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Behind the Shadows of the Soul III: Mirkwood	By : Casualis Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3042 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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BBehind the shadows of the soul
Part III: Mirkwood
Author: Casualis ( Casualis2000@yahoo.fr )
Pairings: Elrohir/Legolas
Rating: PG-13
Warning: None
Summary: A troop from Imladris is sent to Mirkwood to help Thranduil�s people in their fight against the Shadow. Among them are Elladan and Elrohir. What will happen when the younger twin meet Legolas again?
Disclaimer: In my dreams, they are mine and mine alone. But dreams are dreams, no more.
A/N: The story takes place in the year 2610 of the Third Age, the twins are 2480 years old, Legolas is 800 years old. Please remember that we have no information from Tolkien�s oeuvre about Legolas� true date of birth, while it is said that the twins were born in the year 130 of the Third Age.

Imladris, Third age, year 2610

� Elrohir! �
The joyous sound of Elladan�s voice clearly resounded in the soft morning. The dell was bathed with the hot beams of the new dawn and the sun was slowly emerging on the horizon, its burning luminosity chasing the darkness of the night away while its invisible rays creeping the length of the arid ground and the dry grass and awakening the sleeping nature. Resting in the slump of the vale, the magnificent manor of Imladris was a dream vision in the bright light of the day, its immaculate white walls reflecting the gift of Anor and its tall turrets standing proud, seeming to challenge the rare clouds that passed through the clear sky.
But that morning, the inhabitants of the vale were not inclined to admire the pure beauty of their realm or the soft enchantment of the serene hour. Their attention was fixed elsewhere, upon another event that took place in the vast court in front of the manor, next to the stables. It was a large square court bordered with small bushes and tall trees which provided some cover for the hot summer days. Against one of the tall walls, a fountain had been built which bore a striking statue of the Lady of the Stars in its center. The statue was a famous masterwork; the sculptor having conveyed in the marble the peace of the gaze, the grace of the pose and the wisdom of the features. All around the stone edifice, roses and rhododendrons had been planted as a mute homage to the long-departed Lady of that realm who had enjoyed the delicate perfume of those flowers and spent numerous hours taking care of her flowering gardens.
At this early hour of the day, the yard should have been empty; the gravel only disturbed by the occasional light steps of servants hurrying to attend their duties. Today, however, the serene peace of the place was absent, replaced by a resounding hubbub as many saddled and bridled horses had been brought out of the stables, their riders taking patience next to them. They formed a large mob as there might have been fifty or sixty Elves and as many horses, all of them waiting for an imminent departure.
�Elrohir!�
Elladan�s voice resounded again, covering the agitated conversations between the numerous Elves present in the court. The elder twin had just left the manor, jumping over the few steps separating the door from the ground, and was hastily walking to reach the group. He was wearing a pair of dark breeches and a sand-coloured tunic. Sharpened eyes would have noticed the light dimpling made by the coat of mail he was wearing under his clothes. A pair of dark leather high boots that covered his calves till his knees completed the outfit. His long and wild dark hair was mastered by some well-placed braids that maintained his mane in his back and avoided the presence of bothering strands in his face.
The elder son of Elrond paused for some seconds, one hand on his narrow hip, the other absently massaging the back of his neck while he scanned the whole area to locate his missing twin, oblivious of the image of strength and beauty he was displaying. A sparkling light was flaring in his bottomless grey eyes, fed with the excitation born of the prospect of battles and of new horizons. Many were those who did not understand their impatience and their thirst for the dark blood of Sauron�s minions but all acknowledged the twin sons of Elrond as the skilled warriors they were.
Elladan remained still for some seconds, looking for the well-known face of his beloved brother. A wide grin spread upon his ageless features, lightening his face, when he found the one he had sought.
Elrohir.
The younger twin was in the middle of the group, standing next their mighty dark horses, holding one pair of reins in each hand while mastering every demonstration of joy from their impetuous mounts. Elladan could not help noticing how the long fingers of Anor were playing with his twin�s dark mane, creating soft highlights in the long locks that were braided in the same manner as his own. He nodded approvingly at the evident skill that Elrohir displayed to keep both impatient stallions under control. Taking his time to detail his twin�s soft features, he felt a wave of deep love overwhelming his heart, warming him, and he could not suppress the proud smile gracing his own features.
Remembering then what he was supposed to do, he resumed his walk in a much less impatient manner until he faced his brother, laughing softly as he heard the subtle curse muttered by Elrohir when his own stallion tried to rear up. Both hands empty, he teased mercilessly; his voice nonetheless letting appear the utter affection he had for his twin. �Need some help, muindoren?� (brother)
Elrohir satisfied himself with glaring at his mirror image, who was looking at him with an unnerving smirk of self-contentment, and he decided not answering to the teasing clearly written upon his brother�s face. Instead, he stated with an authoritative tone that brooked no refusal and showed clearly his exasperation, �Your weapons are hung at your saddle. As are mine. Prepare yourself then you take the reins so that I can do the same.�
Elrohir was bored. He hated when Elladan behaved thus. There was little fun in disappearing no one knew where, leaving him with all the preparation of the departure. His beloved twin had unfortunately developed the habit of behaving like this, no matter how many times Elrohir reproached him on his actions. The younger son of Elrond cautiously eyed cautiously his brother. He tried to guess where his brother might have been but found no hint as he watched Elladan�s ceremonious motions of hanging the sheath of his sword at his waist before placing his sharpened weapon within it, having taken care of it the day before. Elladan was always so careful and so tender with his weapons that it made Elrohir smile softly. He watched with no less emotion how his elder twin placed his finely designed quiver upon his back before checking his bowstring with a sure finger and making it sing. Elladan then shouldered the weapon and, wordlessly, with a wide grin that Elrohir interpreted as one of apology, he took the reins of their horses, gently patting their necks to quiet them.
But the twins were not the only ones to go through their preparations in front of the stables. Many other warriors were gathered in the court and were taking care of their horses, talking and addressing each other. The well-kept coats of the beasts created a coloured and vivified artwork as white, red, dark and grey melted in a harmonious patchwork. The cacophony was upsetting the usual quietness of the place as the peaceful snorts and neighing of the horses were greeting the bewitching songs of the birds of the vale, the pounding of their impatient hooves echoing the soft tumult made by the confusion of the gathering. Sometimes, musical Elven voices would dominate the light mayhem, their melodic notes twining in a perfect spiral before being replaced by another voice.
The dry leaves of the high trees towering the court were occasionally rustling. But little was the wind the cause of it. Hidden behind the dense foliage were some curious Elflings that were watching the noisy scene hungrily, eyes wide with utter fascination. A little crowd stood apart from the larger group of departing warriors, some Elves and very young Elflings that were waiting to assist in their departure, their brilliant clothes adding to the nausea of frivolity that broke the morning. Some she-Elves� eyes were bloodshot and filled with unshed tears as they watched the parting of a lover, of a brother, or of a son, praying to the Valar to allow their loved ones to come back safe and sound. Few Elflings were progeny of one of the courageous fighters leaving for Mirkwood as warriors usually chose to interest themselves in the matters of the heart once they had left their dangerous commitments in the protection of their realm. The smaller group remained apart, anguish and sadness emanating from it. They did not mingle with the departing ones, farewells having been said in the intimacy of home. But even if no words were exchanged, stares were given and they spoke of many things.
But the Elflings perched in the trees did not see that. They only had eyes for the warriors leaving the peaceful haven of Imladris in order to help Mirkwood�s forces in their unceasing fight against the Shadow. Their eyes were shining and in their pointed ears they heard again the stories about the forest of Mirkwood, a forest that had been once called Greenwood the Great. Stories that were told in their homes about dangers threatening the folk of Mirkwood when the elders thought the Elflings either busy somewhere else or sound asleep, tucked in their comfortable beds. But, as only Elflings knew how to do, they had listened intently listened to all of the stories and they had trembled with fear, imagining the Orcs and goblins thirsty for Elven blood. The most terrifying one was the story about Mirkwood�s spiders. Spiders. But not ordinary ones: giant spiders loyal to Sauron�s dark power; offspring of Shelob that had once haunted the surroundings of Mordor.
For the weeks preceding the departure, they had only spoken about it, spreading the exciting news they had gathered, talking and joking, secretly scared of the dangers but apparently disdainful of them. How much they wished to leave Imladris and learn to know the world around them! Aye! To fight the Shadow and to come back beautiful and glorious, their sharpened weapons shining in the rays of light. How much they would have liked to accompany those mighty fighters and make their names famous enough to be sung in long chants. And in their shining eyes were clearly written those foolish dreams and their cheerful excitation.
They were sitting in the foliage of the trees, never losing sight of the warriors� movements, trying to memorize any pose, word, or gesture. They were closely observing the beautiful knives and deadly swords that hung from the slender waists, taking note of the purity of the blades and the form of their hilts; at the same time admiring the delicate shape of a curved bow or the magnificent Elven-crafted designs upon the saddles of the mighty horses. They watched in awe the well-built forms of the warriors� bodies, their strong shoulders, their muscled thighs, their powerful arms, and the intricate design of their braids. They imagined themselves looking like them when they would be older and that particular thought made their hearts sing as they smiled in delight. As the Elflings they were still, they refused to acknowledge the warriors� tense features, the weariness in their determined gazes, the short glance they gave toward a sweet Elleth they left behind. They chose to see the glory of the battles and to ignore the cruelness of the separation bestowed upon loving families. Later, they would learn the tears that would flow when news of the death of one of those invincible fighters would reach the vale.
Later, they would discover that even the strongest and the most skilled of the warriors could fall and succumb to the power of Shadows. They would find out that war was not a game but a tragedy. They would learn that and forget their dreams of glory. Later, they would engage themselves for the well being of those they loved and cherished and they would truly understand the meaning of the word �war�.
But for the moment, their entire attention was set upon the group and they watched as a lithe Elf stood in front of the gathering, ignoring the perpetual rumble of the crowd. His name was Turelio, son of Calimo. He was an ancient Elf that had fought among the Golodhrim during what was called the Last Alliance between Elves and Men against Sauron�s dark power. He was a tall red-haired Elf whose slender shape concealed a surprising strength. He might have been four thousand years old or more but it was difficult to say as the faces of Elves were smooth and ageless. He would have been incredibly fair if it were not for the long scar running the length of his left cheek, deep and bright; a memory of a patrol that no one, not even the Lord of Imladris, had ever been able to heal. Many stories were told but no one knew exactly what had happened as he always refused to explain the circumstances of his wound. And no one had asked him for more; some because they had chosen to respect his silence, others because they had not dared to face his gaze.
His gaze� His eyes were terrible. People said he could freeze a goblin in his tracks simply by looking at it. They were of the deepest green, calling back memories of lush forest and they held a great power upon whoever he looked at. They were bearer of his wishes, reflecting his will, betraying his strength. Turelio was a great warrior, nimble with his twin blades, lethal with his sword, and more than accurate with his bow. For many centuries, he had taken care of the training of the youth, making sure that all of them had left his care knowing how to master any weapon. He had not been loved as he was too devious and not friendly enough. Saying that Turelio was cold would not be false but would still not be the truth. He was beyond coldness; some said he was unable to feel anything. But he was respected by whoever had come to meet him. He was honest and blunt, one of the most skilled warriors in the realm of Imladris. He had never satisfied himself with the perfect mastering his weapons. He had also become an excellent tracker, able to follow any trail as welle as an unequalled tactician and strategist. For all those reasons, few had been surprised and fewer still had protested when Elrond had chosen him to lead the parties crossing Arda in an effort to clear the paths between the different Elven realms. He had not been more loved by his warriors than by his novices. But he did not care as long as they trusted him. And trust him they did, easily acknowledging him as their leader and captain, and well aware of his skills and competence.
Turelio had been asked to lead a troop of warriors to Mirkwood - much to Elladan and Elrohir�s dismay as they had thought their father would entrust them with the leadership of the Elves. But it had not been so as Elrond needed someone who had diplomatic skills enough to handle possible issues with the Woodland Folk. Even if his sons were among the finest warriors, they were still brash and impetuous, and, most of all, they lacked of the experience in dealing with the true power of Sauron. Slaying Orcs was not dealing with the intricate shadows that threatened the former Greenwood. Darkness was very strong in Mirkwood and it would have been no good to confide this task to his sons. But Elrond trusted Turelio enough to achieve such a mission. And many Elves had approved his choice even if they would never acknowledge it aloud.
Slowly, as the warriors became aware of the single Elf in front of them, voices trailed off, plunging the yard into a heavy silence that was only troubled with light snorts from the horses. But even the impetuous animals had calmed down as if feeling the weight of Turelio�s gaze upon them. All of them waited for him to speak but several seconds passed before he deigned to do so. Once he was sure of everyone�s attention, he spoke, his voice clear and confident in the slight breeze of the morning. �I want everyone ready to leave in two minutes.�
A new buzz rose as the warriors jumped on their mounts� back. But soon, what remained of their presence in the court was the pounding of the hooves in the air and the trails left by the horses in the gravel.
TBC�
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Behind the Shadows of the Soul III: Mirkwood