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Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2531 -:- 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
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Chapter 12: The Dawn of Brotherhood

Glammohtar

He was nervous, for the first time in many, many years – he felt that tingling at the base of his stomach, a slight shortness of breath, his limbs were restless, anxious for vigorous movement; it was thrilling and he was alive, strong, and useful.

Melven stood before the full-length mirror in nothing but his black, form-fitting breaches and the heavy black boots of The Company. His chest had become stronger, his pectoral and shoulder muscles more defined, his abdomen showing the coiled strength that lay beneath.

He picked up the brown leather skirt and wrapped it around his trim middle. It was slit up the front and back for riding, yet offering protection to the flanks and thighs.

He slipped into the sleeveless leather jerkin and buckled it up, completing his valet with the large vambraces which he tied securely closed.

Pulling the sides of his hair back, he held it at the crown with a tight clip, leaving but a little to fall down his back.

It was late, and he should arm himself. Melven continued to watch himself before the mirror, as one that had never seen his own reflection before. He buckled the quiver strap over his chest, slung his bow over his shoulders and picked up his sword, inserting it into one of the many loops of his skirt.

He reached for his dagger, slipping it into its own loop beside his sword and then pushed the service knife into the side of his boot.

Turning back to the mirror, he saw a warrior, a fit and handsome elf who looked nothing like Melven of Imladris, and yet it was him, changed beyond recognition almost, in every possible way – no, not Melven, this was Glammohtar, the Screaming Warrior.

A brisk knock revealed Legolas and Elladan, followed by the rest of the Company and the other two recruits, all identically dressed, save for their many and varied armbands. Legolas’ entire right arm was covered in them, from vambraces to shoulder.

The commander smiled as he approached his warrior, a small velvet bag in his hand.

“Glammohtar, as one of The Company, I gift unto you this symbol, that you wear it with pride in the fulfillment of your service to the Greenwood.

Glammohtar stared at the bag, before tentatively reaching out to accept it, digging his hand into the soft material until it hit cool metal. Grasping the item, he pulled it out to reveal a beautifully-wrought armband of mithril swirls with a central design, a leaf and sword. Legolas stepped forward then, taking the band from his hand and placing it high on his right bicep, before smiling and stepping back.

“Come,” he smiled placidly, before turning and leaving, the entire company behind him. Elladan waited for them all to leave before falling into stride with Glammohtar, each looking at their respective armbands and smiling joyously, not unlike two small children on Yuletide morn.

The morning was crisp, a light mist still hovering over the green ground, swirling around their boots as they walked towards the ample stables. Their horses had already been prepared for them, and the stable hands now stood holding their reigns, waiting for each warrior to claim his own and make his final preparations. As they handed over the reins, they touched each warrior’s locks with their other hand. Glammohtar was taken aback, rather thinking something had stuck in his hair, before he realized the gesture was one of respect – and thanks, and so he smiled ruefully, the apology implicit, and perfectly understood by the smiling stable hand.

There was a crowd at the gates which Glammohtar soon realized was for them. They were too far away for him to recognize, and so he slung his panniers over his horse’s flanks and mounted, adjusting his seat and tack as he greeted the noble animal once more.

He reached back to check his quiver, his bow, and then fussed with the clasp of his hair, before he actually chuckled aloud at himself, for he felt like a novice warrior once more, for all the years of battle he had seen and done.

Lindo moved up beside him then, and gifted him with a radiant smile.

“You look wonderful.”

Glammohtar simply smiled and nodded his head to his lover, glad for the distraction, for it centred him once more as he resumed his curious observations.

As Legolas spoke to various elves from atop his horse, the main pathway was beginning to fill. There was a large group of young elves together with their tutors, who ushered the excited, chattering children into some semblance of a line. There were many young maids too, giggling and pointing to this or that warrior.

Glammohtar smiled as he continued to observe the scene as it played out before him. He spotted three warriors standing together and conversing, realizing suddenly that these were the ones who had failed to complete the adjustment training. Their faces spoke of admiration, and just a hint of disappointment, yet they had taken their own decisions to leave the adjustment training, for all of them had mates, and as the training had progressed, they realized what it was that they would be facing, and the odds were simply too unfavorable.

Bercalion stood together with his son, Barathon, who once more would be left behind. His face was set in a mild grimace. He had failed, yet it seemed to him that this would be the last time that Legolas would deny him – for he knew the king had urged him to accept his cousin. And so he bore the shame once more – he knew it was simply a question of time before he, too, would ride out in splendor.

Galdithion stood alone, off to the side, for he did not want the attention. He simply wished to gaze on the one he loved. He watched his shining Noldorin warrior as he rode out with The Company, for these last memories would have to serve him until they met again, the Valar willing, in one month’s time.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Finally, they were moving at a steady walk as Legolas moved to the fore, Dima and Ram en’ behind him. As they joined the pathway that lead through the gates, Galdithion held up one hand to salute his Lord, the one he had dedicated his life to protecting, receiving an answering hand to the heart and the smile of a true friend. And then the guard turned his eyes to his lover, yet this time, there was no salute, just a simple smile, one that filled his own eyes with tears, watching as Elladan smiled back, a smile that spoke of love, passion, and reassurance, for he would come back, and they would embrace once more.

The children watched as the mounted warriors walked down the path, bound for the gates and beyond. They moved forward cautiously, holding out their arms and touching the warriors’ boots, then legs, before looking up in awe and moving back. Yet it was not only the children, for the maids, the warriors and even Bercalion, repeated the same gesture, and Glammohtar was suddenly infused with a powerful sensation he could not, immediately place. He heaved a mighty breath as he felt the multiple touches upon his boots, his eyes swam and his nostrils flared. He realized that they were being thanked, just as the stable hand had done, and Glammohtar thought then, that he had never felt the warrior’s purpose as he did at that moment. He had never been so aware of the nature of the job, never really perceived the gratitude of those he protected, had never felt such purpose and satisfaction for who he was and what he did. He was empowered, he felt fulfilled, for this is why he had come to the Greenwood, in search of this feeling – and he had found it.

Just before they reached the gates, Legolas moved them back around to face the fortress. His father stood on the second-floor balcony of the fortress, Lainion and Aradan at his side. The King’s golden crown illuminated the space around him and set his face alight, and although it was placid, his eyes were awash with turmoil.

Signaling the order to dismount, The Company rallied behind its commander, waiting for the order.

“Warriors salute!” he cried, setting the hairs of those that watched on end.

And then they danced their salute of defiance before their King, Glammohtar and Rafnohtar striking their vambraces together and stomping their feet, as they chanted the words - for the first time together with The Company. The feeling was powerful and infused them both with a sense of purpose and belonging, for should a company of fifty orcs assail them now, Glammohtar thought he would kill them all single-handedly.

Giving the order to mount once more, the silent crowd watched their Commander’s face as he faced his King. Legolas raised his armoured arm and held it out to the king, his face solemn, placid, beautiful save for the bruise that marred it, waiting only for his father to return the salute, before turning, and cantering away, leaving three elves to watch as he regained the fore – their hearts heavy and their minds a whirlwind of worry and anxiety. Yet they were also joyous, for Hwindohtar was in the forests – and all would be well.

Rafnohtar

They trotted down the pathway that led from the fortress. This area was densely populated and the way was somewhat crowded with other riders, carts and wagons carrying supplies and such. It was a popular game for the young elves on horseback, to ride beside or behind The Company when they rode out, sharing with them a moment of glory as they waved to family and friends, something that always brought a smile to these fierce warriors, lending themselves to the light-hearted play.

Sometime later, the path became less populated, until it was practically deserted, save for a scattering of elves with their children, village dwellers from the many hamlets that dotted the surroundings of the fortress.

Legolas had raised his arm and emitted the hoot of a Tawny Owl, a signal both Noldo now knew meant to increase their pace.

Rafnohtar loped beside Glammohtar and briefly caught his eye as they smiled at one another and looked once more at their now adorned biceps. They were warriors of The Company, riding out into the far south, the most dangerous areas under Elven rule, a troop of the finest warriors on Middle Earth at their side. What they would find there they could not say, but right now, at this moment, Rafnohtar felt the breeze through his hair and the Sun upon his face, the strength of his horse below him, and for one riding into battle, the strangely antagonistic feeling of peace and freedom surged through him, and he smiled.

……………………………………………………………………………………………….

They had stopped at a small creek to rest and eat. Koron en’ and Nanern stood watch as the others lounged under the trees, sipping water and munching on lembas.

“Well, Rafnohtar? How was your first ride out from the fortress as one of The Company?” asked Lindo with a smirk on his face as he came to sit beside the two Noldorin warriors and Legolas.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I felt a sense of peace and wellbeing wash over me as we rode down the path? Does that seem strange to you, Lindo?”

It was not the answer Lindo had been expecting, and so he took his time to answer his comrade.

“Yes,” he began cautiously. “Yes, I believe it makes sense, although I am not sure I could express the reasons why.”

“Philosophy was never your strong point, Lindohtar,” smirked Hwindohtar as he rose and signaled for saddle up.”

……………………………………………………………………………..

Dusk had fallen and they had stopped at a mighty tree that harboured a flet high up in its sturdy branches. They had scurried up the trunk, leaving Pengon and Beria below to guard them.

The night had passed in companionable silence, each warrior keeping to himself. The veterans seemed at peace, yet he and Glammo, and he assumed the two recruits, felt a flutter of expectation at what was to come – what would the forest look like further south? Was it as bad as their training suggested? Would they engage spiders? Wargs? Black wolves?

Some penned letters while others ventured from the tree to a nearby stream, something they could still afford to do, for this area was safe, and well-guarded.

Legolas lay on his side atop his bed roll, in nothing but his leggings and boots. Rafnohtar realized that even those that already dozed had not removed their boots either. He decided then, that there must be a reason for it, yet he would ask, all the same.

“Hwindo, why the boots?”

Legolas looked up from his log, cocking his head to one side before answering.

“Just in case,” he smiled, watching as Rafno’s eyebrows rose, just as Elrond was wont to do. The thought brought a pang to the commander’s heart, which he quickly tucked away, he could spare no time for fawning out here.

It was Ram en’ who then settled beside Rafno, smiling before sitting cross-legged. He had obviously gone to bathe, and was now bare-chested, his hair dripping.

Rafno noticed a small cut over his right forearm, and gestured to it in silent interrogation.

“You should clean that, just in case,” he said, watching Ram en’ as he glanced down at the minor wound.

“Bah, it does not hurt.”

“Nevertheless, allow me?” he asked, somewhat rhetorically, for he was already delving into his pack for the salve that would disinfect and provide a protective film over the cut.

“Alright, Healer Rafno,” smirked Ram en’, as he held out his arm.

As Rafno cleansed the wound and applied the salve, Legolas watched the interaction, smiling as he did so, for Elladan was, indeed, proving to be an asset to his company, as he knew he would – for if he was gaining the friendship of Ram en’, then his place in The Company was already won, and glad he was of it.

………………………………………………………………………………………

And so their routine had been for the past five days. Rafno and Glammo had watched and commented on the changes they had seen the further south they rode. There were places of great beauty, even here, yet the canopy above them was darker, the odd spider web making itself visible for the first time, something which greatly disconcerted the Noldor, for the size of them had been a surprise to them both, and then the anxiety of confrontation with this foreign enemy had created a kind of psychosis between them, it had become a monster of unreasonable, disproportionate dimensions.

During their night-time rest, wolves could now be heard, although they had not approached, even though no fires had been lit, and the scurrying and scratching of the black squirrels had kept Elladan awake until well into the night, for they were as black rats to Rafno’s mind, their fur doing nothing whatsoever to endear them to him.

Day six, and they finally rode into a small settlement, the first of two they would visit on this mission. They were greeted by their leader, Lithaldoren, a tall, thin elf in clothes that had seen much better days, for his breeches and shirt were frayed around the ankles and cuffs, his jerkin missing a few of its clasps. Yet he carried himself with pride and dignity, for he was Avar, as were the majority of these villagers, villagers that had now congregated behind their leader, standing in expectant silence, the afternoon haze settling on the ground, shielding their feet from view, resulting in the odd, and somewhat spine-chilling illusion of feetless spirits.

“My Lord, we welcome The Company into our humble home once more, we have been expecting you for a few days now. Was your journey uneventful, my King?”

“Indeed, Lithaldoren, and it is good to see you whole and hail,” he smiled, relieved to have found the village still existed at all.

“And for that we can rejoice, for we suffered an attack two days past. Three of us were taken – two foresters, and one child. We fear for them, my Lord, yet the party was too big for us to take action and bring them back,” he explained, his face a sea of conflict and anguish, for they were not warriors, but foresters.

“Then we will see to it, Lithaldoren. What can you tell us?”

“We saw around thirty orcs, and a few Uruks, four or five perhaps.”

“Give us an hour to prepare and provision ourselves, we will do all we can, my friend,” said Legolas, a subtle note of warning in his voice, for the chances of retrieving them were slim. They would have been taken for one of two purposes – as fresh meat, or for enjoyment and intimidation.

Yet before the leader could brief them any further, a female elf walked hesitantly towards them, coming to a halt before Legolas and Dima. She then sunk to her knees with a thud, bowing her head as she whispered her plea.

“My mate, my daughter, my Lord - please, Hwindohtar. Save them, I beg of you take pity, my King.”

Any conversation that had been taking place amongst the warriors had ceased as all now watched the scene that threatened to break their considerable composure, for the plea had been heartfelt and desperate – it was not the first time they had witnessed a scene such as this, yet it never ceased to wrench a hidden tear from them all, and then it came from an Avar, who rarely allowed their emotions to come to the fore – this elf was desperate, for she loved deeply, something that Legolas immediately understood, as he sunk to his own knees to face the elf that would not meet his eyes. He reached out a hand and gently tucked a stray strand of copper hair behind her ear in a silent plea for her to look at him.

“We will do all in our power, sister, even unto our own end, for that is the nature of our service to our people. Yet you know the dangers they face, do you not?” he asked softly.

“I do,” she whispered as she finally brought her head up to look at this beautiful leader. “I know that their flesh may be consumed in life, that they may be taken as objects of pleasure, tortured beyond recognition – this I know and so I beseech you, my Lord – sîdhoneth…” she said desperately, her piercing eyes fixed meaningfully upon those of Yavanna’s protégé .

There were collective gasps as the word was uttered, for she had requested nothing short of a mercy killing, should the situation merit it.

“Peace, sister, for should it come to that, I will not allow them to suffer needlessly, this I promise, and yet we may still save them – do not lose hope just yet.”

A group of elves moved to stand behind the broken elf that had pled so earnestly for the return of her daughter and mate, taking her gently by the arms and into their collective embrace, walking her away, but not before one of the males glanced back at Legolas who still knelt. He smiled subtly and nodded before turning back to accompany his distraught sister.

Lithaldoren turned to Legolas once more. “Let us know should you require anything, my Lord. We are at your complete disposal.”

Legolas nodded and then stood and turned to his elves.

“We will leave within the hour, on foot. Healing supplies, food and water only. Leave everything else behind. I want full battle gear and maximum stealth. We will meet here and garner the information we need along the way. Any questions?”

Silence reigned, and so as The Company broke up, some crouching upon the ground where they stood, others moving away. They were all digging into their packs, separating the items within and keeping only what they would need, leaving the rest here for when they returned, along with their horses. The villagers collected water and herbs for the warriors, handing them over reverently before moving silently away.

Legolas sat below a low-hanging yew, his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He emptied his mind, relaxed his body, and opened his senses to the forest around him. They did not speak to him, but they did convey their emotions. He sorted through them as they assailed him and he began to understand the state in which they found themselves – they were lost, however much the Avari refused to admit it. They were disoriented, awash in limbo, yet somehow understanding that their death was near at hand. The Forest Lord could not reach them with language, for they were too far removed from the light, and yet he felt the deepest of pity, a heavy, dull ache in his heart for their plight, for this their last conscious cry of rage, of sadness, of involuntary surrender, for they wished to live, and yet understood that they could not, not here.

His mind shifted from the trees to the villagers. He now knew that should the situation take a turn for the worst, he would be required to give peace, for it had been begged of him, and Legolas would not refuse, for his own emotions were of no import.

He breathed deeply, willing his racing heart to slow down, as he cleared his mind once more until he was at peace, for only then, would he wage war.

The Company now stood together, fully armed, with nothing but a discreet sack across their shoulders. Rafno took in the faces of the Avari villagers. They seemed sadly hopeful, if such a thing were possible. Yet the years of defiance had taken a toll on their faces, their somewhat emaciated bodies. They suffered because they stayed, and they suffered because they could not leave – ‘how then, could they be helped?,’ wondered Rafno, as his eyes finally settled on the anguished face of the pleading elf, her eyes alight with intent, eyes that stared directly at Hwindo, he realized, eyes that continued to plead silently with him, ‘bring her back to me, or deliver her from evil.’

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

Hwindohtar – Twirling Warrior
Dimaethor: Silent Warrior, lieutenant of The Company
Lindohtar – bard warrior
Pengon: Arrow Elf
Ram en’ Ondo – Wall of Stone
Idhrenohtar – Wise Fighter
Koron en’ Naur – Fireball
Naranern – Tale Teller
Glammohtar – The Screaming Warrior
Rafnohtar – The Winged Warrior
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Arcane Land