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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
- 6
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- 8
CHAPTER SEVEN: The Nature of the Enemy

Today, Thranduil reminded himself once more, that there were two kings in this realm, his own son had been blessed with kingship, by the Valar, no less; he was amazed that this fact could still surprise him, yet it did – it seemed impossible, yet it was the truth. And in a sense he himself had also been blessed, that his child should be appointed for such a task. Was it a blessing though? Or was it a sacrifice Thranduil was compelled to make? Would he lose his son in the dark, only to become a martyr of Elvendom? Perhaps it was a curse then …

He sat on the window seat in his bedchamber, still only partially dressed, for a mood had taken him mid-way through his valet, and so he had sat before the beauty of the Evergreen Wood to ponder his feelings, for his mind was in a turmoil, and he would not leave the room until he had ironed out the niggling, annoying pieces that were causing him anxiety.

One issue, he knew, was the fact that Legolas’ ascension would have brought his most guarded memories to the fore, memories of she who had loved him more than any other, besides himself. His beautiful mother, his stunning, tragic mother, the one Thranduil had bound himself to for so many years, before losing her that fatidic day upon the barren fields of Rhovanion – and then, there was the pain in his heart for his son, because he would think of her and miss her, yet he would say nothing, deluding himself once more that his father would not realize, but he did, yet how he wished for blessed ignorance.

But there was more - everything that surrounded his son, for his soul was hardening, grief was drowning him – he could see it, feel it almost, and no amount of love and coaxing would lift the iron grip his son kept on his sentiments.

He sighed heavily then, placing a jeweled hand on the pane of glass before him, letting his cheek rest upon the cool emerald stone on his right index finger.

Yet what could he do? Legolas would not be swayed. Every time the subject came up, he would either change it deftly, or explain his reasoning once more – always the same argument, one that Thranduil found hard to refute. Should he allow himself to feel, if only for a moment, he could not know how, or indeed for how long it would affect him – would he be back in the fray the next day, or would he fall into a depression so deep it would render him useless?

He also knew that Legolas did not confide the darker moments of his forays into the south. He had heard tales from others, passing comments that had given a whole new perspective to the reports that Legolas gave him – he knew his son was a Peace-Giver – an executioner of elves that could not be saved – sîdhoneth - a kinslayer by definition. And he also knew the atrocities he had been forced to witness, and sometimes suffer. Legolas had once described what he perceived as the true nature of the enemy; it was not the orcs, the Uruks, the Ulairi – they were mere agents, the essence of darkness he defined as the face of true suffering upon an innocent soul – that, he had said, was the hardest thing.

He let his head fall back as far as it would go, before closing his eyes as he tried and failed to ignore the image of an infant Legolas, smiling up at him in joy and innocence, perched on the lap of his beloved queen with his short, podgy arms outstretched in an unspoken plea for love, comfort and protection.

…………………………………………………………………………………………….

Legolas focused his eyes to the early morning sunshine that streamed through the open balcony, a soft breeze of pleasing woodland aromas teased his nostrils and he smiled, for the Evergreen Wood saluted him. The Greenwood, however, told him of its suffering, and if he opened his mind just a little too much, he would hear the wailing laments of those that were succumbing to the constant onslaught emanating from the south, the plea for help from those further away, the constant summons they extended to the only one that could help them.

He needed to focus himself, for briefing and training would commence with his Noldorin friends, and then – he would be back in the field where work and camaraderie would take away the quiet, dangerous moments when unwanted memories came to the fore.

Yet yesterday evening’s stunning revelation had left him a little melancholic, for if his deduction was correct, his lover had been wearing the armband when he had lost his life. His eyes watered at the thought as he caressed the velvet bag that lay on the side table. He would find a safe place for it and take it with him when next he travelled to Imladris, for this symbol should rest upon the strong arm of his love once more – he would see it done.

Dressing informally, Legolas left his rooms in search of his friends and breakfast.

Galdithion and Lainion were already seated when the three friends approached and joined them, nodding dutiously to Legolas.

“Lainion is my father’s personal guard, and a dear friend to him; to me he is a brother; may I present Lord Elladan Elrondion, and Lieutenant Melven Hadorion.”

They exchanged formal greetings before seating themselves and beginning their repast. Melven was intrigued by the warrior that Legolas had introduced as his brother. His face was peculiar, he thought, leathery and somewhat dark, unusually lined, almost like a human, he mused. To his utter dismay, the warrior looked him straight in the eye and spoke.

“I am Avarin, and I am old. This is what old Avari look like,” he said, as if talking of the weather, his face a mask of peace and serenity as he continued to eat his food with relish.

Legolas smirked as he peeked at Melven, who was mortified beyond words for having been ‘caught’ staring.

“Melven, Elladan. There is one thing you need to learn quickly about Lainion. He enjoys mortification, it tickles him, shall we say. You provided the perfect opportunity for him to show his feathers, and worry not, for he is not angry with you, even though he may look it!”

“I, er, thank you, Lord Legolas,” said Melven, “I will remember that...” he trailed off lamely, reaching for the pollen and sprinkling it somewhat clumsily over his fruit.

“Reminds me of Erestor,” murmured Elladan, to which Legolas whipped his head round to Elladan, before chuckling loudly. He had not thought of that, but he was right, they did indeed have a few things in common.

Elladan smiled at Legolas’ mirth, as his eyes fell upon the arm bands that the Avar wore. He recognized the status of Master in short swords and archery, but there was one that escaped his knowledge.

“Lainion, what is this armband here, what does it signify?” asked Elladan as he gestured to the object, trying his own luck with the so far mercurial warrior.

Lainion smiled then, as his expression turned wicked, mercurial no more. “This is one that not even Legolas has. It signifies grand mastery in hand to hand combat.”

“He means,” began Legolas, “that I do not yet have that grade. I simply have not had the time to train for it,” he said nonchalantly.

Lainion snorted as he swallowed his food. “You cannot best me yet, young King.”

Legolas smiled then, before he replied. “Nay, I cannot best you, old brother.” His gaze lingered a little as it was returned by an equally smiling Lainion – the love they held for one another was clear for both Noldor to see, and it pleased them.

As breakfast came to a close, Legolas turned to Elladan and Melven, explaining the events of the day before them.

“We will begin the briefings this morning and you both need kitting out. If things go well and time is on our side, then Galdithion and I have a surprise for you, my dark-haired friends,” he said mysteriously, “for today, we will show you what lies below the fortress of the Greenwood…”

“Not the dungeons, I hope!” exclaimed Elladan – “I have heard all about those from the dwarven emissaries in Imladris.”

“Ah, but there is more down there than mere dungeons,” chuckled Legolas, “a place no dwarf has ever set foot upon, nor ever will. Come! For we should start now if we are to have free time before the evening meal - young lords must be properly preened at all times, is that not so, Gal?”

Elladan and Melven had no idea of what he spoke, but both Sylvans had exchanged gleefully mischievous grins – something was going on, they knew, and the mystery spurred them on, and a sense of delightful playfulness descended over them all. It would be a wonderful, memorable day.

……………………………………………………………………………………….

Legolas sat behind his desk, a desk that was perfectly neat, and clean, each scroll and parchment rigorously aligned with the one underneath, the ink pot completely straight, the blotting paper carefully placed with respect to the edge of the table that faced the commander, who sat straight-backed, calm and collected, lord and owner of his perfect table and its contents.

It was strange to see him here, as a scribe or secretary, for this was an elf of action, a field elf – yet ‘what had he expected?’ thought Elladan ruefully. Organizing an army this big required long hours of paperwork, he knew, yet he had always left that to Elrohir or Erestor.

Dimaethor joined them then, bowing to his commander before sitting beside the table and folding his arms.

“Lieutenants, we will start today’s activities by briefing you on the Greenwood militia, its organization, numbers, hierarchy and so forth. Captain?” prompted Legolas.

“We are two thousand strong,” began Dima. “The ratio of experienced field warriors and new recruits is approximately half, therefore early recruitment and intensive training are paramount to the safety of the realm.

Our troops are organized into groups of twenty – they cannot be large, as stealth is a major factor in almost any fighting situation in the Greenwood. Each group of twenty is a detachment, or patrol – The Company is one such detachment. In such a group, there is either a captain or a lieutenant, sometimes both if the mission is of importance. This means that there are 100 detachments all in all, each with a captain or lieutenant, or both. Do you both follow me so far? Are there any questions, Lieutenants?”

Both sat listening intently, each piece of information stashed away for future use. Dima had been nothing if not clear and succinct, and so they both nodded for him to continue.

“Some detachments are specialized in a particular area, north, south, east, west. They are particularly familiar with the trees and rivers of the area, and the small villages within, its people, leaders and so forth. Other detachments are itinerant, moving out to wherever they are needed, these are the detachments that usually contain the new recruits, although there are always exceptions.

The Company operates to the south, south-west and south-east, and so we often meet with Barabor and his men, or Gondien to the east.

It takes about a week of brisk riding to reach the southern areas. Generally, we will be away for a month, two weeks of which are travelling time, another two weeks to patrol the area, check on the dwellings and villages, and intercept any enemy activity. We then meet up with the southern detachment and we ride back to the fortress to rest for three or four days, if the situation permits, and then - we ride out again. That is our routine,” concluded Dimaethor, watching the two warriors for any sign of confusion. There was none.

It was Legolas who continued.

“Prince Bandorion, my uncle, commands the army together with myself. He organizes the patrols, distributes the manpower on my recommendations from the field. I decide our strategies and register all maneuvers in the field. Captain Dimaethor serves as lieutenant in the company, yet if I am away or unable to patrol, he takes over as captain. All the members of the company presently have the theoretical rank of lieutenant, yet they choose not to serve as such, so that we may stay together. Dimaethor, Pengon, Lindohtar, Ram en’Ondo, Koron en’ Naur, Idrenohtar and Nanern have been with me for many years, but we are eleven short in order to constitute a patrol. With you two, that leaves nine we must recruit either for this first ride, or the next. You will, therefore, be joined by six other recruits for the adjustment training.”

“A question, Commander, if I may?” asked Elladan.

At Legolas’ nod, he asked a question he knew may be somewhat sensitive, and so he proceded with caution.

“What happened in the Company?”

Legolas sighed, sparing a quick glance at Dimaethor who turned his head towards the window. After a moment, Legolas answered him slowly, and rather quietly.

“We were already four short but had not had the time to recruit new members, for that was a time of much enemy activity. We were, ambushed – taken captive, and by the time it was over, we had lost seven, either to torture, or later succumbing to infection as we fled to safety. This event spurred my father’s consent to seek help, and thus the Spring Festival, for he realized then, that we could not, should not, continue to fight in solitude.

Elladan was sorry he had asked, for the full story would be nothing short of horrific, he was sure.

“I am sorry, my Lord, I did not mean to bring you sadness,” said Elladan.

“I know, and the question was a pertinent one. Now,” he said, returning to the briefing and effectively avoiding any further inquiry. “It is important, before you start your adjustment training, that you know what enemy you face, and so I ask you now, Lieutenants. What nature of enemy have you fought – Melven?”

“Orcs and goblins, men occasionally, Commander.”

“The same for me, although I confronted a troll once,” added Elladan, a frown marring his face.

“Ah, was it painful?” asked Legolas, a half smile on his face.

“Excruciating, Sir.”

“Well, you will find those here too, although we haven’t sighted a troll for quite some time. Now we must add to your list the Uruk Hai, Red Fangs, Yellow Bellies, black wolves and Ulairi,” he said with a fierce smirk on his face.

He paused here, waiting for the inevitable reaction, and he was not disappointed, for both sat wide-eyed. On the one hand, they had no idea what an Uruk Hai was, and on the other, they had not realized they would have to face black riders. As for the spiders, they had heard rumours, and both were frankly apprehensive of their size, of how to fight them, the poison they injected, its results …

“You have questions,” stated Legolas, “ask them.”

“What is an Uruk Hai?” blurted a wide-eyed Melven.

Legolas and Dima shared a shocked look before turning back to the Noldo in disbelief. It took both woodland warriors the better part of the morning to fill them in on the nature of what they would be confronting, both informing and answering the many questions the lieutenants had.

It was the smell of food that alerted them to the time that had passed since they had started the briefing, and so Legolas finally rose, clapping Dima on the shoulder as he effectively brought their meeting to a close.

“Come and eat with your new colleagues, Lieutenants, for you will be spending the better part of the next year with them.”

They both nodded, yet the thought of food had brought an acrid taste to Melven’s mouth, for he had been remembering Legolas’ words about the Red Fangs, and the Yellow Bellies, how to kill them, the effects of their poison on an elf – the thought of placing anything into his delicate stomach right now was enough to make him wretch – almost.

Legolas and Dima walked in silent contemplation, for Elladan had unwittingly brought the memories back, memories they had both fought so hard to push to the back of their minds, for they could never forget those days of darkness, torment and loss.

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

Lunch at the barracks had been – interesting. It was not only The Company that felt curiosity for these Noldorin warriors, but the entire Greenwood army! The soldiers on duty had stared as surreptitiously as they had been able, but for Melven and Elladan, their perusal had been more than obvious. Lindo, especially could not seem to take his eyes off Melven at all, something that had not gone unnoticed by any, except by Melven himself, perhaps. It had set Legolas to thinking, for Elladan was by far the most favoured of the two, and he thought then, that perhaps Galdithion’s interest in him had not gone unnoticed either, enough to dissuade others from the hunt, for Galdithion was well respected.

The other six recruits were also garnering their share of curious stares. They had all belonged to the field army, and had been singled out by their captains for service in The Company, all save Barathon, of course. Should they pass the rigorous training they were required to endure, they would become members together with Elladan and Melven, and ride out in two week’s time. Yet they were somewhat insular, thought Dima, as he observed them quietly, they had formed a group within the group, and that was never a good thing. He had spoken to Hwindo and the others about his concerns and all had agreed that perhaps, they were simply trying too hard, or were over-awed. However, they had decided to try and draw them out before the time came to decide, for there could be no division between them where they were going.

Later, the new recruits had been whisked away to the tailors by Pengon and Lindo for fitting, all except for Barathon, who already had his uniform. Elladan had had a minor anxiety attack at the prospect of wearing a skirt, and it had been Melven who pointed out that The Company looked more than good in theirs, and so why wouldn’t they? He had not been lying, for it was true – yet he was nowhere near happy with the prospect either. They had been surprised at the heavy duty boots they would be wearing out in the field. They had metal reinforcements around the back and the tips, details that made them quite heavy. And then they had none of the fancy, shiny arm bands all their colleagues wore…even the other five recruits had at least one, denoting their mastery in their preferred weapons.

Later still, Koron and Ram en’ had ushered them to the storage rooms to find everything else they would need. Satchels, arrow fletching kits, water skins, first-aid kits… they were extraordinarily well prepared and carried a surprising amount of articles on themselves and in their riding panniers.

“Now,” began Koron, “we will go back to the barracks and sort out your rooms, and after that, Melven, Elladan, you have an appointment with Commander Legolas.”

“Indeed, he was somewhat remiss about what exactly will be going on, something about an area under the fortress…” prompted Elladan, who glanced at Melven, both hoping Koron would give them a little insight.

“Then if he was remiss, there is a reason for it, however, I am sure you will enjoy yourselves…”

Melven and Elladan looked at each other once more, both wearing frustrated frowns, these warriors were far too loyal for their own good, and for theirs.

……………………………………………………………………….

It was late afternoon when Legolas met up with Galdithion, Elladan and Melven once more, and was now leading the way down a set of stairs that lead off from the main foyer. The mystery had been set before, at breakfast, and whatever it was that was down here, besides the famous dungeons, was about to be revealed.

Now stairs that led to basements and storage facilities were generally poor – narrow and underlit, slippery, dank steps that were hardly wide enough for the foot of a grown elf. Yet these were magnificent, just as wide as the upper floor staircases, the walls lined with artwork, which curiously depicted scenes of elves reclining in different positions, bathing in pools, under waterfalls – it was the same theme, painting after painting, tapestry after tapestry. They were beautiful, and well lit by the abundant torches and candles lining the walls, illuminating the way as they went. Elladan wanted to stop and admire the work, but he was too curious to postpone the mystery, and so he trailed behind his hosts as his eyes lingered. A sharp intake of breath brought him back to the present, drawing his attention to his surroundings, now taking in the sight that stood before him. It had been Melven, who had audibly gasped as he stepped out into the open air, even though he had believed himself inside a cave. Elladan himself was disorientated for a moment, before he realized that they must have come out of the mountain through its base, and thus, had stepped on what was, for these elves, sacred ground – for they were now standing on the fertile ground of the Evergreen Wood.

Moving away from the stone doorway through which they had passed, Elladan was glad no one spoke, for he needed a moment to simply adjust himself to the brutal onslaught of visual and sensorial stimulus. The peculiar light, the smell of fresh pine, the crisp air, the sheer beauty of the landscape before him. He had stepped into another world, thought Elladan – he had left the mundane behind, and crossed over into the arcane.

The climate was completely different, the smells, sights and sounds alien to him, not at all similar to the woods before the fortress. Sparing a glance at Galdithion, he found his friend watching him, a serene smile on his beautiful face, a face that seemed to Elladan then, to belong here – Galdithion was a part of this paradise, had been born here, and he thought then, that he was just as beautiful, standing there before the proud spruce and pine, looking at him as his chestnut hair moved around him, his light grey eyes sparkling. For Elladan, the forest faded away then, leaving only the sight of what he now realized was the elf he desired. He smiled, yet his eyes were swimming, for the moment had been transcendental, his soul had been moved and he was left with the uncontrollable desire to take the guard in his arms and make love to him.

Legolas, ever perceptive, had seen Elladan’s face transform, and smiled before wandering over to Melven, slapping him upon the shoulder without a word and walking away with the lieutenant, leaving the two to discover their feelings for one another. He had seen the realization in Elladan’s eyes, and had rejoiced for his friend, for Elladan loved Galdithion, he was sure of it.

Galdithion stood transfixed as he watched Elladan observe him. His face had been nothing short of an open book then, for he had seen wonder, then disbelief, and then – blatant desire, unbridled passion, and so he slowly glided towards Elladan, his eyes not once straying from the deep grey orbs of the warrior he so desired, searching, analyzing, watching for the slightest flicker of emotion, yet his face was set as he watched Galdithion approach.

“I have wanted you for many weeks now, Elladan,” he whispered as he raised his hand to place it gently around the side of his friend’s face, “yet I was unsure, and worried at the difference in our respective stations – but I cannot hold this back, Elladan, in whatever shape or form our relationship may take, I will have it, for I want you, now.”

Elladan’s eyes were wide as he listened to the words that Galdithion whispered fiercely, standing just before him, his beauteous visage but a scant distance from his own, his eyes piercing and smouldering, alight with desire – passion.

“Then have me, for the love of the Gods!” he said, already loosening his shirt, moving his face forwards and taking Galdithion’s lips in a first, bruising kiss that sent them both reeling, so much so, that Galdithion placed his hands on his lovers shoulders and moved him backwards, until his back collided with the trunk of a fragrant spruce – he would have him here, for all that was holy.
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Arcane Land