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Greenleaf & Imladris 14 - Crucible of Love	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 6739 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 2
- 3
- 4
Part III

They rode side by side, yet spoke no words to each other. Elladan had ensured that he and Legolas flanked the younger twin for much of the journey, which served to discomfit Elrohir almost constantly. He was clearly affected by the prince’s proximity to him and did his utmost to keep his attention anywhere but on the figure beside him.

That avoidance should have hurt Legolas but oddly enough it did not. The Elf-prince actually found a sense of comfort and relief in Elrohir’s actions. For why else would the warrior behave so unless it was because he still held his regard for his Mirkwood friend and was fighting it for whatever reason had compelled him to start their estrangement in the first place.

Theirs had not been the warmest of meetings in the courtyard of the Last Homely House. Elrohir had been clearly taken aback when Legolas joined the small host of Rangers and their Elven kin in the early hours of three days past. A questioning look at an unrepentant Elladan told the tale.

“Can I not trust even you, brother?” Elrohir said reproachfully as they swung lithely onto their mounts.

Elladan coolly replied: “Oh, you can trust me, gwanneth.”—younger twin. “You can trust me to do right by you.”

Elrohir snorted, trained a wary eye on Legolas then urged his steed forward, away from his twin and the prince. Elladan scowled at the flicker of pain that crossed Legolas’ face. It was not a promising start.

That first day, the brethren found themselves at odds with each other. A thing so rare that even the seasoned Rangers, so used to impossibilities becoming possible, would surreptitiously observe them, wondering at their discord.

But their twinship did not allow such lengthy separations of their sibling spirits even if they chose to keep secrets from each other. By day’s end, they were on speaking terms once more though Elrohir remained cautious and almost maddeningly reserved. And he kept his distance from the archer whenever possible much to Legolas’ frustration and growing impatience. Hence, Elladan’s insistence that they ride three abreast with Elrohir in the middle.

Legolas watched him now as he hung back slightly to speak with young Halbarad who rode just behind them. Estel’s kinsman, he was a gangly youth barely a year removed from his majority. It was his first long sojourn with his fellows and as such he was still equal parts excited by and apprehensive of what lay before them. Elrohir, evidently missing his exuberant charge, had taken said charge’s cousin under his wing, providing a windfall of knowledge and experience for the raw, almost painfully untried lad.

Indeed, it could be said that the brethren had once upon a time been mentors to fully half of the Dúnedain present, so admired and sought after were their formidable skills and sage counsel. It was most natural for one or the other twin to instruct any young addition to the Rangers’ numbers. As Elrohir was doing now for Halbarad.

It was cause for both admiration and annoyance to the Mirkwood prince.

He had to esteem Elrohir’s gentle yet strict handling of Halbarad for it guaranteed the boy’s future confidence in his abilities. But he also could not help begrudging the attention the Elf-knight paid to the youth, attention he dearly desired for himself. Too long had he gone without the younger twin’s peerless regard. He feared that if he did not have his say soon, he would release his opinions in a manner that was sure to provoke only more unpleasantness between them.

He was saved from indulging in such ill-conceived methods by the timely and altogether violent encounter with the very Orcs they sought.

The twins had indeed known the territory well. They chose the quickest paths to the mountains, leading the troop through a rather desolate landscape devoid of lush forests and velvet meadows. A lonely place far from all friendly realms, Legolas thought. Yet the brethren had dared to venture this far in their errantry. It spoke of their courage and hardiness and only roused the archer’s admiration further.

In less time than might be expected, he saw the first craggy peaks of the Withered Heath jutting out in the distant horizon. He grimaced at the thought of traveling to so isolated an area. Only Dwarves could possibly tolerate such a bleak domicile, he mused as his eyes made out what he surmised to be the tip of Mount Gundabad.

But as it soon turned out, there was no need to travel to the mountains. The brethren picked up the first signs of the Orcs’ passage while they were still days away. With fearsome swiftness, they tracked the goblins down, their years in the wild hunting these loathsome creatures paying off with bountiful results.

The Rangers surprised the Orcs as the creatures made their hunched way down the stony plains, springing from the concealment of boulders and shrubbery when the vile band passed by. Swords flashed and arrows sang as battle was engaged.

The ensuing fray was brutal and soul-blackening, the hunters cutting down their prey without ruth, without thought, without even the barest hint of pity. And likewise the prey fighting back, ferocious in their fear, driven by their desperation, savage by dint of their scorching fury.

In the midst of the carnage, Legolas noted that Elrohir and Elladan remained by Halbarad’s side, protecting the callow youth in this first bloodying. Of this he heartily approved; the boy was still a mere stripling and no match for such fell opponents. The brethren stood between him and cruel oblivion.

Yet the lure of long brotherhood in conflict eventually proved all too strong. Unbidden, an Orc blade was deftly deflected from its target, the lissome neck of the Mirkwood Elf.

Legolas spun on his heel in gratitude, had a moment to stare in surprise as Elrohir parried yet another stroke, guarding the archer’s back as he had oft done of yore. Before long, the favor was returned as the prince gutted a charging Orc whose objective had been to skewer the Elvenlord on the end of its rough-hewn lance.

Legolas felt a surge of exultation, recalling times past when he and the twin had fought as one, their movements a near seamless ballet that fended off assaults with seeming ease and made of them efficient dispensers of damage and death. Their bitter parting had seemingly shattered their gallant comradeship.

Six years had he thought their deep bond of friendship at an end. Six years had he mourned its passing. Now, it was strikingly clear that his sorrow had been premature.

He could deny it, conceal it, pretend it was not so. But in this primal confrontation, with danger as their companion, Elrohir’s instincts betrayed him. His heart bested his will.

The Elf-knight still cleaved to his Mirkwood brother.

*******

The battle’s end heralded the tedious task of disposing of the fallen. They would not leave the festering corpses of the Orcs to taint this land however empty and forsaken. The Dark Lord had already despoiled as much of Middle-earth as they were willing to endure. Even a barren waste was to be treasured and protected if it still lay unstained by Sauron’s unholy touch.

The Rangers heaved the stinking carcasses of their foes onto a steadily growing pile. When the last of the corpses had been tossed onto the heap, Elladan set it afire with little relish and much relief. Here was one less horde to bedevil the denizens of this patch of Middle-earth. In such victories did he and his brother find their peace amidst the stench-ridden consequences of their errantry.

He watched for a while as the flames consumed the goblin remains. And then he turned to seek his brother and friend.

The sight that greeted him could hardly have lightened his spirits. Elrohir had taken a badly shaken Halbarad to one side and there shielded the lad as he emptied his belly into a straggling patch of tall grass. One of the Rangers approached with a flask of water and handed it the retching boy. Elladan watched with sympathy as Halbarad took a swig and swished the liquid around in his soured mouth before spitting it out. His color returned somewhat and he nodded his thanks to the older Man, smiled ruefully at his Elven mentor.

Elladan could not blame the lad for the upheaval in his innards. Even he could not long endure the reek of burning Orc flesh, he who should have been inured to it after centuries of inhaling it. Halbarad was fortunate to have Elrohir as his teacher in this, his first Goblin-hunt.

A figure in green and brown crossed the filth-cluttered clearing, cloak billowing behind. Elladan wondered how Legolas fared.

The Elf-prince seemed little affected by what had passed, his demeanor cool and precise as ever. But the warrior knew better. The archer’s blue eyes conveyed the true tale. The light of battle had been quenched and replaced by weariness not so much of the body but of the spirit. True to his elven roots, even the woodland Sinda, for all his elemental nature, could not find true pleasure in the ending of life however detestable that life might be. The prince leaned forlornly against a scarred tree then looked in Elrohir’s direction.

Elrohir had set to treating the wounds of a grizzled Ranger. He was bent over the Man, his comely face a picture of concentration as he tended to the latter’s injury. He seemed quite unaware of the eyes that studied him relentlessly.

The longing for the Elf-knight’s solace was so glaringly apparent in the archer’s gaze that Elladan thought his brother must surely feel its force. And indeed it seemed that Elrohir did sense Legolas’ regard for he suddenly looked up and met the archer’s gaze. A moment later, he dropped his eyes once more but Elladan saw how his hands trembled as he drew bindings around the Man’s arm. The older twin smiled grimly.

Try as you may, you cannot set aside your heart’s desire, brother.

******

“He is troubled,” Elladan softly remarked as he and Legolas drew on their clothing after their first refreshing bath in nearly three days.

The Rangers had set up camp in a small clearing in a wooded area several leagues south of the Ered Mithrin. Here sparse forests made their welcome appearance, as did running springs and grassy plains. The Elves, to the Men’s never ending amusement, at once took the chance to wash themselves in a nearby stream, stripping not only the gore and grime of travel and battle from their bodies but also the regrets an encounter with their long-ago kin always wrought.

“By what?” Legolas queried, keeping his eyes on the Elf-knight as the latter walked back to the camp.

“I do not know,” Elladan admitted. “But I could sense his distress.” He looked at his friend. “And you must know ‘tis your presence that caused some part of it.”

The Elf-prince nodded. “That was most apparent.”

“He is...struggling,” Elladan said hesitantly. He turned introspective, forgetting for a moment the presence of his friend. “Fighting himself I warrant,” he murmured. “Fighting what he desires.”

“And what desire would this be?” Legolas inquired curiously, pondering the warrior’s thoughtful expression.

“What his heart demands,” Elladan answered absently. “If only he could tell—”

He broke off, suddenly aware of his rambling. He bit his lip guiltily. Elbereth, he’d nearly revealed Elrohir’s secret. And to the one person who could not, should not know of it. Not yet.

“Tell?” Legolas prodded.

Elladan evaded the question gracefully. “Tell us what troubles him,” he replied. “How can we help him if we know not what disturbs him?”

Legolas frowned. Somehow, he’d received the impression that Elladan had been about to say something else. But the older twin did not look like he was about to say more and he decided to let it go for the present.

“Let us approach him then,” he urged instead.

Giving Elladan no chance to protest, he pulled the twin along as he determinedly made his way to Elrohir.

“Legolas, this may not be the right time to—”

The prince cut him off impatiently. “When is the right time then?” he demanded. “You said he is distressed. If so, he needs our help now, not later.” He glanced a little contritely at the somewhat flustered twin. “And in truth, I cannot bear this...this waiting any longer.”

Elladan considered the matter then nodded. He followed the woodland Elf to where his brother sat beneath the eaves of a stunted tree some distance away from the center of camp.

Quietly, they dropped down on either side of him, taking him by surprise. He looked from one to the other cautiously, his glance at Legolas considerably more abrupt than the look he cast upon his twin. He shifted his position slightly, pulling his leg away when Legolas’ thigh nudged his as the latter settled beside him.

“Something besets you, muindor”—brother—Elladan said gently. “Will you not share it with us? We would dearly like to help you.”

The younger twin regarded him suspiciously then shook his head. “There is nothing,” he insisted. “I am well.”

“I wish we could believe that,” Legolas murmured.

Elrohir stiffened. He darted a wary look at Legolas. “What do you want of me, Mirkwood prince?”

Legolas ignored the impersonal address and lay a comradely hand on Elrohir’s where it rested upon his hard thigh. The warrior tried to extricate it but he held fast and gripped it even more snugly.

“Whatever divided us before matters not to me, Elrohir,” the archer said softly. “I would that we be friends again. I wish you would tell me what went so wrong between us.”

“I – nothing. There is nothing.”

Elrohir was clearly uneasy now, whether from their joint pressure on him or Legolas’ nearness, Elladan did not know. But there was no mistaking his slowly rising agitation as he strove to rid himself of their company.

“Leave me,” he tersely requested. “I wish to be alone.”

“Nay, you should not be alone,” Elladan said frowningly. “Elrohir, what is wrong? What are you hiding from us? From me?”

The haunted gaze his brother turned on him nearly stripped him of his very breath. He began to reach out to hug his beleaguered twin, his heart wrenching at the unfathomable pain he had glimpsed in the argent eyes. But almost at the same moment, Legolas raised his hand and tucked a strand of raven silk behind Elrohir’s ear.

Without warning, the Elf-knight reared out of the archer’s reach, yanked his hand out of his grasp. He lurched to his feet, trembling so visibly it shocked the others. Elladan managed to clutch at one outstretched hand.

“Elrohir!” he exclaimed in alarm, rising to his feet as well. “Brother, what ails you?!”

“Stay away!” Elrohir rasped, desperation in his tone. “Just stay away!”

It was impossible to know if he meant his warning for one or both of them for he looked at neither but stared almost longingly into the depths of the clustered trees behind them. Legolas had also risen and he now moved closer to peer anxiously at Elrohir. Once more he lifted a hand, placed it on the warrior’s shoulder to rub it soothingly. It was a habitual gesture between them, nothing unusual in the least. Yet it had an electrifying effect on Elrohir.

He jerked away, snatched his hand from Elladan’s grip.

“I told you to stay away!” he cried. “Leave me be!”

With that he turned and strode rapidly into the shadows of the surrounding woods. Elladan and Legolas stared after him in stunned bewilderment.

To be continued…
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Greenleaf & Imladris 14 - Crucible of Love