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Greenleaf & Imladris 12 - Prelude to Grief	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 5841 -:- 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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Part II: Plight

Legolas soon discovered for himself what Elrohir meant regarding his mother’s frightful dreams. In the days that followed, the peace of Elrond’s house was shattered now and anon by the harrowing outbursts of his wife. It did not matter if the horrors came to her in her sleep or waking dreams, her screams were the same. Agonized, terrified and almost beyond bearing.

‘Tis no wonder that Elrohir cannot endure it, Legolas thought the third night of his visit as he lay abed, listening to the shrieks that resounded down the corridor and the hurried tread of feet as the twins and Arwen hastened to help their father.

After the disturbing sounds faded and quiet returned, he reckoned that the brethren might want some company. Throwing on a bed-robe, he slipped out of his room and made his way to Elrond’s bedchamber. As he neared it, he saw Elrohir come out and race down the stairs as if demons snipped at his heels. Legolas hurried after him, following him out into the still night as the younger twin headed for the Bruinen.

To his shock, the Elf-knight dove fully clothed into the chill waters of the river and began to swim hardily against the current towards the cascades. Legolas realized that the twin needed to spend his pent-up rage. To head him off, the archer ran along the banks, keeping a weather eye on the sleek form of his friend as it cut rapidly through the coursing waters.

He reached the falls just scant seconds before Elrohir.

The Elf-warrior leadenly clambered up the steep banks, his sopping wet clothes clinging to his body. He was startled when Legolas grabbed him by the arm and helped him the rest of the way up. Wordlessly, the prince stripped the twin of his sodden shirt and wrapped his robe around him. Though Elrohir seemed unaffected by the cold water or brisk night breeze, Legolas was not taking any chances. The steady drain on his friend’s spirit could very well render him vulnerable to the elements and make him susceptible to the ailments that plagued the mortal races. The blood of Men flowed through Elrohir’s veins. If his mother, a pureblooded Edhel, had been so weakened that she became prone to infection, what more her Half-elven son?

“Here, rest and compose yourself before we return,” he murmured, urging the warrior to sit down upon the springy grass.

Elrohir mutely complied and Legolas sank down beside him. The Elf-knight folded his arms upon his pulled up knees and buried his face in them. The Mirkwood prince could only stroke his back soothingly. At length, Elrohir raised his head and looked at him.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Legolas shook his head, feeling quite useless. “If only I could do more...”

The twin laid a clammy hand on his arm. “‘Tis enough that you followed me here,” he said. “You did not have to.”

The archer covered the chilled hand with his own warm palm. “I could not let you face this alone.” He reached up and brushed strands of raven hair from Elrohir’s face. “Let us go back. You should get into dry clothes.”

The warrior nodded and they rose to their feet. Legolas accompanied him all the way to the door of his room.

********

Thranduil and Brethildor departed after a fortnight, shaken by what they had witnessed and determined that no such fate would befall any of their own people. But as he had promised Elrohir, Legolas stayed on. Keeping company with the twins, he sought to return the care and compassion they’d shown him when he’d faced the loss of his own mother more than a thousand years earlier. He was particularly attentive to Elrohir for he worried about the younger twin’s dark moods and sudden bouts of fury. It recalled to him his own erratic behavior when his mother passed away. And so he kept an eye on his friend, cajoled him out of his worrisome silences, did his best to keep him from over expending himself in physical activities and generally just stayed close by to lend a sympathetic ear should Elrohir need it.

In this fashion did summer pass into autumn. Slowly, Celebrían’s fearsome dreams declined until several days would pass in between attacks. After a few quiet weeks, her family dared to hope that they had weathered the worst and could look forward at last to her healing.

But barely a week after the twins’ begetting day, on a markedly crisp afternoon, Celebrían lost the battle anew and nearly her own life as well. Only Arwen’s vigilance prevented a second tragedy from happening.

Always anxious about her mother’s state of mind, she went to her parents’ room to look in on her. She came upon an empty chamber with its door not only ajar but also askew as if it had been slammed violently against the wall. On the floor were a shattered vase, torn pillows and the remnants of the silk sheet that had covered Celebrían. All the signs pointed to a panicked exit by Rivendell’s lady. Fearing the worst, the Elf-maid sounded the alarm and soon the entire household was out looking for her.

Lindir discovered her teetering perilously on the highest roof of the Last Homely House. Caught in a waking nightmare, Elrond’s wife had believed herself in the clutches of the Orcs once more. Unable to extricate herself from the hellish dreamscape into which she had inadvertently ventured, she had raced down the corridor from her bedchamber and scurried out one of the high windows onto the rooftop outside. She’d then struggled up the steep gabled slope in an apparent attempt to elude her phantom pursuers.

A concerted and dangerous effort ensued amongst the housemaster, Elrond, his sons, Legolas and Glorfindel as they attempted to fetch her from her precarious perch. They slowly converged on her position from different directions to cut off any escape on her part but approached her as carefully as possible to avoid alarming her unduly. For though she was trapped in a waking dream she seemed aware of movement around her and flinched like a frightened doe at every imagined assault. Much like Legolas when he attacked me after his mother’s death, Elrohir grimly recalled.

Closest in distance to her, he cautiously reached out to grasp her arm as she swayed dazedly on the edge of the roof. But just then, Celebrían turned her head and saw him. Thinking him one of her tormentors, she screamed and frantically tried to evade his reaching hand. The motion cost the lady her footing and she stumbled, toppling over the elaborately carved eaves.

While the Elves far below cried out in horror, Elrohir frantically launched himself at her, grabbing her flailing arm with one hand and just barely managing to catch at the edge of the roof with the other.

“Elrohir!” Legolas desperately scrambled to get to his friend.

The younger twin winced as the ornate carvings bit into his palm; blood oozed out of the deep cut and down his wrist. But gritting his teeth, he doggedly hung on. He felt hands grab at him and he looked up into Legolas’ eyes. A moment later, Glorfindel joined the prince and together they relieved Elrohir of his excruciating grip on the roof edge. However, they found it next to impossible to pull him up while Celebrían twisted and struggled violently in his grip; his hold on her wrist was already direly tenuous.

Meanwhile, Elrond and Elladan had swung down to a ledge below the dangling pair.

“Gwanneth!”—younger twin! “Let her go!” Elrond shouted to his younger son.

A glance down assured the Elf-knight that it was indeed safe to release his hold on his terrified mother and he let her drop into his father and brother’s waiting arms. Legolas and Glorfindel quickly hauled him to safety.

From the ledge, Elrond gently passed his now awakened lady to Lindir who’d climbed onto the balcony directly beneath them. And then he and Elladan clambered down in her wake.

Minutes later, a shaken group of Elves gathered in the upper-floor corridor where a white-faced Elrond cradled his weeping wife protectively, whispering soothing words in between gentle kisses to her silver crown. Finally, when she quieted a bit, he tenderly lifted her in his arms and bore her back to their bedchamber.

Legolas swiftly turned his attention to the twins and Arwen. The three siblings held to each other for mutual comfort. But there was a glimmer of something else in Elrohir’s countenance that even Elladan did not see, immersed as he was in his own shock and distress. At length, Elladan murmured something to Arwen and his sister nodded. After tearfully hugging Elrohir again, she allowed the older twin to bring her to her room.

Legolas stepped to Elrohir’s side and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder. The Elf-knight glanced at him then shivered once. Legolas noticed the crimson stains on his right sleeve and recalled Elrohir’s wound. He reached for the bleeding fist.

“You are hurt,” he murmured.

“‘Tis no more than a scratch,” Elrohir said dismissively. He swallowed convulsively.

Legolas peered at him intently. “What is wrong?”

The twin’s mouth tightened. And then he looked at his friend, eyes glittering with daunting emotion.

“I never thought I would say this but..” he heaved a shuddering breath. “Your mother was more fortunate than mine, Calenlass.”

“Elrohir!”

“She is at peace within the Halls of Waiting, her spirit whole. But my Naneth—” He broke off, Legolas’ upset expression registering. “Forgive me, that was uncalled for. I—”

“Nay, I understand,” Legolas quietly said. “You are distraught after what has just happened. But take heart, gwador.”—sworn brother. “Your mother is safe once more and in your father’s care.”

Elrohir shook his head. “I fear this is not the whole of it,” he said. “I sense worse to come. I know not if my forebodings are true but if they are...”

“What forebodings?” Legolas asked with a pang of apprehension.

“More evil. More sorrow. For all of us.” He suddenly pulled away and punched the wall with his wounded fist, leaving a scarlet smear on the pale panel. Legolas moved quickly to shield him from the others’ startled stares.

“I hate them,” Elrohir whispered harshly. “I hate them for what they did to her. And I hate them for what this has done to me.”

“What do you mean?” Legolas queried frowningly.

Elrohir cast him a haunted look. “I relished watching them roast alive,” he said in a hushed voice. “I felt such joy at hearing their screams and seeing their agony. I understand now why you behaved thusly against the men who slew your mother. ‘Tis all I want to do now. To kill more Orcs and all the other abominations Sauron and his ilk have foisted on Arda.” He shuddered visibly. “It burns inside me, Calenlass, this need, this lust for their blood. I can no longer hold it in.”

“What do you plan to do?” Legolas asked worriedly.

For a moment there was only silence. And then the younger twin straightened up and turned to face his friend.

“I will hunt Orc and all manner of evil creatures,” he grimly said.

Legolas stared at him in alarm. “You cannot go alone, Elrohir!” he exclaimed. “‘Twould be madness!”

“I will not be alone. Elladan will go where I go. His rage may not be as apparent as mine but he, too, seeks to avenge Naneth.”

“But to what end? ‘Tis a perilous quest you would undertake.”

“Aye, but if we could rid our lands of even a fraction of these creatures and spare others our mother’s torment, it will be well worth the danger. “

“When—?”

“Tomorrow, at first light.”

Legolas was aghast. “What? Surely you jest!”

The Elf-knight’s eyes gleamed with murderous intent. “I cannot wait,” he growled. “If I do not do this soonest I will explode.”

Legolas regarded him anxiously. The twilight eyes did not lose any of their repressed fury or implacable determination. The prince knew there would be no changing the warrior’s mind. He swiftly came to a decision.

“Then I will go with you,” he said.

Elrohir, surprised, objected. “‘Tis not your fight.”

“If it is your fight, then ‘tis mine as well,” the prince retorted. “I will join you.”

Elrohir stared at him for a spell, moved by his loyalty. And then he leaned into his friend’s arms, shaking visibly as his volatile feelings overcame him once more. Legolas held him tightly, allowing all his concern and affection wash over the younger twin that he may find some modicum of tranquility even for a while.

********

The three of them left at dawn, racing into the rosy light of the newly awakened day. Elrond and Arwen watched them depart with heavy hearts. Behind them stood the rest of the immediate household. Not an Elf present did not feel heartsick at their going. Who knew what would come of this quest for vengeance?

Glorfindel quietly said to Elrond: “I will go after them should they fail to return come winter.”

Elrond sighed disconsolately. “I do not fear so much for my sons’ safety as for their peace of mind,” he murmured. “This will not end here. Their thirst for vengeance will not abate so swiftly. Elrohir’s especially.”

“Elladan will restrain him, Ada”—Papa—Arwen said soothingly. “As will Legolas.”

Elrond nodded slightly. “I hope they do. Ai, our ever valiant Elf-knight. Would that he were as even-tempered as Elladan.”

“But then he would not be our Elrohir,” Arwen softly said.

Elrond smiled faintly. “Nay, he would not,” he agreed.

************

Glossary:

Edhel - Elf

Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)

To be continued…
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Greenleaf & Imladris 12 - Prelude to Grief