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Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
CHAPTER 11: The Winged Warrior

The following morning, Legolas awoke to a massive headache. He made his sorry way to the bathing chamber and drew a bath, leaving the door open lest he take too long and Elladan kick it down.

Legolas had not wanted to admit it, but he felt atrocious. His face throbbed with a vengeance, his nose a pulsing, agonizing reminder of the almighty impact of Elladan’s armoured boot in his face.

Extracting himself from the bath and dressing in a house skirt, he walked cautiously into the bed chamber.

Elladan sat there, his trained eye observing the gait, the outstretched right arm, reaching for nothing. He was not fooled, but neither would he fuss, for it would irk his friend, he knew, and so he simply sat there, in case he was needed, making conversation to distract him from his agony.

“What time is our briefing today?” he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.

“After breakfast,” was all Legolas managed, for truth be told he was not hungry at all, but he knew he would have to face the troops today, and so he would perhaps take a mint tea and just get it over with.

Finally dressed in his uniform, he strode into the corridor, Elladan at his side. The commander’s stride was now strong and energetic, and Elladan knew he did it purposefully so as not to garner anyone’s pity.

As was customary, the noise ceased as Legolas entered the dining room, the troops standing and bowing, before sitting once more and resuming their chatter, only this time it was spotted with the odd harsh intake of breath, interjections of sympathy for the obviously painful bruise.

Sitting at the table together with The Company, they began their repast before the strange spectacle of Legolas sipping tea, instead of piling his plate to the brim. The scene brought a miserable wave of guilt over Elladan, for he was responsible, he and his rebellious hoof.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The briefing lasted the entire morning, with Dima and Pengon doing most of the talking. They had discussed their route before a large map spread over a round table. They had explained to the new recruits which areas would be conflictive, where the various villages would be and what dangers they should expect.

They would visit two villages, one far to the south, the first to be found just before the realm of Dol Guldur; the other lay towards the central parts of the wood. The villagers were stubborn, for they would not leave, even though they had suffered various raids in the last few years, and lost a good number of their members. They were Avari for the most part, conservationists desperately trying to maintain the health of the forest they inhabited. It was a losing battle, yet they refused to abandon it, and so Legolas had promised to visit them at least twice a year to carry out dissuasive action in the hope that the orcs would refrain from attacking.

The result was, that they would ride out for a whole week, due south, visit both villages, speak to their leaders and then carry out their patrol of the areas, making their presence known to the enemy – another week - and then the ride back. If everything went to plan, they would be away for three or four weeks.

Elladan realized then, that Barathon was not present at the briefing, and there were three missing from the close-knit group of five. It had been Pengon who had elucidated. Three of them had been placed on standby, to ride out on their next mission, for one had failed on tactics, the other two had been hard pressed under the duress of interrogation. The prince had also been excluded from the mission on the grounds that he should improve his “interpersonal relations.” Pengon had smiled slyly, leaving an equally relieved Elladan, for the thought of riding out for the first time with that thorn in his side had not been appetizing at all.

The rest of the day was for kitting out, after which each warrior would be free to attend to his own personal preparation. Each carried a first-aid kit in their pack, although Elladan carried the bulk of the healing supplies, having been named their official healer. He would be sure to take antidotes for the toxins they were aware of, and of course for the spiders. He would also seek out Antien and ask him about what he should expect.

Melven had gone with the other two recruits, together with Lindo and Idrenho to pick up their supplies, and Elladan now found himself walking back to the barracks, his shoulder laden with a pack that oozed with the supplies that Antien told him he would need - where he was going to put it he knew not. A vision came to him of a squirrel packing acorns into its bulging cheeks and he laughed to himself.

He flung it onto his bed, deciding he would pack later, but right now, he wanted a hot bath, relax and put his thoughts into perspective, and so he stripped, donned a house skirt, and walked to the baths.

To his surprise, he was met by the entire company, save for their commander and the two recruits. They sat there soaking as they talked quietly.

“Elladan, come, join us,” said Idhreno softly.

“I know not that I am worthy of your company this day.”

“You are worthy, Elladan,” said Ram en’ carefully. “What happened yesterday was an unfortunate accident, nothing more. You have more than redeemed yourself by caring for him. You are a part of us now – you are worthy. Besides, I cannot begin to tell you how many times Hwindo has been kicked in the face, ‘tis nothing new.”

It brought a tear to Elladan’s eye, this loyalty they already professed for him. They trusted him, he realized, yet they had not once fought together, shared anything transcendental at all. And so he undressed and entered the hot water, leaning back onto the cool stone, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, feeling strangely comfortable in their midst.

“’Tis quite a kick you have, Elladan,” said Nanern, the typical intonation of story-telling beginning to colour his voice, “akin to an infant troll, perhaps, or a female warg…the way you flew from the branches, hair streaming behind you, the blue highlights glinting under the midday sun, armoured boots poised before 32your generously appointed body, why you seemed as an angel to my eyes, an avenging angel…” he concluded, as if reciting a poem from the first age.

Koron en’ snorted then, adding his own impressions. “You omit the panicked expression as our lord’s face approached his oddly angled feet, the high-pitched squeal of surprise as realization hit and there would be no avoiding the mighty blow, the whoosh of air as he collided first with beauty and then with earth, ‘twas no angel, Nanern, but a Noldorin warrior with wings!”

“I was right then!” exclaimed Pengon, demanding their attention now. For as I said yesterday, Koron en’, it is not what you said but what you didn’t – you see, Elladan shall be called such no more, for I have baptized him, on this the eve of the first ride of the Noldor…”

“Tell us!” shouted Nanern who sat next to an avid Ram en’.

“I, Pengon, Arrow Elf, do declare that Elladan Elrondion be known as Rhafnohtar, for he is the Winged Warrior!”

Now it was Elladan whose head whipped around to look at Pengon. ‘Rhafnohtar?’ it sounded good, as long as you did not know the story behind it. And so he decided that he was happy with it, ‘at last!’ he exclaimed to himself, and smiled boyishly, his teeth glinting behind his upturned lips.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………

Tomorrow, at dawn, they would ride, and three elves now lay on their beds, in their respective rooms, all of them pensive, their thoughts far away in Imladris.

It was early evening, and Legolas had retired to his rooms at the fortress; later he would visit with his father, Aradan and his brother, but now, now was for quiet contemplation, as the face of his Gondolidrim lover came to his mind’s eye, a placid smile on his ageless, beautiful face.

Melven and Elladan had taken a light dinner before retiring to the barracks to prepare their packs for tomorrow; the Noldor were restless, for tomorrow, they would finally begin their service to the Greenwood, venturing into unknown lands, living new experiences, putting into practice the weeks of arduous training they had endured. They would finally face the enemy, perhaps even spiders, Uruk Hai, or wraiths, Elbereth forbid.

Elladan lay on his side, his hand propping up his head as his straight dark hair trailed across the white sheets. A parchment lay before him, one of many he had managed to complete in the last hour, for he was inspired.

This last one was to his father. He had written of his life since his last letter, of his training, his nascent friendship with Legolas. He had also told him that although he had, indeed, watched Legolas, he could see no evidence of a troubled heart. And then there was his relationship with Galdithion. He would save the details for when next they met, but he knew he should give his father the news – it would please him, yet the relationship was still fresh and he did not want to kindle false hope. He was still unsure of the depth of Galdithion’s feelings for him, and so he would tell his father that there was a mutual attraction, but nothing more.

In his letter to Glorfindel, he had also told him of the great friendship that was blossoming between Legolas and himself, and of the training he had endured, something he knew the general would be intrigued with, for the methods had been essentially from Gondolin, it was what set The Company apart from the rest of the Greenwood militia.

The other, now sealed parchments were destined for Lothlorien – Arwen Elrondiel, Galadriel, Celeborn, Haldir, Rumil, Orophin…he had never written so many letters in so little time, and the truth was that the words had flowed, for he felt the irrepressible need to put to paper his thoughts that evening, he felt somehow that he was on the cusp of something new, as if he was living the final moments of one life, only to step into a new one.

Melven, for his part, pondered the last letter he had received from his bonded mate. She had responded to his first letter somewhat coolly. He had been disappointed, although once he had thought about it, he decided that he had been deluding himself. She was not impressed it seemed, at what he had achieved, gave no indication that she felt proud of him, yet there was nothing new in that – she had always been that way, yet Melven had hoped that the distance between them would have mellowed her, alas it had not. He had been right to take this step, here was the proof of it, for Melven had thrived in her absence, and suffered once more when she came to the fore. Once the exchange program came to an end, he would have to face the truth, and be consequent with it. It saddened him and it elicited a deep sigh, before another feeling, one of closure came upon him suddenly, and he smiled fondly.

He would reply to her, and include a letter for his young son. He would subtly introduce the idea of separation, tell her that he was proud of himself, even though she saw no reason for him to be so. He needed her to understand his disappointment, for when the time came, he did not want it to be a surprise for her. The very thought of returning to his life with her in Imladris suddenly seemed absurd to him. His only worry was his son…for what if she decided to sail? And yet it seemed unlikely to him, for he could not see her leading a life of peace and contemplation, she was too ambitious for that.

…………………………………………………………………………………..

Galdithion had been granted leave for the rest of the evening, and so he made his way straight to the field warrior barracks, knocking quietly on Elladan’s open door. He stepped inside, spying his lover lying on his side, watching him as he sauntered in and sat on the bed beside him.

“Come with me?” he asked, as he placed the palm of his hand over Elladan’s smooth cheek.

Galdithion led him to a glade just a few minutes’ walk away. It was secluded enough, especially at this time of the evening, and Galdithion would waste none of it, for he had much to do and say.

Elladan turned to face his lover then, and was struck with his beauty as he stood tall and proud, beautiful under the light of the full moon. His face was full of love, yet it was laced with anxiety and dread.

Elladan approached him, caressed his face, and kissed him softly, watching as his lovers’ eyes closed in joy.

“Love me, here under the open skies of Greenwood,” murmured Elladan softly, watching as Galdithion’s eyes opened and focused on his own, the pupils dilated.

“Elladan, I – I am falling, I tried, I tried to stop it, or at least temper it, but I have failed, I have failed most miserably – for I love you, and that is the truth.”

Elladan listened to him as his lover stammered out the words that had obviously been so difficult to say. He said he had tried to stop it, or slow it down – why? for there was nothing standing in their way, save Elladan’s station in Imladris …

“Then I am glad of your failure, I rejoice in it,” he whispered. “You have failed, and I am yours,” he whispered again as he stared into the lovely blue eyes, watching as they widened at his words, as they grew brighter and his lips quivered with emotion.

They moved together then, joining in professed love, for although Elladan would venture into the south come the morning, they two, would be parted no more.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“I have updated my legacy chest, father, and I have refused Barathon once more.”

“What was it this time?” asked Lainion as he reclined on the sofa in Thranduil’s rooms.

“He cannot submit to his superiors, he even struggles with the concept. He questions when the time is not right. Elladan said nothing, but my cousin was most rude to him upon the training field, and even defied Pengon when he was caught. And then he is simply a mediocre warrior, he is not good enough, Lainion - he would be massacred all too soon.

“You know our predicament, my Son,” explained Thranduil, as he gestured to Aradan, “perhaps next time then?”

“If he can show respect to his superiors, then I promise you it will be so, even though I and the others will eventually have to cover for him.”

“Alright, ‘tis enough for us to justify at council,” he smirked briefly at his chief councilor, before his face fell back into a neutral mask.

“And pray tell us, my Son, what is – this?” he asked, gesturing to his son’s bruised cheek.

“Ah, yes, I was hoping you wouldn’t notice…”

Lainion snorted, for it had been funny – half of his brother’s face was a pulsing mass of purple flesh, and Lainion could have sworn he had been kicked in the face.

“Well?” asked the king, smirking at his son’s now obvious discomfort.

“The dangers of the training field, my King. An innocent slip of the foot,” he said, waving his hand in the air to lend an air of insignificance to the event.

“Indeed,” drawled Lainion, before changing the subject to one he had been meaning to ask for a long time now.

“Will you tell us of you and Glorfindel, Brother? asked Lainion. We have interrogated Aradan here, but he has shown utmost loyalty and has offered us no satisfaction,” he emphasized, refilling his cup as he leaned forward, staring at his brother defiantly.

“You are an old gossip, Lainion,” said Legolas, turning purposefully and nodding at his father’s councilor. What would you have me tell you, Elbereth!” he chuckled. “Do you wish for the sordid details, then?”

“Nay, yet we talk of Glorfindel, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, for the sake of the Valar, Legolas. I am unsure as to Thranduil’s thoughts on this matter, but I am sincerely impressed with your conquest, Brother. ‘Tis a wonderful match in my and my people’s opinion – they call him ‘Golden Sacrifice’.”

Thranduil sat silently, shrewdly letting the scene advance before he participated, for Legolas would feel pressured – better that Lainion ask playfully – the truth would flow better that way, for he knew his son well, yet he was more anxious than any to hear the tale.

“Then fill my glass and I will indulge you!” he exclaimed, curiously pleased with this turn in the conversation, for he could relive those wonderful moments and take his mind far away from what tomorrow would bring.

By the time he had finished the tale, the moon had disappeared below the horizon, the night at its darkest. The four sat silently before the crackling fire, well into their cups, yet pleasantly so.

Thranduil had listened attentively to every word, every phrase and its intonation, every gesture that accompanied them, and he knew that what his son had with the legendary, twice-born warrior of Gondolin, was love. He longed then, to meet him once more, to come to know him, to welcome him into his own life as another son, for this elf would give Legolas peace and balance, would give some hope to Thranduil that he would not succumb to the madness that evil brought with it, would not break – something the king knew would eventually happen, as a logical consequence of what he endured. He would face it again tomorrow, for his son would be gone once more come the morn, and a piece of himself would traverse the forests with him. He would come back wounded, both bodily and spiritually, and then he would hide it all and start again – it was always the same, and even so, slowly but surely, they were losing the southern reaches of the Greenwood – green no more but a blackened, leafless shadow of the vibrant forest that once was, and his son’s heart would be a little harder, a little darker, the lingering shadow slowly but surely descending upon him like a cloak of black silk.

He turned his eyes from the fire to his son, startling somewhat to find he was watching him. It seemed to Thranduil that his son had read his thoughts, for his face was one of understanding and resignation.

“The elves of the Greenwood will fight until there are no more trees left. Even if it is only time we gain, then it is enough, so long as that time is used to rejoice, and to love, for if we do not, then what is life for? Life is but time, to use as we will…”

All three stared at Legolas, who had spoken as one far away, his eyes had turned glassy, his eyes lost in visual imagination.

“You are right, sweet brother. You are Avarin at heart, and I love you dearly – so then ride out tomorrow, kill them all, and come back safe and hail to your family once more – make us proud one more time.”

Thranduil rose then, followed by Aradan and Lainion. They came together, embracing for the last time before their son, their brother, their commander, would once more ride into darkness, taking the cream of Greenwood’s warriors with him into Hell, and hopefully, back.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Legolas strolled down the pathway, bound now for the barracks and a few hours sleep, before dawn would see him ride away once more; the alcohol had dulled the pain of his smarting cheek, which was now a distant throb, and for the first time, it felt better than it looked.

The shrill cry of a carrier hawk split the peaceful silence of the night then, its wings flapping so close now, that the tips of his hair undulated. It finally came to rest on a nearby branch, its talon sporting a long string, at the end of which was tied a small square parchment.

Legolas plucked it from the carrier, stroking the falcon’s smooth, feathery forehead in thanks, before turning to the precious parcel in his hands, for he had recognized the seal of Gondolin.

He sat under the tree as he peeled back the folds until the tengwar was revealed.

So many times have I told you that I love you, and yet ‘tis still not enough, insufficient to express the depth of my feelings unto you…

Legolas smiled, so much so that it hurt his bruised cheek, yet it mattered not, for to read his lover’s words was nothing short of paradise, and so he continued to read avidly.

I have much to tell you. Llyn has made a place for herself beside us – she is a wonderful elf, giving, intelligent - and Henian has become a good friend to me. He is a most able warrior and has ridden with the Imladris patrols many times now, earning the respect of all…

Legolas knew that this would be so, for he was one of the best field captains in the Greenwood militia.

And yet, for all that life here is peaceful, save for the odd skirmish, my body yearns for your presence – there will be no peace for me until I see you again…perhaps when Elladan and Melven finish their exchange, you could accompany them back, and if not, then perhaps I can visit to escort them – I know not how we can achieve it, only that it is achievable, and so one more year, perhaps.

One more year, thought Legolas. He told himself that he could do it, for he had done for over a thousand years. What was one more attack? One more ambush? One more weeping child? One more dead warrior… and yet this was his purpose, and so he would endure - at least now, he had something of his own to fight for, to give him hope for a future without the constant warfare, the constant heartache of loss.

Tilting his head down to the parchment once more, he read the final words his love had penned to him.

“And after that year, I will see you once more – safe and sound – wrap you in my arms and be parted no more.”

That night, Legolas lay his good cheek upon the soft pillow of his bed in the barracks, his eyes unseeing, his heart absent and his mind remembering his Avari brother’s words, as it delighted him with the most imaginative of scenarios of himself and Glorfindel, his Golden Sacrifice – ‘one more year, one more year.’
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Arcane Land