort he made only increased his desolation tenfold, the chain of events leading him down a dark path that could only lead to his own oblivion. He had tried to fight it, how he had tried to fight the sinister bleak tentacles that wrapped around his every movement and dragged him further down the dark road, a road that in his misery he did not know where would take him.
Even sleep brought him no comfort, for the living dreams that should rest and reassure him brought only nightmares of terrors in the dark, where no light broke around him and he could only stumble onwards to wherever the darkness would take him. He clutched his knife closer to his chest as a talisman, and as proof that he had survived at least one black time and perhaps, just perhaps this perpetually circling gloom might be expelled from him.
And yet it never seemed to. Sleep was only forthcoming once complete weariness overtook Legolas, but he awoke with the images of shifting depths that hissed and screeched with claws outstretched plaguing his thoughts. He tried to turn them to the imminent arrival at Imladris, perhaps Lord Elrond would tell him what to do, relieve him of this terrible burden that he bore. And yet even this did not quiet the insistent images, it merely reinforced his sense of failure that he should have to seek help. Instead he watched the sun rise and prayed that the strange path down which he was being led would soon come to an end, one way or the other.
His knife was still clutched tightly in his hand.
24th October 3018
They arrived at Imladris just as the rays of the sun sank below the mountains, the occasional beam filtering through to shine upon a marble white roof or a pleasantly mottled balcony, but still the eastern sky was slowly darkening.
Niphindil took charge of the situation in Legolas' still pensive and quiet mood as the Prince failed to say anything about the trio's arrival. It was only as Legolas insisted on seeing Lord Elrond personally that Niphindil stepped back and let the elven Prince take over what seemed to be a private vendetta. Their horses safely stabled, they were led inside a finely architectured structure and up to the second floor, being asked to wait in an airy room with one side free to the scenes of Imladris, and the river rushing past on business of its own. Niphindil and Maegalad sat, but Legolas seemed restless, as close to fidgety that the other elves had ever seen.
Finally the door opened and a dark haired elf entered, moving to a table in the corner of the room, carrying a lighted taper to bring a little more light with him.
"My Lord Elrond," Legolas began, seeing the proud bearing of the Rivendell elf and assuming the dark hair to be belonging to the Master of Imladris, but before he could continue, the figure lifted a hand to silence him.
"My Lord Elrond sends his apologies," the other elf began, "But unfortunately he finds other pressing matters that concern him." Sensing the objection that Legolas was about to put forward, he turned to the trio with a welcoming smile. "I am Erestor, Elrond's chief councillor, anything you say to me will be passed on to Master Elrond directly."
Niphindil and Maegalad relaxed into the smile of the chief councillor, but Legolas alone remained expressionless, saddened by the lack of Elrond's presence. Now, with a little more light and standing face to face with Erestor, Legolas wondered how he could have mistaken the Lord of Imladris with his subordinate; they both had dark hair, yes, but Elrond had a warrior's stature whereas the elf before him was far more slender, not feeble, merely less substantial. Despite his slighter build, Legolas suspected Erestor was no push over; the elf had risen to his position obviously through strength of character which showed through dark eyes that sparkled with intelligence, and a pronounced bone structure that when serious would surely command attention but now, filled with a gentle encompassing smile, was softened with no hint of harshness. Legolas could not deny that he found Erestor striking.
The Mirkwood Prince was not alone in his examination. Facing the stoic blond elf, Erestor initially felt a little hostility emanating from the Prince Legolas, but as befitting of an elf raised to his position he recognised that the emotion flowed from a far greater source of despair.
"May I offer you some refreshment?" Erestor asked. "Something to refresh you after your long journey?" A long journey it must have been for Erestor had not seen any of Thranduil's people in a good few centuries. He had forgotten the simple greens and browns that they clad themselves in, had forgotten their pride, had forgotten the hair that glowed brilliantly as the sun – or was that just the hair of the Mirkwood Prince? Erestor realised he had been staring intently at the blond elf stood facing him and quickly composed his gaze to all three elves where he realised his initial judgement had been misguided. The two elves accompanying the Prince had a faint glow of radiance about them but the more he studied Legolas, the more he saw that it was as if a great shadow had fallen over him. Erestor's heart went out to the young elf. Erestor openly admitted he was no warrior; in the great wars of the previous ages he had aided in tactics and council, and so he had not a warrior's heart, instead it was full of compassion for the grieving of the Mirkwood elf.
"It has been longer than you know." Legolas said quietly, Erestor almost straining to hear what should normally be, he presumed, a voice full of life and passion.
Legolas had not intended to utter the phrase, both for the memories of the last few months that it brought back but also for the expression that crossed Erestor's face. Legolas did not want pity for his toils, he wanted action to help drown out his troubles, and yet he watched compassion, not pity, flow into the dark haired elf's face, dark eyes softening impossibly more so that they appeared to Legolas as an encompassing void that would shelter him and heal him...
"... weary often find rest here." Legolas almost missed that the elf was speaking, so lost was he in those dark spheres, but he quickly snapped back as Erestor continued. "Still, to at least rest your minds, Elrond is holding a council upon the morrow where matters can be put forward openly. Perhaps that will suit you?"
Legolas was silent for a few moments before replying. The light was fading fast, there seemed little occasion to find relief of his burdens before another sleepless night. "And there will be no opportunity to speak to him before then?" He asked. Erestor shook his head.
"There is to be a feast and singing tonight, of which you are free to partake in, but Elrond has decreed it a happy occasion with no talk of business." The chief councillor saw Legolas' disappointment. "The council will hear your news. Elrond will be there, and Mithrandir; men and dwarves there will be also."
Legolas was more than disappointed; he was most grieved to have to air his failure before such an illustrious gathering. Still, it would have to suffice. Much to Erestor's relief, the Mirkwood Prince nodded.
"Very well, the morrow will do." Outwardly Legolas tried to smile his thanks, listening distantly as Erestor told of the great banquet that lay ready for eating, listening to Maegalad and Niphindil eagerly thanking their host, while internally he screamed for respite from the knowledge that he carried. Realising Erestor had begun to shepherd his companions to the feast that he had no desire to be part of, he called out for the chief councillor's attention.
"My Lord Erestor."
Such a heartfelt cry, Erestor thought as he turned back to the young elf who had barely moved despite the invitation to join the feasting. He ushered the other Mirkwood elves into the capable hands of a steward and turned back to the fraught plea of Legolas.
"Aye My Prince?" Erestor's stomach clenched at the despair etched onto the features of the other elf. Without thinking, a hand came out as he approached Legolas and was laid upon his shoulder, his thumb unconsciously caressing. "Does something ail you?"
"I must speak to Elrond, it is of a most pressing nature. The creature Sméagol, the Orcs........." Words came tumbling from Legolas but even he who knew the meaning behind them could find little sense behind the nonsense that poured from him. In embarrassment he mumbled all the more.
"My Prince," Erestor quietened Legolas with a smile. "There is much that needs to be told in these days, and if I am to take this news from you I must understand it." Fearing he had insulted the Mirkwood elf, Erestor sought to make amends. "If you will treat me as a friend and not as an official we may make this simpler."
The concern of the dark eyes before him, the gentle touch upon his shoulder, the empathy on the striking features and release of emotions overwhelmed Legolas, and he found himself now unable to utter even a single word. The ever-patient councillor waited for a response, but even Legolas was surprised by his reaction.
"Perhaps it may wait, Councillor. It has been a long journey, perhaps I shall rest and things shall be clearer on the morrow." He managed a brief smile; the confession of emotions hidden behind the barrage of words now made his troubles easier to bear, or perhaps it was this creature before him, Legolas could not tell.
Erestor took this change of heart with a nod, and removed the hand from Legolas, instead folding it within his other hand, still feeling the warmth from the contact upon his palm. "Very well my Prince. And now that such matters are laid to rest, perhaps you will accompany me to the feast?"
Legolas politely turned down the invitation, knowing that the charade he put forward in appearing cheerful would soon fail under the scrutiny of such illustrious company. His shoulder still felt warm from where a friendly hand had been placed and for the first time in many months, Legolas felt the first vestige of peace here in Imladris, the darkness still present but a little less insistent on forcing him down his miserably dark path. From the open walls of the room he could see a hundred lights and knew that this elf haven would never be fully at rest, and it eased his spirit to know it.
Erestor watched the younger elf, watched the sorrow that seemed so deeply ingrained soften, watched the warrior's tension ease from stiffly held limbs. "Then I shall show you to your room." He beckoned to the door, while his other arm reached to guide the Prince towards it, nearly touching the rich fabric that graced Legolas' lower back, but not quite. Legolas was not aware of the nearness of the touch, almost too absorbed in the teetering balance of emotions in his head, but alert enough to catch the sight of dark hair falling around the graceful face of the councillor of Imladris. Dark eyes that were lowered now rose to his, and another smile lit the sharp features. Legolas felt he should return the gesture; indeed he wanted to, but the grimness he had lived with for so long refused to let his face act. A brief upturn of one side of his lips was all that he could manage but Erestor took no offence, indeed his own smile grew to see the gesture from so brooding a countenance.
The walk to the guest rooms was not long, yet Erestor sensed that Legolas did not wish to be distracted with small talk about Rivendell's magnificence; the Mirkwood elf barely seemed to look up from the floor. Still, Legolas was not indifferent to Erestor's silence, he appreciated the other elf's sensitivity but his mind was still in turmoil; his failure was about to be made public, yet the imparting of that information should surely relieve him of his worries. And now there was this kind, dark-haired elf whose very presence seemed to relieve... that was certainly not the path to follow in times of such confusion.
It was only when Erestor came to a halt and indicated that they had arrived that Legolas realised he had taken in no indications of direction whilst they had walked, so lost had he been in his musings.
Once again his saviour seemed to know just what was bothering him. "I will arrange for someone to escort you to the Council in the morning. It can be easy to become lost in passageways that all look the same." He shrugged apologetically.
Legolas nodded his thanks and stepped forward to push open the door to his new lodgings. To his delight he found bright candles lighting every inch of the room, dark corners banished, smooth sheets beckoning in flickering ivory and cream on the bed, dancing with the flames.
"I hope this is to your satisfaction?" Erestor asked, eager for visitors to be entirely content; indeed it had been the chief councillor's idea that all the guest quarters should be brightly lit and homely upon the arrival of visitors. He especially hoped that this particular guest was pleased.
Legolas turned inside the room, one hand resting on the door's edge. "It is wonderful." He glanced back at the candles burning steadily and merrily, diminishing darkness. "I hope I shall rest easy tonight."
"I should hope so." Erestor countered him. "For I should like to see you looking your best." Realising how he sounded he spoke again quickly. "At the Council I mean." Still, he could not deny that although the Mirkwood Prince was pleasing to the eye even now, he would look even more stunning well rested. That thought in addition to his own words added more than a little embarrassment to the smile that crept over Erestor's face.
An answering half-smile stole over Legolas' features in response to both Erestor's words and the bashful appearance of the dark haired elf, and just for a brief moment a shard of bright hope pierced the black prison of his own making; could it be that his attraction to the Imladris elf may be returned? Perhaps here was a thought to keep other, darker contemplations at bay.
"I bid you good night Councillor." He said instead. "And enjoy the feast."
"Thank you and good night, My Prince." Erestor replied with a nod, and proceeded back the way he had come, admittedly more slowly than was usually his wont. He glanced back only when he had heard the door begin to swing shut; did his eyes deceive him or had there remained a crack to watch the chief councillor's progression? Had those blue eyes lingered upon him? Erestor hoped it was so with a smile, before continuing to the banquet. He found himself, to his delight, seated with Legolas' companions, and not with the arrogant, loud dwarves as he had feared. Although he was every inch the gracious host, Erestor could not help but wish that Legolas was here with his associates; they were decent enough folk, but their Prince was just so infinitely more captivating.........
Erestor's eyes had not cheated him, Legolas had indeed stayed the door a crack to watch him go, a cowardly part of him wanting to call Erestor back, not to leave him alone with his thoughts, but for once his warrior instincts seemed to take hold, and refused to let Legolas show his weakness. Instead he sought to capture the sharp features, the sable locks and dark eyes to his memory and closed the door.
Alone again, he turned slowly, eyes alert, but no darkness yet invaded this bright sanctum. Legolas moved slowly towards the bed, noting with relief that his things had been brought up from his horse in the stable and now sat on the floor at the end of the bed. A curtain fluttered in a light breeze and Legolas went towards it, brushing the light fabric aside with his hand and stepped out onto a small balcony that was bathed in star light. He glanced up at the luminous pin pricks against a velvet sky contentedly before returning inside. Pulling off his boots and slipping into his sleeping garments, Legolas lay down on the soft bed, so very different from the earth he had slept on during his journey here. He left the candles burning, confident that their flickering light would not prevent him from resting and hoped that the continuous light would bring him comfort. Tomorrow, his troubles and tribulations would be known, the grief and wretchedness would not lie so heavily on his shoulders, and perhaps he could begin to find relief from his torments.
He felt the beckoning of sleep begin to lie about him, relaxing his body slowly with it's loving touch and his eyes began to glaze as his mind took to the waking dreams of his kind while the flames danced. He seemed to walk long down those roads, not recollecting all he saw but remembering a figure with dark hair and comforting eyes that smiled who brushed his cheek and took his hand, and Legolas was happy.
Until the darkness came.
Darkness.
Utter dark oblivion.
In terror Legolas did not know if he were dreaming or awake. Suffocating in the black, he tried to leap from the bed, but his limbs refused to obey him. Expecting a blow he held his hands forward to protect himself, and jerked fully awake. The candles, a once soothing presence had now gone out, and Legolas found himself encapsulated in darkness. Eyes desperately seeking, he spotted the slightest glimmer across the room and hurled himself towards it, struggling for breath. Something soft but smothering blocked his way and in his fright, Legolas imagined himself in his forest home, stuck in a spider's web, the great black beast hovering on silken strands above him, and he pushed harder and the barrier gave way. He tumbled forward with the sudden relapse of pressure, and fell in a sobbing heap to the balcony floor.
All around him was still and serene in the pale light, and Legolas tried to catch his breath, the faint gleam of the stars washing through his trembling body. He felt such a fool, even a young elfing would not react in the way he did to this nightmare, but he was trapped by it. He rested his hot brow against the cool stone floor, then turned beseeching eyes to the sky above.
"Elbereth, give me strength." He murmured, more silvery tears running down his cheeks. The fabric of the curtain that had terrified him so still lay entangled in his fingertips, so he wrapped the pale material around him and sat in the star light. Sleep soon claimed him again, and in his dreams Erestor held him tightly and the darkness did not come again.
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Fight Not The Darkness by Taith Ant
Story notes: Book verse. No major warnings aside from a little violence in this first chapter. Written for a challenge posted by Luthien. Feel free to email with comments/criticisms, this is my first attempt at a serious slash piece. It's also fairly angst-y, which I don't usually do so hopefully it won't disappoint. If anyone should even want to archive this please ask first, a lower rated version can also be found at fanfiction.net. This is the first of at least four chapters. Flashbacks fall between //'s with dates included, scene changes occur with 000's.
