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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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Behind 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 meets Legolas again?

Disclaimer: In my dreams, they are mine and mine alone. But dreams are dreams, no more.

Thanks: To Dinah and DA for beta-reading.

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.

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Chapter 2: Unexpected message
**
Southern doors of the royal domain of Mirkwood, Third age, year 2610
Silence was wavering over the dark forest of Mirkwood. But it did not awaken the attention of the sentries that guarded the southern doors. Birds had ceased to sing a long time ago in that part of the forest and even the trees had shut themselves from the Elves. Silence was far from unusual. Time passed without any noticeable events but neither of the guards lowered their vigilance as they knew from experience that the Shadow might strike at any moment. What made them suddenly prick their ears was the unexpected nearing of pounding hooves. Eyes narrowed in expectation and arrows were brought to the strings of long curved bows, the privileged weapons of the sentries.They sighed in relief when a blond Elven rider emerged from the dark mass of the forest and the tension that had suddenly arisen among the guards fell.
The flaxen-haired Elf slowed his mighty stallion when he reached the high doors enclosing the estate that had been once the castle of Mirkwood and had become instead the shelter of the Wood-Elves. They were tall heavy doors made by the Dwarves in the secret depths of the mines of Ered Mithrin into the north of the Kingdom. They were as tall as six Elves and many feet thick. Some told they had been brought to the forest millennia ago at the beginning of the Third Age, thanks to the magic of some powerful Istari. Skilfully crafted, they were nonetheless imposing and designed to resist most attacks. No one could open them from outside and, least of all, force them. A complex mechanism created by Seretur, who had been Thranduil�s prime councillor for years, enabled the sentries posted on the two high stone pillars framing the flaps to open them. But as it took a great deal of time whenever the doors had to be closed in case of attack, they were usually opened at fixed hours of the day.
The golden-haired Elf stopped his mount at a reasonable distance from the closed flaps. He opened his mouth to announce his presence and to require the opening of the doors but before he had the opportunity to speak, one of the guards ordered loudly, �Open the doors for the Prince!�
The stern order resounded against the thick walls but, before even its echo died off, a low growl made itself heard, soon followed by the grating announcing the slow start of the mechanism. The white horse did not make a move as it was already familiar with the noisy process, while its rider remained as still as a marble statue, his eyes fixed on the inscriptions on each door. As was custom, two words were engraved deeply into the stout material with high and gracious arabesques. They had been chosen by his father himself: Protection and Shelter. A painful reminder of the situation in the rider�s mind.
Slowly, one of the two doors half-opened itself, leaving enough space for a lone rider. Then it stopped. But neither the Elf nor the horse moved, waiting for the guard to allow them to pass. A few seconds later, the voice of the guard resounded again, less harsh and holding an unmistakable undertone of respect. �You may pass, my Prince.�
Raising his hand as a greeting and a gesture of acknowledgement, the blond rider urged his mount to advance and pass through the path between the doors. They came into what were the quarters of the sentries : little houses were nested through the trees to allow the guards to take some rest during their assignments and to enable them to reach the walls quickly if necessary.
The white stallion suddenly came to a halt as his rider voiced such a demand and straightened himself on his back. The white coat shone brightly in the dying light of the day as the stallion stilled himself, his noble head held high. His eyes were suspicious and arrogant, and his well-built frame and his long legs betrayed his strength and power. The proud animal stared at the Elf that approached his master, his bottomless eyes assessing the lithe body, his mind alert and ready to react to whatever danger might threaten his Elf�s life. But as his rider showed no sign of agitation, the intelligent animal calmed down while he remained vigilant.
The Elf who was walking urgently toward them had long shining silver hair which was agitated by the light breeze coming from the West. He was wearing a pair of dark leggings and high boots, while his slender frame was covered by a large purple tunic. He was wearing no weapons, save for the little dagger hooked at his belt. He was not born a Wood-Elfas was shown in his features, which were somewhat less angular and softer than the Elves of Mirkwood and his complexion was not common in that Kingdom. Even paler than the fair Elves, his hair was a fascinating cascade of silver and his skin seemed made of marble. His eyes were violet and their glowing irises betrayed his intelligence and perception. The Elf was no warrior as showed in his thin limbs and his little lack of a muscular build. He was one of the most trusted advisors of the King however. Born in the nearby Lorien, he had followed his Mirkwood lover into the dark forest that was then called Greenwood.
As he reached the Prince, he bowed in a gracious curve, his silver hair hiding his face as a fluctuating curtain with enchanting reflections. Keeping a hand on his chest, he voiced his greetings within a soft baritone voice, �Prince Legolas� Mae govannen.�
The blond rider�s face was impenetrable as he looked down at his greeter�s pale face with piercing eyes. He did not give any pretence of dismounting to speak with the Elf, who had obviously been waiting for his coming, and only acknowledged the greeting with a heavy nod of his golden head. �Councillor Vanyacar��
The pleasant musicality of his voice did not succeed to hide the rider�s deep agitation as it held an unmistakable undertone of weariness. For a brief moment, it seemed that his deep blue eyes shone with something looking close to anger. The blond Prince and the silver-haired Councillor stared at each other for several seconds in a silence that was only troubled by the distant song of an Elf in one of the little sheds scattered in their surroundings.
The Councillor cautiously eyed the tall lithe rider. The youngest son of Thranduil was clad in the traditional green garments of the Mirkwood guards, the only mark of his rank being the light mithril circlet he wore on his brow. Hanging from the belt at his waist were his sharpened knives and, slung across his shoulder, were his bow and quiver. Dirt was soiling the usually impeccable uniform and the golden-haired being looked somewhat dishevelled as wayward strands escaped the net of braids adorning his mane.
Curiosity spread in Vanyacar�s heart but seeing the younger Elf�s weary gaze dissuaded him from asking what had happened. It could have been another attack from the Shadow, as it often happened in those dark times. The King would tell him later once he had spoken with his son, since it was Vanycar�s task to reorganize the composition of the patrols when warriors were injured.
Sauron�s minions be cursed� But he dared not voice his thoughts and, without ever averting his gaze, he waited patiently for the Prince to ask him what message he brought from the King.
On his side, Legolas was bored by the Councillor�s persistent silence and wondered what the Lorien Elf was waiting for. It has been a long day and it displeased him greatly to have to come back to the heart of the Kingdom while he had other courses to traverse. Surely, his father�s Councillor had some idea about the message which had been sent.
�I have received a message from my father requesting me to leave my patrol as soon as possible and to come to him,� stated the Prince, silently asking Vanyacar to explain to him the origin of the unexpected request.
But his silent request was ignored when the Councillor vaguely answered, �Yes, your Highness�. �I was waiting for you here at the bidding of the King, who wishes to see you in his private rooms and not in the throne hall, as soon as you arrived.�
The youngest Prince of Mirkwood passed a slender hand in his golden hair to tuck a rebel strand behind his pointed ear and scowled as his shoulder reminded him of the unfriendly blow it had taken. No open wound but a limitation would linger in his shoulder for at least two more days. A pained smile graced his tired features but he was not able to conceal the sudden flicker of worry that shadowed his eyes. Nevertheless, he found the courage to joke lightly, calling back a memory common to both Elves, �I suppose it would be better if I go now. It is less than fitting to make the King wait.�
The Councillor, not put off by his inferior stance or his having to raise his gaze to look into the Prince�s eyes, did not show any sign of recollection but lightly coughed to catch the rider�s attention instead. He continued with a polite little smile on his full lips, managing to sound contrite, �I�m afraid you are already late, your Highness. The King sent the message when Anor was at her peak.�
All trace of warmth disappeared from the younger Elf�s features as he glared at the standing advisor. As if he was unaware of that slight detail� But he decided to give an explanation for his delay. He knew that his older brothers would have had no trouble in making a remark on his deplorable behaviour and to explain to him, for the thousandth time at least, that he was a Prince by blood and right and that he had to give an account of his acts to no one, save the King. But, contrary to his siblings, he thought that giving an explanation often spared much incomprehension. A clear explanation from someone who knew had less disastrous consequences than the haphazard actions of someone that thought they knew.
�There was an attack�
His voice slipped slightly as he forced himself to give the minimum of details, not willing to lose more time there than necessary and hoping the Councillor would feel he had no desire to follow the intriguing conversation. The silver-haired Elf must have understood as his gaze became thoughtful and he only said, �I supposed so when I saw you, my Prince.�
Then, Thranduil�s Councillor stepped aside to let the horse pass. As Legolas readied himself to go, they shared a sad smile, knowing well that words of sympathy were useless and would not relieve the pain of the wounded.
�Noro celeg, Naralod�[Hurry, Naralod]
The beautiful stallion walked away, taking a light canter after a few steps, passing the tall Elf that remained frozen in his tracks for some moments, his clear eyes following the stallion�s race until he disappeared through the trees. Then the silver-haired advisor walked slowly toward the place he had left his own horse grazing.
TBC�
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Behind the Shadows of the Soul III: Mirkwood