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Greenleaf & Imladris 22-Bereth:To Have and To Hold	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3363 -:- 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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Chapter VI: Fraying Edges

The day passed awkwardly for the quartet but weighed most heavily on Legolas.

He was acutely aware that he had not managed to bridge the gap that had opened up between him and Elrohir. The Elf-knight now kept aloof from him, emotionally if not physically. Not that Legolas blamed him. He had uttered words that had struck at the very heart of their relationship and thus given Elrohir reason to doubt him. His subsequent actions had not been anything less than reprehensible. Now, with his mind cool and lucid once more, he reviewed what he had done and cringed at its sordidness.

What had he been thinking when he took Elrohir after having so demeaned him? True, his mate had yielded but what else could he have done in the face of Legolas’ insistent overtures? Reject him? Elrohir had never been one to turn him away when he was in need.

That was what smote him hardest. It had been his need that had been answered, not Elrohir’s. He’d gained the warrior’s forgiveness and assurances of love. But what had Elrohir received in turn? The archer sighed dolefully. In his panic, he had not taken the time to weigh his actions. He had wanted to prove his love to Elrohir but he had hardly chosen the most advisable way. There were times when wounds could not be mended by the joining of two bodies. He should have realized that before forcing his desire upon his spouse.

He would have to bide his time until Elrohir saw fit to trust him again. He could only pray it would not take too long for his mate’s distance hurt him grievously.

His sense of isolation was further aggravated by Elladan’s wary demeanor around him. Legolas knew that Elrohir would never betray the details of their quarrel to anyone, not even his twin. The days when they had openly shared everything were no more now that they were both espoused. There were certain matters that had to remain in confidence between binding-mates alone and the brethren observed this constraint as assiduously as when they had confided in each other. But the bond between them remained strong and they oft knew the other’s feelings or thoughts because of it. Elladan would not know the exact nature of Legolas’ transgression against his brother but he would have sensed that there *had* been one and would therefore respond accordingly. In this case, that meant being as mistrustful of Legolas as Elrohir now was.

If not for Gimli, he would have felt utterly alone. Not for the last time was he grateful for his Dwarf friend’s company.

They broke camp at first light the following day and were soon on the trail of their prey once more. But unlike before, the brethren seemed grimmer and more taciturn. Not even Gimli could pierce the shroud of reticence that enfolded them for long. This served to dishearten Legolas further.

It would have been easy for him to believe that, despite Elrohir’s claim to the contrary, the Elf-knight had ceased to care for him. Even during the worst times of their tension-fraught relationship in the past two years, he’d always left the door to reconciliation wide open. But now, it seemed no longer the case. The woodland prince struggled with a burgeoning fear that the door was slowly closing. Indeed, he’d have thought it shut already in the light of Elrohir’s demeanor with him. Except...

Every once in long while, Elrohir would look at him. And though his eyes were now hooded as they had never been before, he could not hide what lay deep in his heart. It glimmered still in the innermost reaches of those twilight pools though its brightness had been dimmed by hurt and disillusionment.

He still loves me, Legolas told himself almost desperately. He had to believe that Elrohir did.

He refused to think of what would become of him should that doom come to pass. That after all these centuries, the love that had succored him so tenderly even when he had not known it should now be withdrawn. And there would be no one to blame but himself.

In the days that followed, he took on more than his share of duties. He extended his hours on watch, sometimes even taking on whole nights instead of waking anyone for a turn. He saw to their steeds whenever the twins headed out on foot to track their elusive quarry. And he insisted on seeing to their supplies, hunting on his own here and then to add to their spartan stores. Anything and everything to ease the ache that troubled his heart whenever he reached out to Elrohir with his spirit only to receive a gentle but firm rebuff.

Their bond was still in place but it was shaky at best. He guarded it relentlessly, watchful for any sign of further weakening. Matrimonial bonds could not be broken but they could be damaged to the point of hollowness.

Each night, as he lay by Elrohir’s side, he longed to reach over and hold his mate in his arms. But he could not disregard the warrior’s tacit reluctance to be held or even touched by him. As his confidence of Elrohir’s love eroded, so did his sense of security in their relationship flag. It did not take long for him to begin to despair that he had irrevocably ruined what they shared. But his innate tenacity refused to allow him to give up hope and so he clung to the tenuous strands of affection he could still sense radiating from his distant spouse.

The fifth night descended accompanied by the coldest weather they had yet experienced. For several days now, the temperature had been steadily dropping. The chill climate had troubled the Elves little thus far and Gimli, hardy as he was, had needed only his thickest jacket to stave off its worst effects. But they were all disturbed anew by the lack of snow or even frost despite the plunging temperature. Here up high there should have been ice at the very least yet this was not so. For the first time, they began to consider the possibility of a connection between this strange winter and their present mission.

It seemed sorcery was at work. Dark sorcery.

“The passes and paths remain clear as do the roads below,” Elrohir commented as they discussed the matter before taking their rest.

They were seated around a small fire, the first they had stoked since their ascent into the mountains. It was for Gimli’s sake for the Dwarf, while admirably resistant, was at last feeling just the least bit chilled. At least, they were camped in a hollow surrounded by boulders and gaunt leafless trees and the glow of the fire could only be faintly discerned from without.

“Mayhap that is the intent for the lack of ice and snow,” Elladan mused. He pulled out a few pieces of the diaphanous fabric they had found along the way. “Blocked passes and trails would hinder not only the predators but their prey as well.”

“Traffic on the northern roads have been higher of late than in previous years,” Legolas said in a hushed voice.

“Aye, and the attacks only began very recently,” Elladan said. “Whoever or whatever is behind them has taken care to ensure that the victims could be taken with ease despite winter’s onset.”

“Not to mention in greater than expected numbers,” Gimli grumbled. “Even my kindred were not spared!” He glanced at the Elves. “But no Elf has thus been slain yet it seems.”

Legolas shook his head. “None so far. We may very well prove the first,” he added grimly.

He started when he felt a firm hand grasp his thigh, imparting fortitude with a slight squeeze. He looked at Elrohir who sat nigh to his side, almost not daring to hope that the Elf-knight had opened up to him for at least this moment. His hope was rewarded by the flash of argent eyes regarding him gravely. But gently.

Before Elrohir could withdraw his hand, he quickly clasped it in his and held it there, relishing the warm touch upon his leg. The warrior gazed at him with veiled eyes but Legolas glimpsed the still flickering affection in the grey wells. It vastly comforted him.

As was his wont of late, he insisted on taking the first watch. The others reluctantly agreed, aware he could very well stay on guard the whole night. But in this Elrohir voiced his disapproval.

“Wake me, Legolas,” he said. “I will not have you wearing yourself out again.” When the archer would have demurred, he placed two fingers against his lips. “Wake me,” he repeated.

The intimate sensation of the Elf-rider’s fingers upon his lips effectively silenced the prince. He nodded then wordlessly left to do his duty.

It was but a few hours later that Elrohir awoke. Much too soon to take his turn at sentry duty. What had roused him?

Unable to sleep any further he decided to relieve Legolas instead. Rising, he caught up his sword and headed for the archer’s position. But he grew uneasy when he neared it and Legolas was nowhere to be seen. It was then that he heard the faint sounds of strife further on. Concerned, he hurried towards the source of tumult.

His concern was well founded.

Little more than a few yards away, Legolas was engaged in a bruising fight with three goblins. The archer looked quite capable of dispatching them on his own but Elrohir was of no mind to take chances. Hesitating only a moment to touch his sleeping brother’s mind, he plunged into the fray and downed one with so savage a blow to its neck that the snapping of it was loud enough to hear. By now Legolas had gutted one of his opponents and hewed the feet out from under the other. With a swift downward stab of his sword he slew the legless orc.

Before either Elf had a chance to catch his breath, a swarm of orcs converged on them. One launched itself at them only to scream in pain when an arrow struck it full in its throat. Elrohir had a moment to grin as Elladan and Gimli showed up, the Dwarf obviously spoiling for a fight.

As before the orcs were well protected and armed. But again, they were not of the same caliber as the goblins Sauron and Saruman had employed in the Great War. These were ambushers and pillagers, not true soldiers of war. Nonetheless, they were formidable in numbers and strength if not in skill. They were not to be taken for granted.

Elrohir espied one orc as it broke ranks and sped away. With a scowl, he raced after it. They could not afford to let even one of the creatures escape anymore than they could afford to be captured. Surprise was their best weapon at the moment and he was of no mind to let this foul creation of Morgoth’s carry tales to its master whoever he may be.

One of the fleetest of the Firstborn of Middle-earth, he easily caught up with the orc. Though obviously no match for the Elf-lord in pure skill, the creature fought back with sheer brutality. In that, it was a force to reckon with and Elrohir had to bring all his power and strength to bear to subdue his opponent.

At last, he overcame the orc, knocking its black sword from its clawed hand and tripping it so that it fell to its knees. Attempting to rise, the goblin went utterly still as it felt the cold of sharp steel against the leathery skin of its neck. The creature, faced with a sword to its vulnerable throat, cravenly sued for mercy.

Eyeing it warily, Elrohir demanded that the orc tell him who its master was.

“Lomion,” the creature rasped. “Its name is Lomion.”

“It?” Elrohir snapped. “Do you not know if your master is man or woman?”

“It is impossible to tell,” the orc said. “It changes. We do not know what it is.”

Puzzled, Elrohir nevertheless continued to question his captive. “Where is its stronghold? Speak!” he commanded when the orc hesitated.

“High in the mountains near the eastern pass,” the creature finally answered. “A black fortress with high walls and a great tower.”

“Does Lomion not fear the cold-drakes in the mountains?” Elrohir said. “That is perilously close to where they lie if they still live.”

The orc cackled. “Worms are no more,” it spat out. “It took care of them all right.”

Elrohir narrowed his eyes in disbelief. The cold-drakes had driven the Dwarves from the Ered Mithrin. What power did this Lomion possess that would enable him to destroy them? He wondered if the orc was telling the truth or not.

“What of the women?”

“Women?”

“The women who have been preying on travellers along the northern roads.”

“Don’t know what you’re babbling about!” It yelped as the blade pressed in enough to draw blood. “Lomion’s pets! They’re his, aye!”

“How do they kill their victims?”

The orc could not help snortling with malicious glee. “Suck them dry,” it crowed. “Drains them.”

Elrohir frowned. “They feed on them?” he demanded, revulsion mingling with incredulity.

“Not on them,” the orc retorted contemptuously. “On their lives.”

Elrohir stared in utter horror at the now evilly grinning creature. “Their lives,” he repeated. “You mean their life’s force?” he added in spiralling shock.

“Aye, now you’ve got it. Not so bright for an Elf, are you?” the orc sneered. “Couldn’t figure it out on your own.”

Elrohir scowled but refused to be provoked into a careless rage. Straightening, he released the creature, sheathing his sword. He stepped back from his foe.

“Very well, then,” he snapped. “Be gone and never return to these parts if you value your wretched life.”

He turned his back on the cowering orc. In that instant, the creature suddenly grabbed its fallen sword and lunged forward aiming a murderous blow at the Elf-lord. Elrohir spun around, his arm swinging out in a graceful, lethal arc. His stroke neatly sliced the orc’s throat open.

It sank to its knees in shock and stared open-mouthed at the Elf. Elrohir glared back at it, his grey eyes cold and merciless.

“You did not really think that I would trust you, did you?” he calmly said. It was so much better when these creatures gave one a reason to kill them.

The orc toppled over onto its face, its dark blood forming a pool around its head. Elrohir slammed his sword back into its sheath and turned to rejoin the others.

Legolas was the first to mark his return. The Wood-elf hastened to him, blue eyes anxious.

“What happened?” he asked. “We lost sight of you and—” He broke off, patently shaken.

Elrohir placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “I only followed a goblin that sought to flee. I did not think it wise to let it get word of our presence to its master.”

“You slew it then,” Elladan ascertained.

“Aye, and more.” Swiftly he recounted what the orc had revealed to him under duress.

Their shock was understandable as he related the nature of the women’s manner of killing their victims. They found it as repulsive and horrifying as he had. But when he revealed the name of their nemesis, Elladan suddenly turned paler than he’d ever thought possible.

“Gwaniuar!—older twin! “What is it?” he demanded worriedly.

The older twin shook his head dazedly. “You must be mistaken. That could not have been his name.”

“The creature uttered it quite clearly. Elladan, what is wrong? Why should that name discomfit you so?”

“Ai, gwanneth”—younger twin—“have you forgotten who bore it?”

Elrohir stared at him in puzzlement for several seconds before his eyes widened in disbelief. “Nay, ‘tis not possible. He has been dead for more than two ages of this world!”

“Precisely! ‘Tis why I questioned you.”

Gimli interrupted impatiently. “What are you talking about? Who is dead?”

Elladan let out a shaky breath. “Only one Elf ever carried that name. Lomion was Aredhel’s name for her son, Maeglin.”

Legolas started. “How do you know this?”

“We heard it from Father and he in turn learned of it from a few of the survivors of Gondolin who came to Lindon. They’d had occasion to hear her call him by that name.”

“But how can this Lomion and Maeglin be one and the same?” Elrohir objected. “He died in that fall; struck the mountainside several times before pitching into the flames below. There were witnesses to this. Glorfindel saw it happen with his very own eyes!”

“I have no explanation for such an impossible occurrence,” Elladan admitted. “But if Lomion is indeed Maeglin, that means he survived that terrible fall against all odds.”

They stared at each other in deep perturbation. If their foe was indeed Eöl’s son returned, his very existence begged a host of puzzling question. How had he survived that fall? And how he had subsisted all these millennia they could not even begin to imagine. But subsisted it seemed he had, and now had emerged a perilous adversary and a terrible threat to all.

To be continued…
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Greenleaf & Imladris 22-Bereth:To Have and To Hold