Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

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
- 21
- 22
- 23
Chapter 22: Home and Away

Rafno swirled then ducked before slicing through the knee of an orc, and then moving in to decapitate it, only to close in on his next victim. Glammo worked close by, terminating life after black life, his face impassive yet stern and determined, for these were goblins and they fell, oh so easily before his flashing blades - today, Glammo wielded his short swords, a skill he had worked hard at since he had been in the Greenwood.

The battle had been short, sharp and precise, and Dima called to them all, as he wiped off his own, blood-slicked blade.

“Well done. Clear the sight, post a warning to the others, burn the rest. Then wash. We leave in two hours. Questions?” His dialogue was akin to the woodpecker’s call, thought Rafno, for it was curt, precise, effective.

“Where are we bound, Captain?” asked Idhrenohtar.

“East, towards Gondien. There is a pack to their south. We need to ring around them, drive them northwards and into his waiting arms.

Seeing there were no further questions, he turned to Glammohtar and raised an eyebrow.

“Glammohtar, you did well with the short swords, have you considered taking the grade for Master?” he enquired, for he had watched the warrior during a lull in the fighting, and had been duly impressed. Those training sessions he had had with Hwindo had paid off, and he really was very good, mused the captain.

“Do you think I am ready for that, Captain?” asked a wide-eyed Glammo, for he had not considered that possibility at all.

“Perhaps a little polishing, but you are well on your way, warrior – consider it,” he said, as he walked off to supervise the clean up.

Glammo glanced at Rafno, who had been standing close by, and by the look on his friend’s face, he had heard what Dima had said.

“Well, well,” said Rafno. “Master in short swords, hum? That is something I must see, my friend. Will you work for it?”

“Yes,” said Glammo as he considered the possibility for the first time, “yes, I think I might. I would, of course, need to train hard first, but if Dima thinks I may… and then I really do want one of those shiny arm bands, for we only have one, and they have many…” he said, pointing at the others sharply.

“You are right, of course” said Rafno playfully. “I wonder if I am ready for Master in the long sword…, then we can both get one, he grinned impishly!”

They stared at each other for a moment before sharing a mischievous smile and moving off to do the captain’s bidding. However, Rafno took the time to see to the minor injuries his comrades sported, before allowing himself to bathe, somewhat hastily, change into his spares and wash his clothes. No sooner had he finished, and Dima called to mount up and move out.

In the saddle once more, he blew out a breath, for he had not stopped since the battle had ended. ‘Well it couldn’t be helped’ he thought, as he wheeled his horse round and joined his brothers for the ride east. However, he soon realized they were watching him.

“What, what is it?” he asked as he chuckled nervously, thinking perhaps he had forgotten to lace something up.

There was not much time for idle banter, for they were on full alert - they were not safe here, and thus silence reigned, yet they did smile and nod at him, before turning their faces to the fore once more, all of them thinking the same thing, for the hard core of The Company had come to realize that there was one more amongst them, one who would be sorely missed when the time came to return to his father’s realm.

………………………………………………………………………………

Life at the fortress had slipped into some semblance of routine. Legolas would awake, take his herbs, dress formally, receive Minu who would weave his braids. He would take breakfast either in the halls with Galdithion and Lainion, or with his father in his suite of rooms. He would attend council, retire for lunch, and then sleep for a few hours. He spent his afternoons visiting with friends long neglected, writing letters to Imladris and Lothlorien, and working with Bandorion in his offices at the field barracks, but as of yet, the subject of Barathon’s forced inclusion in The Company had not reared its ugly head until now, for Bandorion could not stand the unbearable tension that had grown between them; it would not do to have the two Greenwood commanders at loggerheads over their son and cousin, and by now it was clear to him that Legolas was not about to broach the subject.

“Legolas, we must speak of that which divides us,” he said from his desk, watching his nephew and superior, who was bent over the central table studying maps of the southern regions of the Greenwood, now the Mirkwood.

“Yes, I know,” he mumbled, peering closely at the land surrounding Lithaldoren’s village, for they were soon due back in that, forsaken area. “And yet I have nothing more to say that I have not already said,” he murmured again, somewhat irritated by the interruption.

“I had nothing to do with the decree, Legolas. That comes from his mother’s quarters, and although she is no longer here, she still has many friends and family who are,” he began, rising from the table and slowly approaching his nephew.

“I know this, Bandorion,” said Legolas, louder now as he turned to face his uncle, “and yet you do not speak out in favour of my arguments. You know I am right, yet you trust to luck that nothing will happen, and I like not your reasoning, uncle, for there are lives in the balance,” he warned, the candle light glinting off his green eyes; ‘feral’, thought Bandorion suddenly, ‘dangerous’ – yet ‘what to say?’ thought Bandorion, as he endured Legolas’ knowing stare.

“Legolas, surely if we can bring him round, remind him of the condition you wrought from the council, we can come to control him…”

“You do not know that, Bandorion, and neither do I, and therein lies the problem, the problem you in your silence, and the council with their decree, have bundled onto me,” he gestured to himself, “that I may feel responsible, should something untoward happen… I trust you, uncle, but I do not respect your decision to let the river run and take no part in what is clearly folly.”

Bandorion bowed his head in respect, it was fair enough, and his nephew was right, he knew, he could simply not acknowledge it, for Barathon was his son, and he loved him, in spite of everything; it was not rational, he knew, but it was natural.

…………………………………………………………………..

“Ram en’!!” yelled Rafno as he fought his way to the besieged warrior. They had surrounded him and were now trying to beat him to the floor. Finally there, Rafno found his back, and together, they fought until the beasts lay dead at their feet.

With time enough only to nod at each other, the battle continued as a warg pounced on Rhrawthir, only to gurgle and collapse on top of him, pinning him to the ground and squeezing the wind from him. Nanern was there in a flash, followed by Koron en’, who together, burrowed their shoulders into the stinking fur, the carcass finally rolling off the otherwise hail warrior below, who sprang to his feet with the flash of a wild smile that gave his name credit, before running into the fray with Dima and Dorainen.

Lindo swirled his long sword with lightning-fast movements, Pengon battling at his side. The Bard Warrior sliced and then stabbed as he turned on his heels again and again. Glammo was close by, sinking his short swords into black flesh, stabbing forwards and then backwards, crouching low and then springing up to flip backwards and appear behind his foe.

They were nearly done, for only a few dozen goblins remained, yet they suddenly froze, their heads turning to the South before the shrieking began, and the remaining orcs scurried off towards the trees. Dima held up his hand to stop his warriors from following them, for something approached, something that had scared the goblins more than they themselves had.

“Lhing!” spat Dima as he signaled their standard formation for a spider attack.

Rafno stood rooted to the spot, his legs feeling suddenly gelatinous. The moment had finally arrived, and his stomach churned and his ears rang – he would finally confront the legendary spiders of Mirkwood. He heard Dima’s words from those first days of training, ‘Eyes, chin’ – wherever that might be – ‘between the legs and thorax, that is how you can kill them’. And then Antien’s words came to his mind, ‘steer clear of the pincer, which moves vertically only, never sideways, if you are stabbed, move away as quickly as you can, cut the pincer off if you can.’ Yes, he could do this, ‘let them come’, he yelled to himself, as he opened his legs and readied his sword high, his face set in a fierce scowl that effectively hid the absolute terror that was now coursing through his petrified body.

Glammohtar was, likewise, battling with his own, rebellious body, desperately trying to get it to comply with his wishes, yet all he could do was stare with his mouth wide open as the first spiders broke through the tree line.

It was Lindo who broke his paralysis, yelling desperately for him to react.

“Glammo!!”

Whipping his head round to Lindo, he nodded, turning back to the approaching beasts, adopting his defense stance and bracing himself, for his stomach was already rebelling at the stench that began to invade his nostrils, and he would not vomit now, for he would surely earn himself a second warrior name…

……………………………………………………………………………………

Over two weeks had passed since The Company had ridden out, and Legolas was anxious to get his arm out of the harness he had worn for the last three. He had regained his strength and had started his morning cross-country runs after breakfast, but sword training was impossible, and archery simply out of the question.

He had been supervising Barathon’s training, and his cousin had, surprisingly, improved. He had held his tongue and complied with orders, and could now be considered a passable warrior. Not to the standards of The Company, by no means, but his attitude had improved – ‘but would it last?’ he wondered. ‘Would he, under duress, follow orders he did not understand or agree with?’ There was no way of knowing, and so although the situation had improved, he was by no means happy with it.

On this particular morning, Legolas had completed his morning duties and was lying on his bed at the fortress, relaxing before the afternoon meal. Thandion lent on the window sill, looking out into the early winter landscape beyond, lost in thought.

He had just gone through four hours of examination, under the shrewd eyes of Balentar and Antien. They had asked him all nature of questions on herbs, procedures and techniques. He had been required to recite the names of muscles, bones, diagnose symptoms. When they had finished, he had been so nervous that Legolas had invited him to his rooms for a glass of wine. They had ended up doing much more than that, and it had taken the healer’s mind off the outcome of his examination. Now, he felt relaxed, resigned to whatever they would decide.

“Thandion, come,” gestured Legolas, patting the bed beside him.

Once his lover had sat himself down, Legolas watched him carefully.

“If you pass, what will you do?” he inquired, as he glanced back down to the book he read.

“Well, if I pass, I have two years of internship to complete before I will become a head healer. But eventually, I strive to study under the master healer, Lord Elrond. I know! I know!” he exclaimed, “there are so many who wish the same, yet I am studying his texts carefully. Perhaps if I apply for the exchange program…”

“You would do well, my friend, I know it.”

“What, what is he like? Lord Elrond? Do you know him well, Legolas?” he asked tentatively, hoping for a little insight into the mighty healer, one he had worshipped as a hero his entire life.

“Um.. what exactly do you wish to know, Thandion?”

“Is he patient and kind as I imagine him to be? Is he as wise as they say? an erudite?” finished Thandion, now enthused with the flame of intellectual adoration.

“Well, patient and kind he is, wise he also seems to me for he is Lore Master, versed in many subjects, and – he is of strong heart and mind, Thandion, for he has endured much in his long years, and yet he is not bitter, but empathic beyond what would seem reasonable.”

“’Tis true then, ‘tis all true,” he mused, almost as if to himself, his eyes dreamy and far away. “’Tis said that he can alleviate pain and suffering with a mere touch, or a word, something in his voice, they say.”

“Well, I have been his patient, and he is, indeed most skilled, Thandion. I took an arrow to the side, nothing serious, but the head was embedded somewhere….in there…,” he gestured vaguely to his side. “There is relief in his touch, Thandion, that much I know to be true.”

“Perhaps one day you will introduce him to me… who knows!” he smiled. “Oh and, uh – is he attractive?”

“His beauty lies in his strength, Thandion. His face is stern, severe, almost. He wears the lines of age and experience upon his face, his voice projects wisdom and leadership, and deep understanding of the world – herein lies his beauty, Thandion. Now, his body is strong, lithe – not a warrior’s body, mind you, and very, very well-proportioned.”

Thandion was frowning now, for how would Legolas know all that about Lord Elrond’s body…

“You seem to know the lord – very well…” he said, as if lost.

“Yes, I know him well, very well,” he said, holding Thandion’s gaze until understanding dawned in the youthful blue eyes that were now bulging, his mouth open.

“You – you are, you are lovers?” he blurted.

Smiling saucily, Legolas said nothing more, watching in amusement as his young lover stared uncomprehendingly at him.

“You mean… I am, I am sleeping with Lord Elrond’s lover! Elbereth I will never get a placement now, and even if I did, I would be trounced by….”

He was interrupted by the king’s mad chuckling.

“Ai, Thandion, peace!” he giggled again. “Lord Elrond, Lord Erestor and of course, Lord Glorfindel are my Noldorin lovers, yet no troth have we pledged, there is no promise of fealty, they know I would be incapable of such a thing – rejoice, for should you wish to join us some time, I am sure that would not be a problem…” he turned back to reading his letter, but with one eye on his young, innocent lover. And indeed he was not disappointed as a look of utter shock came to his lovely face, he had been struck dumb – well who wouldn’t, with the kind of suggestion he had just made, for to share a bed with those portents of nature was fantasy, simply wishful thinking to most. Yet he meant what he had said, for Erestor especially, would surely be attracted to Thandion, this he knew - Erestor enjoyed a little dominance in the bedroom, there was a definite kink to the serious Noldorin advisor.

“All this talk, this innuendo of taking pleasure with, with – them, I -,”

“You are hard, sweet Thandion?” he asked, brushing his palm over his groin. “Then come, bar yourself to this, one-armed warrior, and show me your desire,” he smiled, watching as the healer’s eyes closed in pleasure, before opening again as his hands moved to the strings of his breeches, pulling abruptly and freeing his eager erection for the king’s perusal.

……………………………………………………………………………..…..

Two days later, The Company rode into the fortress, dusty, filthy, battered and bruised, as always. Yet this time, Legolas and Galdithion were there to greet them, standing off to the side, for there would surely be wounded amongst them. Indeed, Nanern rode before Ram en’, although he was awake and seemingly lucid, albeit with a grimace over his tired face.

Koron en’ rode with Pengon, his leg heavily bandaged, and Glammo, although riding alone, sported a sling where his left arm rested.

Legolas was overjoyed to see Dorainen, their new recruit, ride in beside Idhreno, nothing but a scratch on his cheek to show for his first ride with The Company. Nothing serious then, discerned Legolas, as he turned to smile at Galdithion, who was too busy staring at his Noldo lover to even realize, to which Legolas simply rolled his eyes playfully.

Dima waited for the three injured to be taken inside, and then ordered the rest in for a routine check up before allowing them back to the barracks and the crowd of family and friends that waited patiently. Yet before he himself dismounted, he spotted the commander and saluted, throwing him a reassuring smile.

It had been some time since Legolas had been on this end of The Company’s arrival, and so he took a few moments to observe. Now inside the halls, he spotted Thandion who was tending to Koron en’ who had a nasty slash to his thigh. Glammo sat perched on the side of another table, resisting Balentar’s hand as he tried to push him down into a horizontal position. The Noldo healer bent close to whisper something into the lieutenant’s ear, something which was obviously unsavory, as Glammo immediately conceded, laying himself down and allowing the healers to take control of his body with a sour grimace. Legolas made a mental note to ask the healer what he had said, for it could be a useful tactic indeed.

Nanern seemed to be the worst off, for he lay still as Antien inspected his side, and Legolas now approached, keeping his distance.

“Is it serious?” mumbled Legolas from behind the Greenwood healer.

“No, but he will be off duty for two weeks, my Lord. A cut to the side that has bled profusely, he will need the time to recuperate his strength.”

“Very well, thank you, Antien.”

The healer simply nodded as he bent over the wound and began his treatment.

The prognosis for Koron en’ was much the same, two week’s rest, and Glammo would be out for a week with a nasty slash to the bicep. It was just as well, thought Legolas, as he went in search of Elladan. He himself was only now starting to train, and the holster would be off tomorrow. He would suggest that for the next two weeks they rest and recover while he himself trained hard with Barathon, for he had so much to work on in so little time, he was actually glad they would not be riding out immediately.

Dima was sitting near the entrance of the healing halls, still in full gear, filthy from battle and days on the road. He sipped on a cup of fresh water an assistant had procured for him, and as Legolas approached, he stood and bowed, before the lord gestured for him to sit once more.

“So tell me, Captain. How went the hunting?” he asked as his eyes scrutinized those of his most trusted of elves.

“It went extraordinarily well, my Lord. We exterminated a good number and we believe the situation is back under control. Captains Gondien and Barabor will return in one week to report, but the outlook is most positive.”

“Well done, then, my friend. And The Company? What of Glammo and Rafno, and our new recruit?”

“Dorainen has committed himself well. He will need a little further training, but he has shown courage and companionship, and skill with the bow and blades. As for lieutenants Melven and Elladan, I can give you an excellent report on their performance. Elrondion especially, strikes me as an obvious candidate for leadership, Legolas; he shows many qualities, and his sense of sacrifice is very strong. He cares for others before seeing to his own comfort, and is well-loved for it.”

Legolas smiled then, knowing exactly what Dima meant. He had seen it himself that first time they had ridden together.

“Yes, I agree. Let us see what a little more experience yields then.”

“Yes. Ah, and one more thing, my Lord. I believe it is time for Melven to prepare for the short sword trials. He has become very good, you know, I commended him on the field. Elladan is also improving notably with the sword, although he will need a little more time, I believe, and not for lack of skill, but of physical strength – he will need to build his musculature.”

“Well, well. Who would have thought,” mused Legolas aloud, thinking on that day when Melven had boasted his skill with the weapon, unwittingly challenging a grand master in the art. He smiled indulgently, for his friend had come so far since that day, and now, he was on the verge of gaining his first master…

“Dima, we are in for a two-week halt, for we cannot ride with three less, not now. I will be two-armed as of tomorrow and so I will train with Melven and Elladan, and you will take Barathon and Dorainen.”

“Barathon is riding?”

Legolas’ face turned sour, his lips setting firmly into a thin line.

“The council has forced the issue, Dima. It is now beyond my control. I did, however, manage to work in a binding condition, that if he does not follow orders, at the slightest hint of rebellion, he will be excluded – for good.”

Dima sat staring unbelievingly at his commander. “They have disregarded your council?”

“Completely, my friend, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. All we can do now is pray to Yavanna that he heeds our words and not be the cause of grief.”

They both sat there, holding each other’s eyes, both knowing that the possibilities of Barathon ever working harmoniously within The Company were scarce indeed, and as for causing grief – well, that was simply a question of time.

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

Once Dima had left for the barracks, Legolas returned in search of Nanern’s room. Finding him immediately, he entered the softly-lit room, finding it occupied by four others, family of his warrior, he knew. Nodding, he moved over to the bed where he lay.

“Nané,” he called softly, looking down on the warrior from beside the bed. He was pale, his features worn and tired. Funny, he mused, for he looked older suddenly, care worn.

“Hwindo,” he mumbled as he opened his eyes slowly.

“How goes it, Nané?” he asked, crouching down by his head, reaching out to touch his cold brow.

“Alright, just a few days,” he mumbled back.”

“A few weeks, perhaps. Take your rest, my friend. We are not riding out until you are well, so you will not miss anything.”

“Um… good,” he said, as his eyes slipped shut once more. Rising, he smiled kindly to the warrior’s family and friends who had stood back to give the commander some privacy.

“Let me know should you require anything,” he said to them, to which they smiled and bowed, placing their hands upon his shoulders and back as he left.

Satisfied that his warriors were settled and in need of nothing, he went in search of Elladan and Melven, yet he did not find them where he had expected to, for Melven had escaped his bed, much to the annoyance of Balentar.

“My Lord, on the few occasions that I have treated that lieutenant, it has always been the same, he is as stubborn as a mule I tell you!”

“Peace, Balentar. Should I retrieve him for you?”

“Nay, my Lord. He will be alright, but it is protocol to stay in the halls for 24 hours with blade wounds, they often cause infection.”

“Aye, well. I will escort him myself if I see any sign of it, will that do, healer?”

“Yes,” he smiled, taking a deep breath. Forgive me my short temper, my Lord,” he said as he raked his hand through his hair.

“You are tired,” observed Legolas. “You should take some rest, Balentar.”

“Yes, yes. I have been making some progress with my antidote for Red Fang, but there is something missing, something that eludes me – slips through my fingers again and again…”

“Your work is commendable, Balentar. If the antidote is ever developed, it will be one of the most important contributions to healing for a very long time. We lose many to that beast’s vile toxin, and many more suffer its effects for many years. Would that you find the missing link soonest, my friend.”

“Indeed, my Lord. And you, will be pleased to know that tomorrow, your arm will be free of that ‘contraption’ as you put it.”

“I know, I have been counting the days, Balentar, ‘tis truly uncomfortable, and it itches fiercely!”

“Yes,” chuckled the healer. It would do. Come see me after breakfast then.”

“I will be most punctual,” he smiled, before nodding and walking away in search of his wayward Noldor friends.

However, he came face to face with Thandion, who stood before him, smiling enigmatically at his lover.

Legolas watched him carefully, cocking his head to the side and wondering what it was that Thandion was smiling about, and then it suddenly dawned on him.

“You passed?”

“I did!”

“Ai,” he exclaimed as he flung his good arm around his waist and whirled the surprised and now delighted healer around.”Healer Thandion…, um – it sounds good!”

“Yes, after so long, Legolas. I will visit my family later this evening, they are planning a little celebration.”

“I am so very happy for you, my friend. You will do well, I know it.”

“Thank you, Legolas – for your friendship.”

“You are most very welcome,” he smiled, before nodding and leaving in search of his friends, a stunned Antien and Balentar watching on from the other room…. How had young Thandion managed that?

……………………………………………………………………………………………

He found his friends in the first place he looked – at the field barracks together with Galdithion. They had gathered in Melven’s room, for Elladan had agreed to aid in his escape, so long as he submitted to his orders as a healer, which he had readily done, and now sat upon the bed as the other two lounged in the chairs at its side.

“You have irritated the Noldo healer to no end, my friend...” said Legolas, thus announcing himself as he sauntered into the room and sat on the end of the bed.

“Aye well, he wanted to drug me – Elbereth, ‘tis only a small wound, it does not merit bedrest!” he said as he flapped his good arm in the air.

“Melven, the reason for that protocol is poison. Over half our warriors that take insignificant cuts such as yours fall with infection or intoxication in 24 to 48 hours…”

“Half?” exclaimed Elladan. “By my word, had I known I would not have aided you, my friend.”

“Well it is too late now, is it not? Besides, you are here to help me if anything untoward should happen…” said Melven, although truth be told, he had visibly paled when Legolas had given him that little morsel of information.

“So what is our schedule now, Legolas?” asked Elladan.

“Well, with Nanern and Koron en’ out for two weeks, and Melven for one, we cannot ride out. So, we will stay here for that time. The fact is, that it serves us well, for I have only just begun to train again, and this – thing – comes off tomorrow, so sword and knife training are compulsory for me. Now, a little bird has told me that Melven may be ready to take his grade as master in short swords, and that Elladan may begin to train for his in the long sword…”

“Ah! Wonderful!” exclaimed Galdithion. “How long before they can do their trials, do you think?”

“I do not know yet, Gal. For the moment, I suggest we take advantage of the time and train together for the next two weeks. From tomorrow, endurance and strength training for one week, especially you, Elladan. Then, I can tutor Melven, and Dima could tutor Elladan, – what do you think?

“Perfect!” all three said at once, before chuckling at the coincidence. However, Legolas broke the good humour with his next comment.

“Also, Prince Barathon will be joining us, although he will train with Dima and Dorainen for the moment…”

“Ai Legolas, do not tell me they have forced his inclusion?” said Melven, his face a fierce scowl, for he loathed the elf with a vengeance.

“Yes – I am afraid that is, indeed the case. No amount of arguing has been sufficient to sway those that would see the prince in what they consider his ‘rightful place’. I have been working with him since you left, but he needs all the input he can get, and…. I need your cooperation, my friends…”

“And you have it, Legolas,” said Elladan, who turned his head to Melven, who also nodded, yet his face was a mask of steel.

“Then let us do this, for Barathon must form a part of The Company on our next ride – and… Melven will do so as a master of the short swords if I have anything to do with it – are you up to it, Lieutenant?” he asked, a definite challenge to his voice.

Melven grinned, as his mind catapulted him back to Imladris, on that day he had dared to teach the Greenwood prince… and yet how fate had come full term and now, he had a real opportunity to show his skill, to finally be recognized as worthy. He would give it his all, and should he fail, he would simply try again, and again.

“I am up to it, Legolas, if you will show me the way,” he said, his eyes fixed on those of his friend’s, returning the challenge.

“I am up to it – Melven. It would be my honour to guide you to mastery.”

“Ah, I almost forgot,” interrupted Elladan as his hand plunged into his pocket, revealing a closed fist which he now held out before him.

“Show me your prize, Elrondion,” urged Legolas, an expectant smile upon his face.

Opening his fist, Legolas saw the very tip of a pincer, a spider’s pincer. Smiling, he looked to his friend for confirmation.

“You killed your fist Yellow Belly?”

“I did,” he said, his eyes glittering.

Yet before he could congratulate his friend, Melven had dug his own, good hand into his pocket and now held out his hand, a yellow fang lying upon it.

“Your first warg?”

“Yes!” replied the grinning Melven.

“Then tomorrow, we celebrate, just us four, and Lindo, if he will come!!”

“He will come, Hwindo, I will make sure of it!” said a smiling Melven.
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Arcane Land