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In Darkness and In Doubt	By : ElvenDemagogue Category: Lord of the Rings Movies > Het - Male/Female Views: 7705 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings book series and movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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In Darkness
and In Doubt
By: Dark Lord Elven, Lusty Wench of Tortuga

Rated: CROIKEY!
Instead
of doffing Isildur’s lurid affections, the Ring was seduced and fell in love
with the King of Men, thereby forever changing the future of Middle-earth. The line of Kings was never
broken; the line of Stewards never cared for Gondor. Sauron is trying to weasel his Ring out of the care of Men
by any means necessary, even if it means wrestling crocs on the chance the King
will notice and be amused. *
Nightfall was black. The trees along the Old
Forest Road, just east of the Misty
Mountains, were close, allowing
little light to penetrate the thick woods. But the Road was free and tonight the view clear. No breeze rustled the leaves, nor did
any wild animal disturb the silence.
A lone figure dressed in a dark cloak rode a black horse boldly out in
the open as if no threat could have victory against him.
The moon was just a mere sliver in the
heavens, but the stars were numerous and bright. They were a foundation of hope to some, standing firm
against the ever-changing world.
They were the testimony that no matter what peace or devastation took
place upon Middle-earth it was but a moment in time to the universe. Sorrow, war, grief. All these things passed away beneath
the force of eternity.
Men did not see the expanse of eternity
stretched out before them. There
was only here. There was only
now. The Elves had long forgotten
the vision, the Dwarves had never cared.
The rider tilted his head back to gaze
up at the twilight sky. He had
been on the road some time and was nearing his destination. Very soon now he would retreat to the
shelter of the trees, for to remain still upon the Road would look suspicious
to those following him. He threw a
disgusted glance behind him, tuning his keen ears to the hearing of hooves
falling upon dry land. They were
closing fast. It was time to
capture their prey. A smile tugged
at his lips.
He spurred his horse on a little
quicker, appearing startled by the sudden sounds of pursuit at his back. There were voices now too, giving low
orders and urging their mounts on.
He heard the metallic thrill of swords being drawn, the creaking of
arrows being notched. He cursed,
but was not overly worried for his safety as much as he lamented that any of them
might escape. Tugging the reigns
he wheeled his horse around and drew his bow. He was close enough now. Ducking an arrow that flew very near his head, he hissed,
“Telir! Na-auth!”
He let one of his own fly and it hit
its target without fail. As he
drew another arrow he saw shadows on either of of him moving, fading into the
fray. Their dark cloaks would
obscure them from the view of the humans, who did not hold the blessing of
far-reaching sight. This fight
would not take too long.
Another foe singled out, the Elf aimed
and fired. The pained cry of a
human voice followed and another of the Men fell. They were dwindling in numbers, too few to have ventured so
close to the Elven hideaway. They
probably had not expected him to have company this far south.
“We have them!” one of his companions
shouted in victory. He restrung
his bow in silence, surveying the group of mortals left. Two had survived and were currently being
dragged towards the woods, spouting curses and fighting. Men did not submit to Elves easily,
despite all odds that may be against them.
The Elf grunted as he ran a hand over
his steed’s mane. “Teli, mellon
n�n. Noro moe.”
His horse gave a satisfied whinny. Morthalion was in many ways his truest
friend, carrying him through dangers untold that he may see to his work, but
they both looked forward to this rest.
The Elf glanced back at the Men in disdain. Because of them there was little rest to be had. Because of them the promise of eternity
was gone from the Elves. It was all
too tempting to brood angrily, to recount everything that had been stolen. He sighed and turned away. He was tired.
They entered the darkness beyond the
trees, he and his companions.
Morthalion nickered and turned his ears towards the front, listening
just as his rider listened for the crackling of flames within the heart of the
woods. The fire would be guarded,
placed in such a way as to obscure the light from anyone curious enough to
enter the forest that did not know firsthand something could be found. It would be small, but it would be a
taste of comfort for him.
Unfortunately they were not close enough for the welcoming sound to
greet them.
“Where are you taking us?” hissed one
of the mortals. He heard the voice
carry through the brush, harsh as if it could be used as a whip upon the backs
of the Elves. There would be
little satisfaction if the human thought to intimidate his captors. The Elves were becoming stronger
against their foes.
There was a sound indicating the Man
struggled, but the Elf rider did not worry. Soon enough he heard the mortal getting his just reward in
the form of a hit. “Silence,
human!” one of the Elves ordered sharply.
The mortals complained as they were
pulled further within the shadows.
It would be an hour’s walk at least, if not more because of the burden
of prisoners. He could just ride
ahead and none would think anything against him, but he was in no hurry. To reach home would be a blessing, but
it would also mean he would have to plan his next trip away. He wanted to savor the voices of the
trees before being forced into responsibility again, so he kept his pace
slow. Very little moonlight won
past the net of leaves above him, but both rider and horse knew the way.
Inevitably, they reached the end of the
trail for tonight. After an hour’s
walk the sounds of the flames dancing finally reached his ears and he knew the
guard camp would be very near.
Orange light winding past the trees now and the voices of Elves could be
heard in conversation. He entered
the camp with his head high, his shining dimly as he looked to the ones
guarding the way to where his people were. One of the Men sneered. “So, you move closer to death? You are great fools if you believe yourselves to have such
strength as to come against the Golden Wood.”
The Elf rider dismounted Morthalion,
handing him into the care of another silently as he walked towards the
prisoners. They were shoved to the
dirt on their knees to await him.
Drawing his hood back, he looked down at the one who spoke. He recognized this one, by description
as well as reputation. “You are
Boromir,” he assumed simply.
The auburn-headed mortal glared up at
him. “And who might you be? I would venture to guess, but you Elves
look so much alike one can never tell without making certain.”
The Elf kicked, covering the General’s
finery with a coat of dust. “You
would do well to remember your place among enemies.”
Boromir grinned defiantly. “Give me your name that I might remember it to my King after I have slit
your throat.”
“You overestimate yourself,” he replied
to that with a wry smile. “I would
have you know my name that you may remember it when the end comes. I am Legolas.”
The mortal did not appear surprised or
vexed by this. He nodded, sliding
his eyes around the camp, probing for weaknesses. “So, the Prince of what is left of Mirkwood. That is what they call you, is it
not? I have often wondered why
slaves should bear titles.”
The Elves were a hunted race, chased
north by both Men and Orcs. In the
early days, some three thousand years passed, Men and Elves were friends
against a common enemy—Sauron. But
then the glory of Men began to fade beneath the wrath of a Dark Lord deprived
of his prize. Men had turned
against their friends, demanding more and more of them until the Elves had to
withdraw completely. But the
mortals would not allow it. Sauron
retreated back into the security of Mordor eventually, leaving Men’s attention
open.
Now if it was not Orcs butchering their
kind it was Men that captured them, enslaving who they could and slaying the
rest. They were cornered on either
side of the Misty Mountains,
trapped in the forests of the Old Forest
and within the last noble Elven city of Rivendell. Even the shores of Aman were kept from
them. The Grey Havens had b cap captured by Men and held since early on in the wars. The strength of Elves had waned too far for them to reclaim
it and now every century that passed they gained on them more and more. They were a race in danger of
disappearing beneath the oppression of slavery and obliteration, but they would
not give in willingly.
“What were you doing, following me so
far from Lothl�rien?” Legolas
asked, crouching to look into Boromir’s proud face. “Surely one so important to the King as you could not be spared
to come after one so lowly as I?”
The human met his eyes steadily. “My business is just that. My business.”
Legolas nodded at this and came to his
feet as one of the guards approached.
“Caun Legolas, nerithach an l�n adar senuial?”<
<
He slid his eyes to Boromir, who
watched them keenly as if trying to divine what was being said, either by
knowledge of their language or by their tones. Taking a breath, Legolas eyed his horse, then nodded. “Taetho i orch an roch n�n. Adar n�n aniratha lasto an �n raegbith.”
The Elf bowed to his leader, then
grasped the shoulders of Boromir’s tunic, dragging him up to a standing
position. Before he could be
hauled away to the Prince’s horse, Legolas stopped then and smiled, dusting the
mortal’s shoulder off. “May you
ride comfortably. I doubt my
father will extend you such a luxury.”
Boromir took a threatening step towards
him, rewarded with a swift punch to the abdomen. As he was taken none-too-gently towards the waiting
Morthalion, Legolas watched after him mildly. Behind him the other mortal struggled in his bonds
half-heartedly, but the certainty in his voice was faultless. “You think King Aragorn will let this
go when Lord Boromir is involved?
May this be the last act of defiance by the Elves!”
Legolas did not turn, stepped away from
him as if he had ignored the words, but yet within they hit home. No, King Aragorn would not be content
to allow Captain Boromir to be held captive or killed. There would be retaliation and it would
come swift. They had very little
time to use this opportunity.
*
It was nearly dawn when they reached
the cave mouth beyond the river.
The patrols had kept them safe from the various dangers of Mirkwood, so
there had been no stops along the way.
As the forest thinned and finally cleared, Legolas looked up towards the
opening to his home. Once there
had been Elven banners marking this place. There had been flowers here and peace. Now it was a ruined place. War had driven the Sindar out of their
home for long years. When they could
finally return they came to a place empty of light. Now it was no city, it was a makeshift sanctuary.
Looking weary from his seat atop the
anxious horse, Lord Boromir lifted his eyes towards the cave entrance. “So you have reclaimed the City beneath
the Mountain, have you?”
Legolas said nothing and if the mortal
had any thoughts concerning this fact, he did not express them either verbally
or visually through sneers or scowls.
He contented himself to studying the trees where the Elven guards would
be. He would never see them.
They came to the entrance and the
Prince stopped his horse, but kept firm grip on the reigns as he pushed one of
the wooden doors open just a crack.
The mortal cocked an eyebrow at this, smirking in amusement as Legolas
called, “Garo! Im Thranduilion. Guruthos u-dhannen.
”
There was a minor pause before an Elven
voice calledk, &k, “Mae govannen, Legolas. L�n gwaith linnathar o l�n aderthad.”
Boromir rolled his eyes, muttering,
“Finally,” as the door was opened.
“You would hasten your fate?” the
Prince asked mildly, leading the horse on into the cave.
The mortal grunted, squinting in the
dim to catch any sight of his enemy.
He frowned at every shadow that moved. “I hasten anything that sees me in a cell or on a block,
that I might be away from your Elvish chatter.” An Elfmaid glared from behind her bow and Boromir’s cloudy
expression became a cordial grin.
Legolas stopped and grinned up at him,
then grabbed his leg. The Captain
of L�rien widened his eyes and made to shout at his captor, but was cut short
by his fall. He hit the floor with
a hard grunt, then lay there motionless, unable to get up with his arms bound
behind his back. Legolas peered
down at him speculatively. “Have
you broken anything?”
Glaring at the Elf he hissed, “Not
yet.”
The Prince of Mirkwood smiled as he
helped the mortal into a sitting position. He would have spoken more, but a voice stopped him. “Legolas?” He turned his head, his expression becoming genuine in its
joy. A figure holding a torch made
her way through the ruins with a soft expression. “Legolas, cuinach ir
nuathannen le gwann. Gerin
ruth na le.”
“Ruthen cuinon a si?” he asked in amusement, sweeping his eyes
across her form. This taste of
home made him grieve that he had ever left.
“Well, I stand corrected,” Boromir
said, interrupting their greetings.
His leer made Legolas frown darkly. “Not all Elves look alike. This one looks very different. Very different indeed.” The Captain’s storm-colored eyes trailed up her leather-clad
leg suggestively.
The Elfmaid sneered down at him and
kicked his shoulder, causing him to fall back to the hard ground. Her smile returned when she looked to
Legolas. “You brought to our city
one of those dogs?”
Legolas shrugged easily. “I thought you enjoyed pets. Take him to the cells, will you?”
“What do I get?” She leaned close, fingering his blond
hair softly—all she dared in front of their people.
At this Boromir groaned, “I think I’m
going to be sick,” and leaned his head back against the wall. The Elves gave him a dirty look, then
ignored him again.
“Do this for me, Saralonde? Please?” Legolas asked with a soft
smile.
The female frowned at him, but nodded
anyways. She gave the human a
disparaging look as the Elf Prince slipped away into the darkness of the dusty
hallway. Boromir grinned at her
plainly and opened his mouth to speak, only to close it again when she hissed
threateningly, “Try anything and you
die.”
The Elven woman reached down, gripped
his shoulders and aided him to a standing position quite laboriously—largely
because Boromir made it exceedingly difficult on purpose. When they were upright she caught him
snickering at her struggle and rewarded him with an unfriendly shove deeper
into the cave dwelling. “Come, Saralon don don’t be so hard on me. I am but a
mortal after all.”
Saralonde gave him a push down a
left-traveling hall. “Refrain from
speaking my name, dog.”
“Whatever you say, bitch.” He laughed, but not for long, finding
himself falling forward into a pile of grain sacks. One spilled at the weight of him, emptying its contents onto
the stone. The back of his thigh
stung from the tip of her boot.
The Elfmaid grunted. “I should make you pick it all up.”
Maneuvering himself to his knees, the
mortal Lord of L�rien glared at her.
“Untie me and I shall. I
give my…word.”
Saralonde was not impressed. She waved her hand impatiently at
him. “Get up or crawl to your
cell. It makes no difference to me
so long as you move, human.” Moving his gaze to the floor he
muttered something she heard with her Elvish hearing, but drawing her dagger
she demanded he repeat it louder.
“What was that?”
Boromir brought himself up to his feet
through a little difficulty, using the wall for leverage. Once he stood face to face with her he
hissed, “I said I wonder if you treat your little prince this way. Just how dirty are Elven women,
anyway?”
She shoved him on towards the
dungeons. “Not as filthy as you
are. You disgust me.”
“Believe me the feeling is more than
mutual.” He jerked away in time to
evade another shove. They
descended a staircase with detailed carvings along the walls and each side
flanked by torches and a fine railing made of marble. It appeared to be one of the last elements of finery
untouched by the ravages of war.
Down here was the prison. There were no others down here and it
was dark. Boromir surveyed the
setting, looking for any weaknesses in the bars or walls, listening for water
or air. It seemed to be quite
secure to his misfortune. The
Elven woman tore a set of keys from a hook on the wall, then directed him into
a cell. He made the pretense of
entering, but turned before she could react.
He shoved himself into her and as her
eyes raced up in surprise she saw him falling into her. Lips invaded hers in a hard, terrible
kiss that had her breathless as she fell against the bars opposite his
cell. He had lost his balance and
forced her now to support his heaviness as he pressed further and further. She groaned into his mouth as his
tongue darted against hers hotly.
It seemed to take an eternity, but within seconds she regained her
senses enough to shove him into his cell as hard as she could. He fell back onto a wooden cot,
laughing at her stunned expression.
Saralonde waved her dagger, growling, “What the hell did you think you
were doing?”
Boromir shook the hair back from his
face and held his chin high.
“Testing a theory, Elf.
Testing a theory.”
She approached, fingering the hilt of
her dagger suggestively. “And what
theory is that?”
Boromir bit his lip, watching her in
prideful amusement. “Oh, I was
just wondering if Elven women taste any different than human ones.” He seemed to take immense pleasure in
her glare. “They don’t.”
“You think that is funny,” Saralonde
said, shoving her dagger back into her belt. She slammed the door shut, leaving him bound. Locking the door, then stepping back,
she grinned. “I think it is funny
to leave you with your arms behind your back for the night, with no lights or
food.
Saralonde turned away from his
aggravating smirk, content in leaving him just as he was. As she came to the prison door he
called, “I’ll be thinking of testing other theories with you, Saralonde.”
She slammed the door on his laughter
with a knit brow. “Legolas aniratha e u-�niel n�n eneth an i-ch�!”
*
“Maedolad
bar.” Too long had it been since
she had seen him. Too long since
she had touched him. Saralonde
decided they had much time to make up for as she pushed Legolas back into the
shadows of the library. Dust
showered the place, tattered books were falling off their shelves. No one came here for there was no
need. No need except their
need.
Saralonde
gripped the hem of his tunic and jerked it up his body, causing him to laugh at
her haste. “Did you miss me?” he
asked, his face bared from beneath his departing shirt. She tugged it from his hair, sending
waves of gold to block his gaze.
With a playful growl he gripped her arms and pulled her into his
embrace, pressing his lips into hers hard. She squeezed the hard muscle of his shoulders, traced the
lines with her fingertips. “You
would have me without clothes?
Even should we be discovered?”
Kissing the
side of his lips in want, she pulled his hand to her chest, easing the strings
of her shirt into his fingers. “I
would have us both without clothes.
Who cares who sees?”
Legolas
grinned and jerkhe she strings until they unraveled, then pulled the fabric
loose. He watched every breath she
took, then pressed his lips down, sliding his tongue along the curves of her
breasts and tonguing sensitive centers as he drew the shirt down her shoulders
and arms. At her hips he stopped a
moment, caging her wrists to her sides as he backed her against a bookshelf and
took his time devouring her chest with hot, marking kisses and unrepentant
sucking. Saralonde’s eyes
fluttered as she arched into his warm mouth for more.
Soon his
hands eased the shirt down her body until it slid to the floor. s frs free, he began untying the front
of her hunting pants and his kiss moved downward, tongue sliding around her
belly button. Saralonde pushed the
hem down her hips and he accepted it, drawing the leather down until it too was
off. Biting her lip, she drew her
fingers along his jaw until he looked up with his expressive eyes. He kissed her palm and came to his
feet, running his hands along her thighs and sides.
He closed his
eyes and pressed his mouth into hers warmly, groaning softly when she brought
his hand to her breast. Legolas squeezed,
then drew his thumb along the delicate flesh, tasting her momentary pause of
pleasure. He smiled into her lips,
opening his eyes to her, then flicked his tongue against hers in need. Saralonde tickled her fingers down his
chest until they reached the ties of his pants. He bit at her lips as she opened them, then reached
inside. “Ai, matho nin ennas,
meleth,” he whispered huskily. His
forehead came against hers as his eyes drank her in. “Yes, there.”
Saralonde
smiled as his lashes fluttered beneath her touch as she ran her hand up and
down the length of his desire. “D�r matho maer, Caun?” she asked him gently,
watching his strained nod with enjoyment.
He groaned when she removed her hand, then shoved his pants down. She put her hand around him to the
middle of his back and drew his hips to hers, winning a breath of want as he
looked with hazy eyes into her face.
Rubbing rhythmic circles, she admitted softly, “I missed you.”
“As did I
you,” he returned, cradling her neck within his arm as he assaulted her mouth
again with salty, hot need. She
held her breath, tasting his want as he traced the insides of her mouth with
his tongue. When he pulled away she
knew there would be no waiting.
His eyes were hungry and dark as he took her hand.
He led her to
a table and made her face it, then brushed her hair from her back around over
her shoulder. Saralonde shivered
and closed her eyes as his hands swept down her back, rubbing every curve of
her. When he got to her hips he
untied the side strings, then pulled the lace away from her. She felt the back of his hand rub down
her behind and a surge of need passed through her.
Saralonde
began to turn, but he took her wrists and wrapped his arms around her, resting
his chin on her shoulder as he brushed his hips against her. “Deri, Saralonde,” he hissed, then drew
her wrists behind her. He held
them to her back, curving an arm to hold htomatomach as he then lowered her to
the table. The cold surface sent
chills through her body. One hand
remained on her wrists, holding them back and caging her down to the table as
he moved the other towards her warmth.
She closed
her eyes, feeling his fingers brush down her heat, then penetrate her wetness
slowly. Her breath came faster as
he began a rhythmic stroking.
“Anno nin l�n conath o mael, m�l,” he commanded in low, husky tones,
hastening his pace when she whimpered softly.
“You disgust
me,” she hissed, struggling against his hold. He drove hard into her, causing her writhe against
hand. “Lavan!”
Legolas laughed
softly. “U-avach esto le m�l n�n?”
Closing her
eyes in weakness of pleasure against his caressing, Saralonde whispered, “You
are the slave, Legolas.”
He drew his
fingers out slowly, then freed her arms.
Saralonde was up immediately, turning on him with flashing eyes. She made to push him, but he caught her
wrist and smiled softly, placing her palm on his shoulder. “Ortheri nin, meleth. M�l eston anim.” He looked down at her soft stroking of
his skin.
Saralonde
wrapped her arms around him, pulling him hard into her embrace as she kissed
him. His hands were warm as they
trailed her back, curving her hips in a well-known path he had traced time and
again. “You have been away for far
too long,” she whispered, resting against his simple hug. “Stay here.”
As quickly as
it had begun, the light died down.
The light faded away, obscuring her features once more. “I saw his mind,” she announced,
looking across the glade. She
watched as another figure came into the presense of the mirror. “Sauron wills the destruction of the
Grey Havens.” The admission seemed
to pain her greatly, stealing her voice and leaving it as nothing more than a
whisper.
His hands
folded within the arms of his blood-colored tunic, the King of Men approached
and looked down into the water, seeing nothing. “You knew this day would come,” he told her plainly, trying
to see within her dark hood. “You
submitted to his will and thought he would free you, but as my fathers before
me warned you, he will not. Now
you have the proof of it.”
Curling her
fingers, Galadriel came from around the basin with a dark expression he could
not see from beneath the darkness.
“You think you do not bow to the will of Sauron, Master-King? Is it the might of Men that keeps you
from destruction though you possess the Ring? Or is it by the will of Sauron?” A smile painted her lips. “Too late did we learn we had not fooled him, but he
us. Now we are condemned.”
King Aragorn
inhaled deeply, reaching into the darkness to take hold of her wrist. “Enough, Lady. It is not Sauron you should fear. Your service is taken, not by Orcs, but
by Men. What else did you see?”
The Elf
snatched her hand back from his hold.
“Boromir is within the caves of Mirkwood. King Thranduil has reclaimed his dwelling and holds he whom
you seek.”
Aragorn
frowned, tracing his boot through the dirt. He watched Galadriel, looking for any hint of aid, anything
she could tell him of the future, but she remained silent. “I will send Haldir after him,” he
decided. “Will that suffice?”
The Hooded
One nodded simply. The King bowed
his head in thanks as he departed her presense.
*
King
Thranduil sat upon his throne.
There were no ladies waiting in lavish Elven dresses, no lords of the
court clothed in finery. All that
gathered in the Hall of the Elven King were armed, their steely gazes trained
upon a single target in the center of the room. He was on his knees, his arms bound behind his back and a
very irritated expression written upon his face. He watched Thranduil steadily, as if his time were being
wasted.
“I will ask
you again, Captain Boromir,” he said into the silence that had fallen after the
human dared insult him. “What is
your purpose this far north?”
y'>Boromir grinned,
biting the inside of his cheek.
“And I shall tell you again, you have no business asking questions of
me. Who are you, but a slave?”
Angered,
Legolas took a step forward, halted by the hand of his elder brother. “The King of Mirkwood is no slave, you
accursed animal!”
Thranduil
shook his head, sorrow glinting in his dark eyes. He rubbed his temple and glared at the human, then
shrugged. “What am I to do with
you? I would kill you, but the
Lord of Rivendell advises against it.
He foolishly believes Men have the capacity for mercy, most likely
because he himself has the blood of your foul race. You vex me, human.”
Struggling
with his bonds—having done so the past twenty minutes—Boromir was still unable
to even loosen his binds. He
continued to pull, however, and the Elves watched him in amusement. “You may do as you like, King. I will be sent for or vengeance will
come down on you for murdering me if it comes to that.”
“Murder?”
Legolas mused darkly, his arms crossed and his brow knit.&nbs/spa/span>“I call it justice.”
Boromir was
tired of Legolas. They had gotten
into a minor scuffle when he was being brought to the Hall, winning him a cut
on his lip. He glared at the
prince.*
Night had
fallen. A silent company of horses
stood in the open on the main road, bearing Men and Elves alike. They waited beneath the stars as one of
their number dismounted, landing on the dirt almost soundlessly. It was a habit, really. If anyone were around to see them they
were already caught. The golden-haired
Marchwarden of Lorien walked from his horse, uttering a command in Elvish that
the animal stay put.
He followed
the road, his eyes keen to any and all signs that life had passed. Some ways down the road he stopped and
crouched, caressing the dirt with his hands. “If the ground moans I will leave,” called a voice and the
company shared a laugh.
Haldir stood with
a smirk, eyeing Captain Faramir as he dusted his hands. “Only because it would be yet another
boast I could make that you could not.”
The Marchwarden sniffed the air and looked into the woods. “They have passed here. They…” He stopped suddenly and turned towards the north, holding
his hand up for silence.
Faramir
squinted in the dim, wondering what it was that had caught his attention. He could see nothing, but knew that
meant very little. Elves could see
much further than their mortal kin.
Haldir motioned towards the right after a second and knowing the
command, each Man and Elf retreated towards the trees as he crouched down close
to the ground. Long minutes passed
into fifteen before he finally entered the woods after them. Faramir moved his horse to where Haldir
stood. “Well? What did you see?”
The
Marchwarden pointed in the direction they were headed. “I sawhadohadow near the road
ahead. I do not believe he saw us,
but I cannot be sure. Mirkwood
Elves are tricky. We are nearing
their camp. I think there will be
a patrol near the forest, but it will not be enough to match our strength.”
“So we
attack?”
Haldir shook
his head, absently petting his horse.
“I suggest I take my men through the woods. We can come to where the patrols are and take them out one
by one without allowing anyone to escape.
Give us an hour, then follow with the horses. From then on we can discuss how to proceed. All our actions must be done
quickly. Lady Galadriel foresaw
they would move your brother to Rivendell.”
Faramir knit
his brow. “Rivendell? Why then shouldn’t we wait? Aragorn can see Boromir returned. Elrond wishes there to be goodwill
between our peoples.”
Shaking his
head, Haldir motioned his Elven company to dismount. “Nay. Elrond’s
wishes for peace are growing more demanding. King Aragorn’s hands are tied, for the Lady believes he will
next ask for the release of the Grey Havens. Sauron will not allow that. Neither will Aragorn.”
The young
captain exhaled, looking down at the dirt. “Okay, so we steal him back. Did she say when they would leave?” The Elf shook his head. “Very well. We’ll wait. One
hour.”
Haldir bowed
his head.*
Saralonde had
had the misfortune of being placed beside Boromir. “Oh, granted, Aragorn enjoys watching his enemies suffer,
but I think he is growing weary of your race.”
“You really
enjoy hearing yourself talk,” she observed, eyes head.
The Lord of
L�rien nodded. “Immensely, yes.”
At this she
turned her head, regarding him thoughtfully. He met her watch head on at first, then turned his
head. “Why do you fear the
silence?”
Her question
irritated him. “I do not fear
the silence,” he grumbled, giving her an annoyed look.
His
aggravation brought up feelings of resent and anger in her. She looked at him very coldly. “You fear it. You use your words of disparagement to beat down an enemy
you cannot master without even considering if mastery is a necessity. Such has been the failing of your race
since the beginning of our walk together.”
Boromir
pulled at his bonds to no avail.
“And do you know what your failings are, Elf? Pride. You
Elves used to lord your immortality and acquired wisdom over the other races
for millennia until you were taught your place.”
“All we ask
is to live in peace!” she countered, scowling at him.
He grunted at
that and looked ahead. “Live in
peace,” he repeated in disdain.
“You would want to live in this world in peace and yet when war comes
you would flee, leaving the rest of us the burden of your debt.”
Balling her
hand into a fist, trying very hard not to take up her dagger, Saralonde hissed,
“Our debt?”
A voice from
ahead stopped their fight. “Saralonde,”
Legolas called, looking back from his horse. Putting just
the right amount of agitation so as not to display disrespect and yet show her
displeasure, the Elfmaid said, “Sui anirach, Caun.” His soft, chiding smile made her scowl. Turning her vexation on a target she
felt was more worthy, Saralonde looked then to Boromir and hissed, “He wants
you to shut up.”
Boromir
widened his eyes in mock innocence, then smirked at her turning away from
him. “If you don’t mind my saying,
I think you should relax some.
Does your Elfling not help you in that department?”
“I do mind
you saying and I calax lax very well, thank you,” she replied mildly.
He grinned at
that. “Very well, you say? I should like a demonstration of that.”
His innuendo
was not missed. Saralonde gave him
a sidelong glance, muttering, “Fuiach nin.”
*

Elvish:

Morthalion – Dark Hero.

Telir! Na-auth! – They come! To battle!

Teli, mellon n�n. Noro moe. –
Come, my friend. Ride easy.

Caun Legolas, nerithach an l�n adar senuial? – Prince Legolas, will you ride to
your father tonight?

Taetho i orch an roch n�n. Adar
n�n aniratha lasto an �n raegbith. - Tie the orc to my horse. My father will want to listen to his lies (wrong words).

Garo! Im Thranduilion. Guruthos
u-dhannen. - Hold! It is I, the son of Thranduil. The shadow of death has not fallen. Lit. Im Thranduilion - I am Thranduil’s son.

Mae govannen, Legolas. L�n gwaith linnathar o
l�n aderthad. – Well met, Legolas.
Your people will sing of your reunion.

Legolas, cuinach ir nuathannen
le gwann. Gerin
ruth an le. - Legolas, you
live when I thought you dead. I am
angry with you. Lit. I have
anger towards you.

Ruthen cuinon a si? - Angry I
live as yet (to now)?

Legolas aniratha e u-�niel n�n eneth an i-ch�!
– Legolas will wish he had not given my name to the dog!

Maedolad bar. – Welcome home. Lit. Well-coming, as in “your coming was
well” home.

Ai, matho nin ennas, meleth. – Ah, stroke me there, love.

D�r matho maer, Caun? – Does it feel good,
Prince?

Deri, Saralonde. - Remain, Saralonde.

Anno nin l�n conath o mael, m�l. – Give me your cries of lust, slave.

Lavan! – Beast!

U-avach esto le m�l n�n? – Will you not name yourself my slave?

Ortheri nin, meleth. M�l eston
anim. – Master me, love. Slave I
name myself.

Telithon ah le. – I will come with you.

Law, Saralonde. Derithach si,
band. Goston an le far sui ha no.
– No, Saralonde. You will remain
here, safe. I fear for you enough
as it is.

Aphadathon. – I will follow.

Trastach nin. – You trouble me.

Deri lin cost. D�l n�n
naegra. – Stop your quarrel. My
head hurts.

Sui anirach, Caun. – As you wish, Prince.

Fuiach nin. – You disgust me.
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In Darkness and In Doubt