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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 III: Retribution

Foothills of Hithaeglir, Ringarë TA 2509

It was too good to be true. The Orcs smacked their twisted lips in anticipation as they watched the lithe figure pick its way amongst the craggy foothills of the Misty Mountains. A lone Elf was a rarity in these parts. And not just any Elf but one of the hated Peredhil. There was no doubt about the identity of this traveler. The raven hair, the steely grey eyes. And a countenance and form like no other. Fair and lean as the Firstborn yet possessed of a subdued earthiness and subtle brawn reminiscent of Men.

They did not know why he was alone in so perilous a place. But they were not about to complain. He would give them good sport, this son of the Lord of Rivendell. He would fight until the very end, of that they were certain; they would enjoy trying to break him if they could.

They waited with bated breath as he neared their position.

But just as they were poised to pounce, he stopped, looked pointedly their way, then turned and raced in the opposite direction. Howling in fury that their intended prey might yet escape them, the Orcs erupted from their hiding places and pursued him.

He was fleet-footed, this Peredhel. Fleeter than any Elf they’d yet encountered. But there were many of them, about fifty in all. They began to spread out, meaning to surround their quarry before he should gain the concealing forests beyond. To their surprise, however, the Elf turned and headed back towards the foothills.

Further into the hillocks he fled until he was sprinting down a narrow cleft. The Goblins gnashed their teeth with glee. Foolish Elf! They had him now. There was no way out of this passageway.

As they expected, he came up against a wall of solid rock. He spun around and eyed his pursuers, the twilight pools glittering warningly. The Orcs came to a halt several feet away from him. Something about this Elf unsettled them.

He showed no fear at all. Despite being trapped against an unyielding rock face, hemmed in by the cleft’s high ridges and faced with a band of orcs intent on his ruination, the Peredhel did not seem the least bit afraid. A number of the more quick-witted of the Orcs wondered whether it was sheer courage or mere bravado that helped him maintain his eerie calm.

A few goblins in the front lost their patience and hurled themselves at their victim. Moments later, their heads rolled on the dusty ground. The Elf had drawn his sword and decapitated them with wicked speed and dexterity. And still the steely eyes regarded them with cool contempt.

For several heartbeats the Orcs did not move, shocked by his audacity in the face of their superior numbers. Then they bunched together. This Elf was cunning and highly skilled. Best to rush him en masse and give him little room to wield his deadly sword. Moving as one, they surged forward.

High above the advancing Goblins, something dark snapped out, billowed and dropped down upon them. Suddenly, the Orcs found themselves hopelessly tangled in a net woven from hithlain, the material of which the soft but surprisingly strong rope of the Golden Wood was made. Those that had managed to elude the net’s embrace were swiftly cut down by a volley of arrows from above.

The hunters had become the prey.

Elrohir, his lips curled into a feral smile, advanced upon the snarling, heaving mass of Orcs, sword in hand. An instant later, Elladan and Legolas dropped down from the ridges and joined him, their lethal blades unsheathed. The cleft echoed with screams of pain and fear as the Elves fell upon their trapped foes with savage precision. It was a slaughter, pure and simple.

*******

Legolas leaned against the trunk of the great oak under which he reclined. Thank the Powers he’d been able to wash off all the gore and grime though it had taken an abominably long time to vanquish the stench of dead and dying Orcs. He wondered how much longer they would continue thusly.

They had camped by a rushing stream within a day’s journey from the feet of Hithaeglir. First refreshing themselves in the stream, they’d then set about securing the site. While Elladan tended to their horses, Elrohir had built a goodly fire, which was more a deterrent against fell beasts than a means of warmth for the three Elves. After gathering enough wood for their needs, Legolas had settled himself beneath the oak and let his thoughts follow their appointed path. He considered their bleak surroundings, most trees stripped bare of their foliage, the grass withered by the cold.

The chill of winter was already in the air. Soon, frost would cloak the land with its icy mantle and even the orcs would retreat into their dank and dreary dens. He let out a weary breath.

Nearly three months had he journeyed with the twins, scouring the mountains and forests for Goblins; luring, trapping and slaying all they could discover with frightening efficiency. He’d never realized how creative the brothers could be in the killing-arts. Or how brutal and pitiless. It was difficult to reconcile the ruthless hunters they had become with the compassionate friends he’d long known.

As always, Elrohir was the more intense, the more coldly determined of the two. It was he who more oft than not served as bait for the snares they set, he who took the greatest risks in every encounter with orcs, trolls and even human outlaws. And when his fearsome rage was unleashed, it was he who showed the least mercy to their foes, taking no prisoners but sending them all to their untimely ends.

Legolas turned his regard to the brethren. Elladan was busy currying his steed. Elrohir, on the other hand, sat by the fire, staring intently into the flames. The fiery glow cast a golden sheen upon his countenance, making him look much younger and more innocent than he was. Legolas felt a twinge of regret.

Fate had dealt his friends a cruel hand. Elrohir had been right. Legolas’ mother was the more fortunate; she was at peace as Celebrían was not. And as for himself... True, he had suffered through the death of Ithilwen and all the guilt and anger that had followed. But the twins had to endure a greater torment. There was no hope of closure for them while their mother continued to relive the torment of her captivity. Nor was there a means of purging the emotions that haunted them; not when they could see and hear and sense Celebrían’s incessant pain and terror. Once I mourned my mother’s passing, I was able to move on, the prince mused. But they...

It occurred to him then that many years would pass before Elrond’s sons would be able to relinquish their anger and desire for retribution. If they ever managed to do so at all. A shiver coursed through his limbs. He did not want that to happen. He did not wish for bitterness and hatred to have sway over them to the exclusion of all other feelings.

Not Elladan though, he thought. The older twin would weather this eventually and come out relatively unscathed. Always the less passionate of the brethren, he would not let this consume him.

Elrohir was a different matter. The Elf-knight was deeply passionate about the people and things he cared for. Once committed to a person or a cause, he rarely if ever swerved from the course he’d chosen. It was both a virtue and a bane. But for those he loved and who in turn loved him, it was a much treasured blessing.

Nevertheless, it was this trait that might yet lead his friend to ruin and this Legolas refused to allow to happen. Come what may, he had to help Elrohir find the delicate balance that would keep him from blindly pursuing this perilous quest. Starting now.

He rose and joined the younger twin by the fire. Elrohir glanced at him and smiled wanly. Legolas placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Winter is upon us,” he said. “‘Tis time we returned to Imladris and time you rejoined your family.” When Elrohir made no reply, he pointed out: “Even the orcs will return to their holes to wait out the cold. Would you take so great a chance as to follow them into their dens just to destroy them? ‘Twould be folly, gwador.”—sworn brother.

“Legolas is right,” Elladan said as he came to them and sat to face his brother. “We cannot do more in this season. And besides, Adar”— Father—“expected us to return ere winter set in. Would you have Glorfindel come searching for us?”

Elrohir shook his head. “Nay, I would not trouble him and with Erestor still on the mend.” He looked from Elladan to Legolas. “We will return. There is nothing more to do here for now.”

Legolas narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “For now? Elrohir, surely you do not mean to do this again. Promise me you will not.”

“I cannot, Calenlass,” Elrohir regretfully said. “If Nana”—Mama—“does not improve...” He turned unseeing eyes into the gathering darkness beyond their camp. “I know not what I will do. Not yet.”

Elladan reached out and clasped his hand. “I am of the same mind, brother,” he stated. “If she fails to recover, we will do what we must. Together.”

Legolas sighed in frustration. “And will you forget all else in this quest?” he demanded. “What of your father and Arwen? Would you forsake them to fear and loneliness?”

Elrohir turned a sad countenance upon him. “Better to leave them than subject them to our black moods. ‘Tis not only you who cringes at my demeanor.”

Legolas flinched at the knowing words. He had tried to conceal his discomfort with the Elf-knight’s behavior. He’d thought he had managed it. But now it was apparent he had not.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to—”

“Avo”—Don’t—Elrohir cut him off. “‘Tis natural for you to be discomposed by how I have acted and what I have done.”

“By what we have both done,” Elladan corrected. “We have long seen your unease, Legolas. And we understand and accept. Yet you have stayed by us despite everything. For that you have our most profound gratitude.”

Legolas could not help blushing at the older twin’s heartfelt pronouncement. Elladan did not speak thusly to him as often as Elrohir. That he now did so indicated his deep appreciation of Legolas’ deeds.

“What think you of our course now?” Elrohir softly asked. “Will this be the last we shall see of you for a while?”

Legolas stared at him, disconcerted by the question. They knew he disapproved of their decision and were expecting him to withdraw from their company for a spell. He pondered the situation for several minutes. Neither brother attempted to press him for an answer.

“I do not wholly agree with you,” he finally said. “But I will join you whenever I can. Come what may, you are still my friends and I do not care to forego your company, so precious is it to me.” At their relieved smiles, he added: “I only implore you not to let your anger rule you. While your mother’s suffering is great and demands vengeance, I beg of you, do not let it taint your lives. She would not desire that.” He glanced at Elladan then gazed at Elrohir, letting his concern shine clearly in his eyes. “I do not desire that.”

The Elf-knight regarded him affectionately before replying. “You are surely the Powers’ gift to us that you should counsel us now with such tender wisdom,” he said, causing the prince’s cheeks to color anew. “Rest assured, we will heed your words, Calenlass.”

Legolas felt some relief at the younger twin’s reply. It did not allay all his fears but, for the present, it was enough.

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

Glossary:

Ringarë – Quenya for December

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

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