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Legolas and the Balrog	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6325 -:- 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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Legolas and the Balrog
A Little Legolas story

By erobey, robey61@yahoo.com
Beta'd by Sarah AK
www.feud.shadowess.com

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: The settings and most characters were created by JRR Tolkien. Only the words and other characters surrounding them here belong to erobey.

II. Come Again Another Day

About one hour before the termination of Ithil's tour, far too close to the approaching day to allow for any chance of sleep, the downpour ceased. Somewhere overhead the stars came forward as the clouds disintegrated into fast moving wisps of misty film brusquely escorted from the Woodland Realm's vicinity by an insistent breeze from the Southwest.

Of course, with the close overhang of intertwined branches barring their vision, the Noldor Expedition could not enjoy the twinkling glimmer of Varda's Gifts nor view the nearly full face of Ithil sinking low toward the bosom of the earth, glowing all peachy gold as if the light of Anor was already waking, which it was. Nonetheless, the three elves sighed in accord with great gusto when the rain desisted, grateful for the chance to dry out before reaching their destination.

This blissful state of rejoicing was short-lived, however, for Ariel arrived quickly and with alarming vehemence, creating the most stultifying humidity any of them had ever experienced beyond the luxury of the famed hot springs of fair Imladris. There, the curling ribbons of lifting vapours swirling around one's head were welcome, relaxing, sensual mixtures of water and air that rendered the psyche calm, contented, and completely complacent. This pleasurable ambience was significantly improved by being naked, or at least mostly so, the addition of cool drinks concocted from flavoured herbal teas braced with Miruvor, gifted fingers kneading tired, tense muscles in long, languid massages, and gentle, harmonious music from various groups of minstrels and musicians drifting through the background.

None of the accoutrements of the lifestyle of the immortal and renowned of Rivendell were currently present, however, and the Noldor soon discovered that being cold and wet was unpleasant while being saturated and suffocated in stifling heat was an unbearable torture.

By mid-morning, or so they judged it to be by the quality of subdued green-tinted light that took the place of sunshine under the claustrophobic cover of the canopy, the esteemed emissaries from Imladris had shed cloaks, tunics, and shirts. It did not help, for the exposed, sweaty expanse of bare flesh attracted an inordinate amount of biting, stinging, bloodsucking insects, elven perspiration being slightly sweet and hence aromatic in the way that rare orchids are.

A persistent swarm of gnats, mosquitoes, flies, bees, wasps, and even the occasional hummingbird hovered around the three travellers. The pathway rang with shouts and curses of exasperated annoyance, the slap and whack of hands clapping skin in futile attempts to kill the vile biters, the icky scrapey noise of nails energetically scratching the accumulating welts, and the plodding clop-clop of the beleaguered horses who had to endure all the racket and carry the complaining elves around.

By mid-afternoon the small group had advanced only a fourth of the way along the Dwarven road transecting the forest. No further contact between them and the denizens of the trees, other than the bugs and birds, had occurred. Though he would not admit it, Erestor was beginning to think they would pass straight through the murky woods and reach the valley of the Anduin without ever finding Thranduil's hidden Kingdom. Cugu and Toloth knew that but kept silent, fervently hoping this would transpire and they could then abandon the quest, having given it a go, and continue on through the Misty Mountains and thus end up back home before the New Moon.

The noble statesman called a halt and asked, for the third time that day, for Cugu to pass him the only map available of the Great Forest, a hopelessly outdated document made by Dwarves. Unfortunately, the cartographers had never ventured beyond the great feat of engineering that bisected the woods, commonly referred to as the Dwarven Road. Thus no trails or landmarks were noted other than cryptic slogans such as 'beware spiders', 'wargs' dens near at hand', 'possible Orcs' lairs', and 'bloody Wood Elves skulking somewhere North, avoid at all costs'. As Erestor examined the map attentively, the warriors consumed the rest of their horribly waterlogged lembas and drank copiously from their canteens, for they were shedding away pints through their pores under the relentless heat.

"How many leagues would you estimate we have travelled since entering under the eaves?" asked the esteemed advisor to Elrond Half-elven.

"Oh, at least ten or twelve," offered Cugu.

"Nay, probably closer to twenty," opined Toloth.

"How do you figure that?" demanded Cugu.

"Well it is simple, just consider the length of the hours travelled, the number of days journeying, the relative speed of the horses, the quality of the pathway, which is fairly good, and the environmental conditions, which are admittedly terrible," Toloth smugly replied.

"Well none of that is possible to calculate accurately."

"Of course it is possible! What do you mean, are you saying I am incompetent?"

"Nay, I am just pointing out that those things vary too much and…"

"Silence!" ordered Erestor. "If either of you had ever looked at the map you would know the woods are three hundred miles across here. That is one hundred leagues, so we cannot have gone so short a distance, Cugu, after two days."

"Hah!" crowed Toloth victoriously and Cugu made a face at him.

"So I believe we have gone no more than twenty-five leagues and probably less considering the drudging pace we have been forced to take," continued their leader. "That leaves us with a problem. We cannot continue on the road any longer, for the Wood Elves' fortress is located closer to Erebor and the River Running than to the vale of Anduin. If we go further down this track, we shall never find them. We must venture into the weald."

The two warriors shared dour expressions, for they had absolutely no desire to leave the path and head off into the dark and forbidding closeness of the towering trees. No one knew what was in there; no one who had ever been in had made it back out to talk about it. One or two Wood Elves were seen from time to time in Laketown, for they came to trade with the humans there, but they did not invite others back with them and when they left they went by boat and poled up the river. It was said they had a rather strong dislike for the scar cut into their beloved woods by the Naugrim and refused to set foot upon it.

Now it might be wondered at this point exactly why the Noldor were using this road instead of going to Laketown, meeting these trade-elves, and simply accompanying them back to Thranduil's halls on their fine sturdy barges? Well this was definitely the sensible thing to do and Erestor himself had proposed it, but Gandalf had insisted they use the overland route and then 'cut through' to the Enchanted River, finally using that as their guide to reach the hidden city. At exactly what point the expedition should plunge into the brush and hack their way to the sleepy river he left to Erestor's wisdom.

Gandalf's reasons had consisted of wishing to know the quality of the byway and whether or not any trolls might be trying to commandeer it and set up tolls. He had also made some reference to arachnids and wolves and the need to gauge the strength of the Wood Elves defences. Erestor had rather disliked the plan, as it essentially made himself and his comrades into a sort of bait designed to draw out whatever manner of danger might be lurking beyond the path, and depended on the belief that the Wood Elves would rally to their defence if they got cornered in a tight spot.

"I am not sure it is such a wise idea to stray from this road, Lord Erestor," ventured Toloth tentatively.

"Aye, there is no trail and we will soon become hopelessly lost among the trees," joined in Cugu.

"It would be different if we could see the sky and judge our general direction," continued Toloth.

"Yes, I see your points. However, we must try and find the route. One of us needs to climb up a tree and look for any indication of a footpath beyond the margins," said Erestor.

Cugu had just opened his mouth to object to this when an ear-splitting high-pitched whistling scream jarred their nerves as a brightly fletched arrow sang through the air and embedded in the trunk of a tree just over his shoulder. Never had any of the three warriors encountered a missile that produced so voluble a sound upon its firing. It made them all jump and their valiant war-horses jittered in fright. With startling speed the trio found themselves hemmed in on both sides of the road by drawn bows with knocked arrows trained upon them, held in the skilful grip of a small party of silvan warriors. A small war party, from the looks of them.

"BaQa'!" shouted one and spat. "NaDevvo' peghoS!" (Expletive deleted! Go away!) She was scantily clad in a bright blue loincloth of fine silk with a matching band tied round her bosom.

She had locks the colour of maple leaves in fall, seldom seen among the First-born, piled up high upon her head and within the intricately woven hive were inserted twigs, leaves, a long green and gold barred grouse feather, and a white polished bone of some large animal. Her pale skin was painted from face to feet with emblems and talismans in a pale blue outlined in red. The designs depicted a dragon curling around her left leg while its long tail trailed down her right. Her arms were adorned with crude runes and animal signs. The fair features of the silvan inu were likewise decorated. Around her eyes a mask was drawn and each cheek had a lightning bold in ochre while her lips were dyed the same dark maroon and outlined in the pastel cobalt hue.

The Noldor gaped at her in speechless amazement; unable to respond even if what she had yelled had been intelligible.

"nISwej, g'day't garg!" (Do not interfere here, worthless animal!) another hollered and loosed a silent arrow that sliced so closely to Cugu's head that three strands of his hair were carried away and nailed to the bark of the tree behind him, yet not a drop of his blood was drawn.

The elf was raven-haired and his clout was of purple satin with gold embroidery all over the fabric. His face was painted white to look like a skull, his ebony eyes circled in black kohl and his lips overprinted to mimic the lifeless eternal grin of death. His locks were completed braided in plaits one inch thick and the entire mass was held up atop his head, forming a fountain-like topknot. Each braid ended with either a large shell or what looked like arrow points. All of his body was made to look like a skeleton, as if he had immersed himself in coal dust and then cleaned off patches to indicate the pattern of the bones, which he had.

"Fah! Crak-makh togh-uruk selah!" (Ugh! May the carrion eaters choke on your flesh!) a third cried.

This one was golden-haired and had a simple covering of emerald green velvet about his waist. His hair was coiled high like a helmet and into it was thrust a magnificent array of hawk feathers that formed a sort of splayed tail such as courting turkeys sport in spring. His fierce blue eyes were outlined in red and he had an image of an eagle with wings outspread painted in red and brown upon his chest. Around his neck he wore an overly elaborate necklace composed of what appeared to be dragon's scales and bear's teeth. Both of his nipples were pierced with small rings of gold. Down his right leg a long inscription ran that promised death to all intruders while on the left was an image of a black boa swallowing a hare.

Never had the Imladrian elves seen such primitive immortals and, all three having been present at the Last Alliance where they had observed numerous Wood Elves, they were shocked at the devolution of Eru's Children. These beings looked less civilised than the Forodwaith inhabiting the Grey Mountains and the lands to the north of those forbidding peaks. The poor throwbacks seemed to lack the gift of true speech, or were sputtering some Orcish/Dwarvish pidgin dialect perhaps, the Noldor were unsure which.

The Wood Elves were eleven in number, standing amid the limbs nearly naked but for their weapons and cloth clouts in bizarre colours of purple, yellow, blue, green and red. Four were females and these also had narrow bands of fabric binding their breasts, dyed to match their loincloths. All the fey bodies and faces were inscribed with garish and rustic emblems and signs of power, runes and spells and animal shapes. Snakes slithered up an arm or down a muscular thigh, their fair countenances were obscured beneath painted masks and marked with stylised raptor's talons, dragon's teeth or wolf's jaws. One of the females, fiercely bearing her teeth and snarling, had an incongruously beautiful butterfly adorning her features.

All of them had their hair caught up upon their heads in some fashion, bound high in outlandish mounds of braids and curls into which feathers and twigs, leaves and bones had been woven. Besides the aforementioned blonde, red, and black-haired ones, seven were brunette and a second was tressed in raven's black. Another of the males had golden rings attached to his nipples and one of the females had a tremendous silver hoop dangling from the end of her nose through which she kept insolently sticking her tongue out at the interlopers. The other three iny (female elves) and one brunette anu (male) had small jewelled studs embedded in their navels.

About their wrists all displayed cuffs of mithril instead of leather vambraces and bangles of shell and bone beads jangled around their ankles and their elbows. At each one's biceps, either left or right depending on what hand the warrior used, a leather sheath held a small dagger and another was strapped to the calf of the corresponding leg. Each warrior had a leather harness and quiver filled with brightly fletched arrows and held a superbly crafted bow, made for serious killing, undecorated beyond some quite elegantly carved Sindarin inscriptions and incantations of preservation and potency.

Now the Noldor were stunned and disturbed for a variety of reasons. First, these woodland elves had taken them completely by surprise, sneaking up on them so silently even their elven hearing missed the approaching ambush. Second, their appearance was startling, shocking even. Third, the three strangers had no idea what the feral creatures were saying and fourth, regardless of the language barrier, it was obvious that the aboriginal elves were definitely displeased with the visitors' presence.

"Please! Be calm. We have not come here to do you harm," said Erestor quietly but urgently, addressing the male with the ostentatious necklace.

"qaHarbe'bej!" (I certainly do not believe you!) came the elf's mocking reply and his comrades snickered rudely.

"lam SuHo'Du!" (Your teeth are dirty!) the female redhead said, laughing and pointing at Toloth. More guffaws and chuckles ensued.

"What language is that?" Cugu demanded in exasperation.

"Valar, why do you think I would know?" fumed Toloth.

"Quiet!" snapped Erestor.

"yIjatlhQo'!" (Do not speak!) shouted the bone-face, jumping up and down on his branch and pointing his bow at Cugu menacingly. The other black haired one, identically made-up but for a bright orange loincloth, seemed to be having difficulty deciding whether to burst out laughing or join his brother's outrageous dance. He did both.

"qoHpu'!" (Fools!) giggled Silver-Hooped Septum, and no one was certain if she was directing her remark to the Noldor or her cohorts.

"Peace! I am Erestor of Imladris and these two are Cugu and Toloth," began the advisor but was cut off by the elves sudden smirking laughter as they repeated his comrades' names amongst themselves, pointing and giggling. His eyes narrowed as he watched them cavorting among the branches, sharing insulting references to them in their strange gibberish, no doubt. Something about this seemed vaguely familiar, in an odd sort of way he could not define, for the experience was definitely unique, and that was saying a lot considering Erestor was a First-ager.

"Please put down your weapons, we are unarmed!" he tried to get their attention and succeeded as Necklace Male, apparently their leader, held up his hand and the others fell silent.

"chejupbe'. qavoqbe'," (You are not our friends. I do not trust you.) he said solemnly, which was quite an achievement considering his outlandish appearance.

"naDevvo' SujaHnIs," (You need to leave here.) added Butterfly Face, glaring at Erestor savagely.

"We do not understand you," Erestor continued patiently. "Yesterday you spoke briefly in our language; there must be much we say that you comprehend. Please, go and tell your King we are here."

At that moment every one of the fey creatures abruptly turned north, simultaneously stood, and gazed with what could only be described as abject dread into the depths of the forest. In seconds they had lowered their weapons, bows stowed away at their backs and arrows returned to quivers, their quarry forgotten.

"g'day'a!" (Sh–!) said Butterfly Face.

"How did he find out?" said Orange-clout Skeleton in perfect Sindarin.

"ylSo'!" (Hide!) screamed Necklace Male, discarding his role as brave leader, and disappeared into the leaves.

"ghobe', ylqet!" (No, run!) corrected Raven Dancer and took off into the heights, followed immediately by the remainder of the troop.

And thus the three Noldor were left staring up into the silent empty branches, alone on the road once more. They returned their disbelieving eyes to scrutinise one another, as if to be certain all were in agreement as to what had just taken place, but before they could even begin to discuss the situation a new disturbance erupted. It sounded as though a great hunting party was crashing through the woods somewhere close by, complete with baying hounds, singing horns, and the thundering hooves of mighty horses.

Next, the Imladrian delegation heard a variety of angry shouts and curses, uttered in completely comprehensible Sindarin, spoken in thoroughly disgusted tones of outraged disappointment, of which 'go to your quarters and await punishment' was the principle directive. As these orders were being called, presumably to their former captors, a great deal of petulant grumbling and whining ensued, also pronounced in the finely accented syllables of the Grey-elven tongue, the primary argument of which seemed to be: 'only having a bit of fun'.

And then, as if magically conjured from the shadows between the trunks, a superb dapple-grey charger stepped onto the path, two huge short-coated salt-and-pepper hunting hounds at either shoulder. The long silver mane was draped over the elegantly arched neck like a mantle spun from mithril threads. His proud equine head was tipped in soft charcoal at the muzzle and ears, the latter trained keenly forward as nostrils flared and snuffed the breeze to taste the Noldor's scent. Intelligent eyes of liquid brown peered from either side of the broad white forehead, regarding the Imladrian horses and imparting an imperious hello.

Upon this majestic steed was seated an elf of noble bearing and fair countenance, ageless as were all the First-born, golden-hair bound back in braids and with eyes of lapis blue that seemed to flicker and spark as if reflecting the light of a hidden flame. He was tall for a Wood Elf and broad of shoulder, with a fine aquiline nose and merry smiling lips borne above a stubborn chin and firm jaw. He sat his hunter without need of gear or tack, exuding an air of authority none would question.

He was dressed richly; the garments of fine silk in olive and ochre were embroidered in small diamonds, pearls, and beryl gems, while the cloak about his shoulders was from the skin of a spotted wolf, edged in ermine of silver and sable. His sword belt was encrusted with emeralds and rubies of tremendous size and clarity, the scabbard likewise graced with precious stones, but the hilt of the weapon was plain, wrapped tight in leather binding to make the grip secure. Even were the crown of woven leaves about his brow absent, the regal mien of this stunning elf proclaimed him to be Thranduil, King of the Woodland Elves.

"Mae govannen!" (Well met!), spoke he graciously, right hand uplifted in greeting. "Welcome to my Greenwood! Please allow me to beg forgiveness for the unacceptable ambuscade perpetrated upon such worthy travellers from afar. I give you my word the culprits shall be dealt with appropriately. I am Thranduil, son of Oropher. Erestor, seneschal to the Lord of Imladris, I remember you well! To what does my humble country owe the honour of so esteemed a visitor?"

Tbc

A/N: please do not be alarmed if the language the wild elves were speaking seemed as unintelligible to the reader as to the Noldor; it is because this is a language never spoken in Middle-earth. However, it is a 'real' language and if anyone out there knows it, and can correct errors I may have inadvertently made, please do email me and let me know.
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Legolas and the Balrog