Aragorn was waking up slowly, far too slowly for his liking. That was
another thing he hated about sleeping potions, he decided as he tried
to force his brain to start working again, they always made waking an
incredible struggle. Every time it took him ages to shake off the
sleepiness and his thoughts wouldn’t lose that certain fuzzy feeling
for at least half an hour after he had finally managed to pry his
eyelids open.
This time, however, it seemed to be easier to wake, and soon he
discovered the reason for this: There were voices, voices that seemed
to be conversing in volumes that could have woken a troll from
hibernation.
The young human groaned inwardly. What was it with him and voices? To
him it seemed that every other time he awoke, there were voices talking
next to him, either telling him to wake up or interrupting his sleep by
yelling at each other next to his head. Who needed voices anyway, he
wondered grumpily, there was a perfectly adequate sign language that
did just as well…
“And I still say it, Elladan, he must have put too much of the root
in the draught; Estel’s been asleep for more than fourteen hours now!”
Elrohir’s voice invaded his thoughts.
“I know, brother, and I absolutely agree with you. There is only the
question if ada did it on purpose or if it was an accident…”
“Oh no, ada wouldn’t overdose one of his patients knowingly,
you know that as well as I do. There are some other people
however
who have no such scruples…”
Elladan sounded shocked.
“Just what are you implying, Elrohir?”
Estel slowly opened his eyes and looked around the room that was empty
except for his two elven brothers. Elladan and Elrohir were sitting to
his left side in a pair of armchairs and were so focused on their
bickering that they didn’t notice that their younger brother was awake.
Right now Elrohir gave his twin a wicked look.
“Well, I seem to remember an incident about, well, I think about three
hundred years ago when a certain someone who shall remain nameless
drugged me, without my knowledge I might add, for more than a day ‘by
accident’.”
Elladan gave his younger brother an innocent smile that fooled neither
Elrohir nor Aragorn.
“It was an accident, brother! It was merely a coincidence that
it enabled me to carry you back home without you aggravating your
wounds or driving me insane with your protestations what you were
alright.”
“I was alright!” the younger twin insisted exasperatedly. This
was an argument they had about once a decade.
The other elf chuckled merrily.
“Oh, of course you were. An orc arrow in the shoulder, a complicatedly
broken leg and half a dozen broken ribs count as perfectly alright,
forgive my stupidity.”
Elrohir rolled his eyes at his brother. He knew this was an argument he
couldn’t win, simply because Elladan was right. He had been in a bad
shape after that arrow had propelled him over the cliff, and if one
believed his twin, he had very nearly died on the way back to Rivendell
almost causing his brother to go insane with worry, but he would be
damned if he admitted that.
“You are forgiven, this time,” he said haughtily, nodding at his
brother. “I know it is not your fault. You are trying as hard as you
can, and you can’t change that you are a bit slow sometimes…” At this
point he had to leave his armchair, quite hastily one might add, to
avoid his brother’s hand that had aimed a smack at his head.
Aragorn cleared his throat, deciding to let them know he was awake
before they started chasing each other across the room and over his bed.
“I hope I am not disturbing the two of you?” he asked, noting their
startled faces with some satisfaction. It was nearly impossible to
surprise
the two elves, and every time he managed to do so was worthy of
remembrance. “If you want to continue with this, I can leave and get
some more sleep elsewhere.”
Elladan grinned at him, shooting his twin that had wisely moved out
of his reach a dark glare.
“Oh, don’t worry, little brother, Elrohir and I will finish this little
discussion. Later.”
Elrohir shuffled nervously and moved back a few steps. Elladan could
bear a grudge for a long time indeed, and he would have to be on his
guard for the next few days. He made a mental note to ask Legolas about
a tree in which he could sleep comfortably this night. He knew his
brother well enough to know what would happen should he give him a
chance to avenge himself for those little comments, and he wasn’t going
to make it any easier on his twin by sleeping in an easily accessible
room.
Aragorn grinned back, satisfied that for now they wouldn’t try to kill
each other.
“As long as you do it far away from me, I don’t care. What time is it?”
Elrohir stepped closer, still keeping an eye on his elven brother.
“Almost midday, little brother. You need to get up now if you want to
visit Seobryn before that trader arrives.”
“Midday?” the human gasped, pushing back the covers and swinging his
legs over the edge of the bed. That rapid movement proved to be too
much for his still healing head, and he closed his eyes and gripped the
bedstead tightly until the room stopped spinning and the invisible
maniac next to him got tired of jamming red-hot pokers into his head.
Quietly thanking Ilúvatar that his father wasn’t here for he
would surely drug him once more if he found out about this, he opened
his
eyes again and looked into the worried faces of his elven brothers.
“Estel?” Elrohir asked, placing a hand on the young ranger’s forehead.
“Are you alright? Has your vision gone blurry again? How many fingers
am I holding up?”
Aragorn scowled at the younger twin, slapping his hand away from his
forehead.
“Yes, no, and three. I am fine; I just tried to get up a little too
fast, that’s all.”
He sighed as he saw the dubious look the two of them were exchanging.
“I am fine, really. Now would you please get out of here so I can
change? I really would not want to visit Seobryn wearing only a robe;
he would feel only worse than he already is.”
The twins gave him a long look, but nodded and quickly left the room.
Estel was probably right, Elladan mused as they waited outside the now
closed doors, the other human would feel even guiltier than he did now
when he saw that Aragorn was still far from healed. The boy blamed
himself for his inability to prevent most of the harm that had befallen
the ranger, even though he knew in his heart that there had been
nothing he could have done.
The older twin winced inwardly when he remembered the fearful look on
Seobryn’s face every time the human saw an elf, and especially them,
their father or Legolas. The boy still couldn’t believe that the elves
wouldn’t seek retribution for what the other mercenaries had done to
Aragorn. Elladan forcefully suppressed the hate that welled up inside
of him, hate for the people who had dared treat his little brother in
such a fashion. When he had first laid eyes on his younger brother
after they had finally found him, lying bleeding and broken in
Elrohir’s arms, the only thing he had wanted to do was kill all of
those who had hurt him, and kill them slowly, if possible.
With a quick shake of his head he pushed these memories back down.
Elrohir had been right when he had told him not to allow these dark
feelings to consume him, that it would solve nothing.
‘They have all paid one way or the other,’ he thought grimly,
remembering the many humans he had had to kill that day. He didn’t feel
sorry for them in the slightest, he decided after a few seconds, they
had got what they deserved, and the survivors had been handed over to
the men of Dale, which was far too lenient a fate in Elladan’s opinion.
At that point he heard light footfall that quickly drew closer, and
he and Elrohir turned to see the Prince of Mirkwood approach them, his
fair hair shining in the sunlight.
His expression though, the older twin decided, was more than a bit
sour, and right now he reminded Elladan strongly of the other’s father.
‘No,’ he thought as he watched his friend come closer, ‘Not even King
Thranduil could look that terrifying, not even if he had just heard
that a horde of dwarves had broken into his cellars and emptied every
single
one of his wine barrels.’
Elrohir either hadn’t noticed Legolas’ mood, or he chose to ignore it.
“Legolas! What is it, mellon nín? You look positively
dreadful! What has happened? Has someone plundered your father’s
vaults?”
The older twin winced inwardly. It wasn’t wise to taunt the fair haired
elf about his father’s well-known love for silver and precious gems on
the best of days, but on one of his bad days it was widely considered
suicidal.
‘Valar,’ Elladan thought as he watched Legolas’ face darken even more,
‘And he says I am stupid?!’
Elrohir opened his mouth to make another comment, but before he could
say anything, the doors opened and a now fully dressed Estel stepped
out, apparently not aware that he had just saved his elven brother’s
life, judging by Legolas’ truly dangerous expression.
The elven prince shot the younger twin one last glare before turning
his eyes on his human friend.
“Aragorn! How do you feel?”
The young ranger rolled his eyes. He just didn’t understand that
question; did he really look that bad so that he encouraged every
single person to ask him that?
“I feel fine, mellon nín,” he said in a long-suffering
tone of voice, giving his elven brothers dark glares, “Really. I am
fine. Can we go now? I would really like to see him before the trader
arrives, I’m sure he could use some encouragement. I don’t think he has
got used to seeing that many elves every day.”
Elrohir snorted softly. One could definitely say that, he thought
dryly, the boy looked ready to die of fright every time he saw one of
the firstborn. And, considering the fact that he had spent the past
three weeks in an elven city and was surrounded by elves, he wore that
expression almost constantly, something which just couldn’t be healthy
for a human.
Legolas nodded, smiling at the ranger and taking one of his arms.
“Of course. I came to see where you were, the tradesman will be here in
half in hour.”
The four of them made their way down the corridor, the twins discreetly
making sure that they were in positions to catch their younger brother
should he stumble.
“Where is Celylith?” Aragorn asked as they made their way down the
marble staircase, carefully placing one foot in front of the other
carefully. The last thing he needed was to tumble down the stairs, he
thought darkly, Elrond wouldn’t let him leave his room for weeks.
The young ranger was too concentrated on the stairs to notice his
friend’s face that took an expression of utmost annoyance once the
other elf’s name was spoken.
It was, however, not lost on the twins.
“Yes, where is he?” Elladan asked, gazing innocently at the prince.
It was obvious that the silver haired elf was somehow responsible for
Legolas’ current mood, and he would make sure he learned all about what
had happened.
The fair haired elf scowled at the empty hallway in front of them.
“He is visiting Wilwarin.”
“Wilwarin?” Aragorn questioned, stopping and looking at him curiously.
“Do I know her? Is there an elf maiden that has stolen his heart and he
didn’t tell us about her?”
To the surprise of the three brothers, Legolas just stared at them with
wide eyes before letting go of the young human’s arm and starting to
roar with laughter. After a few seconds he couldn’t keep his feet any
longer, and he sank to the floor, laughing as if that had been the
funniest thing he had ever heard in his over 2500 years of existence.
Aragorn raised an eyebrow and turned to his brothers, whose only
answers were an identical pair of clueless shrugs. This wasn’t like
Legolas at all, but perhaps they were beginning to rub off on him. Who
could say?
They waited a few more seconds for the prince to calm down, but when he
showed no such inclination, the young human’s patience finally ran out.
“Alright, my friend, what is it? I can’t see what could possibly
justify this amount of amusement,” he said, folding his arms across his
chest and giving his friend the best reproduction of the look
he could manage.
Whether or not that had worked, Aragorn would never know, but Legolas
finally managed to quieten down a bit. After a moment he shakily rose
to
his feet, wiping tears of mirth out of his eyes with the sleeve of his
light green tunic.
“I am sorry, Strider. But … Wilwarin isn’t an elf maid. She isn’t a
girl at all. Not really, anyway. I mean, she is female, yes, but…”
The three of them looked at each other, obviously at a loss.
After a heartbeat’s pause, Elrohir voiced what all of them were
thinking.
“You are not making any sense at all, Legolas.”
The fair haired elf grinned at them, slowly resuming his walk into the
direction of Seobryn’s quarters.
“He’s visiting the ‘sweet, adorable, gorgeous, innocent, perfect little
thing’ he couldn’t part with. Against my direct orders as I might add.”
Elladan stared at the prince, disbelief on his face.
“You mean he called that abominable spider Wilwarin? But … but,
Legolas, Wilwarin means…”
“Butterfly,” Aragorn finished his brother’s sentence, beginning to grin
as well. Only Celylith would think of calling a giant spider
“butterfly”.
“He is insane,” Elrohir said gravely and shook his head. “Completely,
utterly, hopelessly mad. ‘Butterfly’, Valar save us…”
“How big is it now, four feet high?” Elladan asked, a look of barely
concealed disgust on his face. “I have to admit, it was quite funny in
the
beginning, but now it’s gone too far, if you ask me. And I think the
increased
spider activity all around the palace is somehow connected to the fact
that he still hasn’t set it free.”
Legolas shrugged, shooting the broadly grinning Aragorn a withering
glare.
“That’s just what I’ve been telling him! It’s a miracle that nobody
has found out about it yet, and once my father does…”
He interrupted himself and shuddered. The three brothers looked at
their friend in sympathy, no, it would indeed not be a good thing if
King Thranduil found out about Celylith’s little “butterfly”.
The prince shook his head, a distant look in his eyes.
“And do you have any idea how hard it is to hide it and get the things
a ‘sweet little spider’ needs to ‘grow big and strong and beautiful’?
Ha!”
he exclaimed, ignoring the twins that were vainly trying to stifle
their
laughter, “Who wants it to become even bigger than it is? And now it’s
learning
how to weave webs! It’s a nightmare!!”
Aragorn swallowed the laughter that was beginning to rise inside of
him and put a sympathetic hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“I know, Legolas,” he tried to soothe the fuming elven prince, “He will
come to his senses. Sooner or later.”
“The ‘later’ part is what is worrying me,” Legolas grumbled as they
stopped in front of Seobryn’s room. “I really think the little
‘butterfly’s’
mother is out there looking for it. And I don’t think she’s very happy
right now.”
The young ranger’s grin faded quickly when he imagined the spider’s
family coming for their kidnapped baby. He quickly shook his head as a
picture of dozens of fully-grown spiders started to build in his mind’s
eye, frowning slightly as one of the vision-spiders stopped right in
front
of him, clicking its pinchers and shrieking “Where is my sweet little
butterfly??”
“…or what?”
Aragorn blinked as he heard Elrohir’s voice interrupt that interesting
little vision. Making sure with a quick look that there wasn’t a single
spider in sight, he turned to his brother and asked,
“Pardon me?”
Elrohir rolled his eyes, mumbling under his breath that stupidity
seemed to be contagious.
“I said, do you want to stand here all day and stare at the really
fascinating door or what?”
His human brother scowled at him before taking a step forward and
gripping the door handle. When he was just about to knock, he turned
back halfway and gave the three elves an apologetic smile.
“I think it’s best if you stay here,” he said, shrugging sheepishly. “I
really think he’s quite afraid of you.”
Legolas grimaced slightly.
“Afraid is the wrong word, mellon nín. ‘Terrified’ might
be more appropriate.”
Aragorn grinned at them.
“Well, he is right, you know. Considering the way you three smell…”
Before any of them could say or do anything, the young ranger quickly
slipped through the door and closed it firmly in their faces.
Elladan stared at the closed wooden door, knitting his brows.
“That impertinent little…” he began, but stopped quickly as a smile
lit up his face, making his eyes shine brightly in his fair face. “He
is
mending,” he added, his smile turning into a wide grin.
Legolas returned the grin, relief plain to see on his features as he
settled down on a carved wooden bench to wait for the human.
“He is, my friend. He will be alright.”
King Thranduil had retired from the throne room for a well-deserved
break from this morning’s council session. Sometimes those became too
much even for him, and even though he would never admit it to someone
else,
he actually understood why Legolas hated attending them. The golden
haired
king suppressed a tired yawn. The condition of the Forest River’s banks
really wasn’t that fascinating a topic.
He relaxed into the armchair that sat in front of the big picture
window in his study. He still had more than half an hour until the
council reconvened, and he fully intended to spend every second of it
here, watching the royal gardens, drinking a glass of his favourite
wine and doing absolutely nothing.
After a second he heard a timid knock on the door, closely followed
by the sound of the royal butler, Galion, stepping into the room,
careful not to move too stealthily. The king really didn’t like to be
startled.
Thranduil closed his eyes tightly and tried to ignore the other elf’s
presence. Perhaps he would leave him alone when he saw that he did not
want to be disturbed?
“Sire?” Galion asked softly, eyeing his king warily.
He was not that lucky, it appeared. The elven king opened one eye with
a tired sigh.
“Yes, Galion?”
“I am sorry to disturb you, your Majesty, but Lord Elrond wishes to
speak with you.”
With a silent curse that would surely have shocked his butler,
Thranduil opened his other eye and used both of them to glare at the
other. There it went, his half-hour of peace, quiet and tranquillity.
He quickly remembered that this was hardly Galion’s fault and gave him
a forced smile.
“Very well, please send him in,” he told him, running a hand over his
face and sitting up a bit straighter in the chair.
A moment later Lord Elrond entered the room, and Thranduil’s already
fair coloured face paled even more.
‘It cannot be,’ he thought and quickly blinked twice to check his
vision. He fixed his eyes on the dark haired elf lord’s face, only to
come to rest on the thing that had caused a strong feeling of dread to
sweep through his entire body: There it was, a faintly throbbing vein
under Elrond’s left eye.
Thranduil resisted the urge to burrow his face in his hands, reminding
himself just in time that it would hardly be proper behaviour for a
king. To any other elf the fact that Lord Elrond had a pulsating vein
under one of his eyes would seem unimportant, but, alas, he knew
better…
He had learned a long time ago that that was never a good sign, in
fact, more than 3200 years ago, on an evening he and his father had
visited Imladris to discuss the growing might of the Lord of the Rings
with Lord Elrond Half-elven and the High King …
“Do not tell me you hadn’t noticed before, Prince Thranduil!”
The golden haired elf in question looked at the merry and, in his
opinion, highly intoxicated face of one of Lord Elrond’s advisors.
Judging by the dark hair it was Erestor, he tried to remind himself,
the golden haired one was Glorfindel, the first elf he had ever met who
had returned from the
Halls of Mandos. In his opinion that was because the other occupants of
those Misty Halls couldn’t stand his constantly merry behaviour
anymore, a behaviour that was already bordering on being unnatural.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked, sipping at his own glass of truly
excellent red wine. It was now his eighth glass … or his eleventh? He
couldn’t really remember, the only thing he knew for certain was that
the banquet had started – and ended – quite a long time ago. And did it
really matter? The wine was astonishing. Even if he didn’t agree with
the High King or his herald on how Sauron should be opposed, he was
fair enough to grant Elrond a fine taste in wines.
“Of course he is sure, your Highness,” another voice joined in, “We
have had more than enough time to study the phenomenon at the closest
proximity.”
The Prince of Eryn Lasgalen turned and looked in the laughing face of
Glorfindel. And, judging by the way said face was slightly flushed, he
had had more wine than was good for him as well.
“Well, Lord Glorfindel,” he said, noting with surprise that the words
were quite hard to articulate, “You will understand that I cannot
believe your words until I have seen proof.”
The golden haired elf grinned at him, displaying a row of gleaming
white teeth.
“Oh, my lord, you will see proof before the night is over,” he said,
still grinning madly. If he didn’t stop that soon, Thranduil decided,
it
would split the golden haired elf’s face in two for sure.
Glorfindel took another mouthful of the ruby liquid in his goblet
before he continued.
“Believe me when I tell you that the master of this house will soon
leave the company of your father, the revered King of Greenwood the
Great,
and Ereinion Gil-galad, our equally revered High King, to see what we
are
up to. And if I remember the amount of wine my dear friend Elrond has
already consumed correctly, it will have caused him to come up with one
of his infamous ideas and then you will certainly see more
proof than you ever wished to!”
At Glorfindel’s words Erestor began to giggle helplessly, and even
though he highly disapproved such undignified behaviour, Thranduil
found himself hard-pressed not to join in. To cover up his sudden
inexplicable mirth, he emptied his glass with one gulp, only to have it
quickly refilled by the
other blonde elf’s slightly shaking hand. A small voice inside his head
told
him insistently that he should stop drinking if he didn’t want to end
up
like the dark haired advisor that was almost falling off the stone
bench he
occupied, but the prince quickly silenced it. That wine was just too
good to miss.
“I wait can’t … I mean, I can’t wait for it,” he said, realising with
receding concern that he couldn’t even speak correctly anymore. Ah
well, he thought, gazing at the two other elves who were laughing
loudly at his slip of the tongue, at least he wasn’t the only drunk
person here.
“And what is so very funny, my friends?” another also slightly slurred
voice asked, causing the three of them to whirl round – well, at least
they tried to. In the end Glorfindel and Thranduil turned while Erestor
was
still trying to get into a sitting position since that surprise had
proven
to be too much and caused him to lose what little control over his body
he still possessed and to drop off the bench onto the grass.
With some difficulty the golden haired prince gathered all his
remaining dignity and attempted to stand, which proved to be an unwise
decision since Lord Elrond’s figure seemed to multiply all of the
sudden. Thranduil contented himself with staying were he was, blinking
at the three identical faces in front of him. By the Valar, only a
Noldo would dare do such a thing!
“My lord,” he finally said, squinting at the other elf lord, “It is
a really excellent wine. I mean feast.”
Elrond’s face broke into a wide smile.
“Thank you, Prince Thranduil. I see that you are enjoying yourselves?”
Thranduil nodded as seriously as he could, and Glorfindel said,
“Indeed, mellon nín, we are. Immensely so. The two of them are
still discussing the fate of Middle-Earth, I presume?”
Something told Thranduil that he should be offended that that elf
talked about his father like this, but somehow he just didn’t seem to
care. Just as well, he thought, and drank some more of the
exceptionally good wine.
Elrond just laughed and nodded.
“They are. But we have agreed that all will fall into darkness if
nothing is done.”
“That is something,” Erestor nodded, having finally picked himself off
the floor to lean against a tall young pine tree. “What do you want to
do now?”
Glorfindel nudged Thranduil in the ribs, and the prince snapped to
attention: Really, there it was, so aptly named “The Harbinger of Doom”
by the two other elves: A throbbing vein right under Elrond’s left eye.
Erestor and Glorfindel had claimed that every time their lord had come
up with one of his plans that would surely get all of them into trouble
of one kind or another, or every time he wanted something from you,
this vein would start to throb weakly.
And, considering the way the dark haired elf’s eyes were gleaming,
Thranduil was inclined to agree.
“Oh, something that will be much more fun than just sitting here
getting drunk,” the Lord of Imladris said, smiling innocently at them.
Glorfindel and Erestor exchanged a long-suffering look. Elrond’s
“ideas” usually promised a lot of fun, but a lot of serious
repercussions as well.
“Lead the way then, my lord,” Glorfindel said, sighing resignedly. “Are
you coming too, my prince?”
Thranduil looked at the others for a moment, the ever-decreasing
sensible part of his brain yelling at him to end this before it had
even begun, reminding him of the face his father, King Oropher, would
display if he ever found out about this. Whatever it was that the Lord
of Rivendell was planning,
it just couldn’t be good.
Shrugging slightly, the prince emptied his glass and nodded.
“Of course, my lords. No wood-elf ever backed down from a challenge.”
The three Noldor elves looked at each other, grinning wickedly. Oh,
this was going to be so much fun…
“Very well then,” Elrond said, turning a little unsteadily on his heel
and heading for the direction of the main house, his still grinning
advisors on his heels.
Thranduil looked after them for a second before carefully rising to
his feet and following them, ignoring all of his senses that told him
that
he was about to do one of the stupidest things of all time. Before he
left the little clearing next to one of the pearling falls that could
be found nearly everywhere in Rivendell, he stopped to grab the still
half-full wine decanter.
It was a truly astonishingly good wine.
King Thranduil almost chocked on the red liquid he had drunk to calm
himself, remembering how that evening had ended. Looking at the
exquisitely wrought silver goblet in his hand as if it had just turned
into a spider, he hastily placed it back on his table. He still blamed
Elrond’s excellent wine for the whole incident, and he didn’t intend to
make the same mistake twice. He cringed as he remembered the look on
Gil-galad’s and his father’s
face when he, Glorfindel and Elrond…
No, he decided quickly, he would definitely not think of that
now.
“Lord Thranduil? Are you feeling well?” Lord Elrond’s voice interrupted
his thoughts.
The elven king blinked and forced himself to look at his visitor’s
face, careful not to focus on the “Harbinger of Doom”. He didn’t know
what it was that Elrond wanted from him, but he was rather sure that he
didn’t want to find out either.
“I am well, my lord,” he said, folding his hands on top of his desk,
forcing them to be still. “But, pray tell, how is Estel doing?”
Elrond looked at him sharply, trying to decide whether the king was
referring to the unfortunate … incident yesterday or whether he asked
out
of real concern for the young human’s welfare.
“He is well, my lord, considering the circumstances. He will be fully
healed in less than three weeks, I think. And this is what I wanted to
talk with you about.”
The golden haired elf forced himself to remain calm; he really didn’t
like that feeling that was beginning to sneak up on him…
“Please explain, mellon nín,” he said, his voice
emotionless.
“What do you mean?”
The other elf lord took a deep breath, the vein under his eye beginning
to throb more strongly. Thranduil almost closed his eyes. Here it came.
“Well,” Elrond began, “I received a letter from Lord Glorfindel
yesterday. He tells me that my presence is much needed back in
Imladris.”
Thranduil nodded politely, not at all liking the way this was beginning
to sound.
“As you well know will the High Pass be inaccessible to everyone who
does not leave in ten to twelve days, if he doesn’t want to be caught
in the winter storms, that is. And storms there will be this year, of
that I’m
sure,” Elrond said, looking at him calculatingly.
“So you…?” Thranduil prompted.
“So I thought Aragorn could winter with you this year. We will need
to leave sooner than he will be hale again, and even if he were, I
wouldn’t want to travel over the mountains with him this time of year
if he isn’t back to full strength.” Looking at the blonde elf’s
petrified face, he added, “Humans can be quite fragile sometimes. I
fear for his health should we take him with us.”
The King of Mirkwood smiled thinly, looking at his guest with quiet
disbelief.
“So, Lord Elrond, you want me to allow my son and your youngest stay
here, together, for more than three months? With nothing to occupy them
but an occasional hunt? Did I understand that correctly?”
Elrond seemed to think about that and finally nodded.
“Yes, that would be the essence of it, yes.”
Thranduil closed his eyes, wishing himself to be far, far away from
here. Aragorn and Legolas, together … Aragorn and Legolas, together and
with a lot of time at their hands … Aragorn and Legolas, together, with
a lot of time on their hands and bored…
He shuddered; not a good combination, not a good combination at all…
He opened his eyes again to fix them on the Lord of Rivendell, who had
sat down on a chair next to him, smirking and grey eyes twinkling.
“Do you know what you are asking?”
Elrond smiled and nodded.
“I know, my friend. I have seen all of its effects last winter, and
believe me, it is a unique experience…” Noting the other elf’s
darkening
face, he added, “I am sorry, but I can see no other way. I really would
not want to take him with me unless I have absolutely no other choice,
and
the twins and I need to leave within the next ten days, if possible.”
The golden haired king closed his eyes, defeated.
“Very well then, Estel will be welcome to stay. But,” he opened his
eyes and stared hard at the Lord of Imladris, “I do not guarantee for
the
shape he will be in once I can send him back to you.” He shrugged. “He
and my Legolas just seem to attract trouble, I don’t know why either.”
Elrond smiled at him again, a playful gleam in his eyes.
“Don’t worry, my lord, they will be fine. As long as you keep them away
from the wine they should be alright.”
Thranduil glared at him, wincing at the memory of that evening more
than 3000 years ago.
“They can’t possibly get into as much trouble as we did, can they?”
The other elf shook his head, grimacing slightly when he remembered
the lecture Gil-galad had given him, telling him that he was over 3000
years old and should know better than to go and try to get himself, his
closest councillors and the heir to throne of Eryn Lasgalen killed.
Well,
the only good thing was that he couldn’t remember much of it, except
for
his own inexplicable urge to giggle and the fact that Erestor had
passed
out about half an hour into it.
“No, they can’t. It’s just not possible.”
The king sat back and looked at the dark trees in the gardens.
“We should hold on to that thought.”
His dark haired companion looked at him, grinning slightly.
“Yes, my lord,” he replied, turning his eyes on the gardens as well,
“We definitely should.”
Aragorn quietly entered Seobryn’s quarters, grinning when he heard
Elladan’s muttered curses. Sometimes it was just too easy to taunt the
twins, he thought as he looked around the spacious suite for the other
human, they were beginning to become quite predictable in their old
age. The young ranger snickered when he imagined what his brothers
would say to that expression…
He took some steps into the room, wondering if the boy hadn’t heard
him knock. It wouldn’t surprise him in the slightest, he thought
sarcastically, Seobryn was one of the clumsiest and un-stealthiest
beings he had ever
seen. Well, maybe that wasn’t really fair considering that he had lived
with the elves ever since he could remember, but…
Aragorn’s internal musing was cut short when he saw the boy in question
stand in front of a large, silver-framed mirror, fiddling with the
clothing he had been given. It was obvious that the young human felt
anything but comfortable in the elven garments, but since his own were
hardly appropriate for such an important meeting, he had no choice but
to wear the clothes
he had received.
‘And he looks much better than he did the last time I saw him,’ the
young ranger decided, his eyes wandering about Seobryn’s dark green and
brown attire and his freshly brushed wavy brown hair. ‘Much better, and
not nearly as afraid.’
He leaned against one of the high bed posts, wondering how long it
would take the other to notice that he wasn’t alone in the room. After
a long while in which Seobryn did nothing but fiddle with his clothing,
he finally glanced up and saw the grinning ranger’s image reflected in
the looking glass.
“Eru!” he gasped, whirling around, one of his hands going to his heart.
“Strider! What do you … how are you?”
Aragorn laughed, noting with satisfaction that his ribs hurt only a
little bit at that action.
“Forgive me, Seobryn, I didn’t mean to startle you. And thank you, I am
fine.”
Seobryn nodded slowly, still trying to calm his racing heart. He sat
down heavily on a chair, staring at the other human. He really looked a
lot better than the last time he had seen him, but, after all, that had
been shortly after they had arrived in Mirkwood. Two weeks ago he had
looked terrible indeed, but now the cuts and bruises on his face had
healed, and some colour had returned to his cheeks that didn’t look
quite as hollow anymore.
The boy shook his head, saying the first thing that came to his mind.
“I am sorry, Strider,” he said, casting his eyes to the floor. “You
were right, I had a choice, I just decided not to seize it. I should
have
stopped my uncle and the others from hurting you like they did, I
should
have done something, but I was too afraid to…”
“There was nothing you could have done and lived,” Aragorn interrupted
him firmly, sitting down on the bed. “You had an obligation to
Addramyr, I understand that, and the fact that you did break with him
in the end saved my life. If you had given him that sword, he would
have killed me before
my brothers would have been able to reach us. I am in your debt.”
Seobryn stared at him with wide eyes.
“You are not! I did the only thing I could, and it was far too late
and not enough. Forgive me.”
The ranger smiled at the other man, inclining his head.
“There is no need for that, Seobryn, but if you wish, I will forgive
you.”
The young man looked at him hesitantly and, after a while, returned
the smile.
“Thank you, Strider. It is I who is in your debt and that of the elf
lords for giving me this chance.”
Aragorn’s smile widened when he saw the awe and fear that flashed over
the youngster’s face when he mentioned Elrond and Legolas’ father.
“So you would like to become a trader?”
“Of course I would!” Seobryn exclaimed, excitement replacing the other
feelings. “It would be so wonderful to travel and actually get paid for
it! And I would see different races and places…” He frowned slightly
and
added as an afterthought, “Although I think I will not come here for
quite
some time if I can help it.”
When the young ranger laughed and raised an eyebrow at that, he hurried
to explain, “I mean no disrespect of course, and the elves are treating
me with kindness, but they … they are still elves. Do you know what I
mean?”
“Yes, Seobryn,” he nodded earnestly, “I know what you mean. But you
have nothing to fear from them, believe me. No one here will harm you.”
The other man dropped his eyes once more.
“I know Strider, but they are so … odd! I mean, one moment they are
wise and serious and terrible, and the next they are laughing and
joking
like children! And some of them are over a thousand years old, did you
know
that? And they are still so beautiful!”
Aragorn couldn’t hide the grin that formed on his face. He probably
shouldn’t tell him that his adopted grandmother was well over 7000
years
old, that would probably give the lad a heart attack.
“Yes,” he smiled, “I did indeed know that. But still, you don’t have to
be afraid. Tradesmen from Lake-town are honoured and always welcome
here in Mirkwood. I am sure you will be accepted as an apprentice,
Seobryn, don’t worry. And just ignore Lord Elrond’s sons. They mean you
no harm, they are just a little overprotective at times, that’s all.”
“You could say that,” Seobryn mumbled, remembering the faces of the
two dark haired elves when he had first seen them, after his own uncle
had knocked him out for his refusal to help him kill the ranger.
“Overprotective”
was quite a mild term, he would choose something along the lines of
“overcome with fury”. He had had a hard time accepting that a human was
really referring to the fair folk as his family, but he had seen so
many strange things during the last month that that wasn’t really
surprising him anymore either.
A knock sounded at the door and he raised his head, preparing to rise
to his feet.
“That is my escort,” he explained. “They are coming to make sure I
don’t get lost on my way to the meeting in this … maze of caves.”
To his surprise, the ranger’s eyes grew wide and he began to laugh
heartily. Still chuckling, Aragorn gained his feet and slowly walked
him over to the door.
“Oh, Seobryn, you still have much to learn,” he grinned, placing a hand
on his shoulder as the boy began to once again fiddle with his
garments. “Stop it, you look fine. Just be yourself, and everything
will be alright. Every tradesman can count himself lucky to gain you as
an employee.”
The younger man looked at him gratefully and took a deep breath.
“Thank you, Strider. For everything.”
Aragorn smiled at him.
“You are welcome. And my friends call me Estel.”
“Do you mean that … that I am your friend?” Seobryn asked,
flabbergasted. He had expected much, but certainly not to be offered
the hand of friendship by a man who had been the captive of him and his
companions only a month ago.
“If you want to,” Aragorn replied, nodding his head.
“Then I am your friend, Estel,” Seobryn replied, his tongue nearly
stumbling over the unfamiliar name, grasping the ranger’s offered hand.
The other human grinned and took the last steps into the direction of
the door.
“Well, my friend, here is my first piece of advice: Never, and I mean
never, under no circumstances tell a wood-elf that his home resembles a
cave. Never. The reactions can range from mere indignation to disbelief
to murderous intentions.”
Seobryn only stared at him with wide eyes, asking himself if all
rangers were as strange as this one. He was still pondering this when
the door opened and an elf showed him the way to his meeting with the
merchant from Lake-town.
As they were just nearing the courtyard where his – hopefully – future
employer was overseeing the unloading of his merchandise, he decided
that Stri… Estel was probably a special case.
But, after all, it wasn’t his fault. The ranger had lived most of his
life with the elves, and judging by what he had seen from his adopted
family and friends, that was more than enough to turn anyone strange.
Adruran shook his head as he left his lord’s quarters. This was most
displeasing; he hadn’t wanted another assignment, and in his opinion
the whole matter sounded more than a little bit risky. The whole
operation was a lot too close to the wood-elves’ realm, and their king
wasn’t known for looking kindly on things such as they had planned.
The tall man straightened his shoulders and walked swiftly down the
corridor, barely noticing how the servants flattened themselves to the
walls to avoid getting caught in his path.
He couldn’t change his liege’s mind on this matter. This was something
the other had dreamt about for far too long, for so long that
successfully
carrying out his ancestors’ plans had become an obsession to him. And
even
if it had been a possibility, he knew that he was neither brave nor
insane
enough to challenge his lord’s plans.
‘Well,’ he thought as he entered the busy courtyard, ‘I might as well
make the best of it.’
“Sir?” one of his men had spotted him and was approaching him,
curiosity on his face. “Are we leaving again?”
He nodded absent-mindedly, not slowing his purposeful walk.
“Aye, we are. Get the others ready. We leave in three hours.”
“Where to, sir?” the other asked.
Adruran stopped and looked the other in the eye, suppressing a tired
sigh.
“West,” he finally said. “To the Long Lake and beyond, if we are
successful.”
The man looked at his superior in confusion before he nodded carefully
and ran off to find his companions.
The tall man looked after the other, wondering for a moment why he had
said that. Of course they would be successful, and if not, they
would die in the attempt to get what their liege wanted.
That was the way things were, Adruran thought as he made his way
towards the stables to prepare his horse, and the way things had always
been around here.
And that certainly wouldn’t change in the near future
Chapter 3: Tangled Webs
‘To the left, idiot, to the left!’ an insistent voice in his head
screamed, and with a silent curse Aragorn obeyed, crouching low and
rolling to the left to escape the silver gleaming blade that cut
through the air just above his right shoulder. He quickly gained his
feet again and brought his sword up in front of him, retreating slowly
to buy himself some more time to catch his breath. His wrists hurt, as
did some of his ribs, but he resolutely
ignored his body’s discomfort.
‘And just for how much longer do you think you can keep him at bay?’
the voice said, raising a mental eyebrow in amusement. ‘If you’re
really
lucky, I think it will be … half a minute?’
The young ranger growled annoyed.
“Then why don’t you come out and take over the fight?” he asked, for
the moment oblivious that he was talking to himself.
His opponent threw a confused glance at him.
“What?”
Aragorn ignored the question and attacked, feinting to the left, but
the other quickly realised what his intentions were and pushed him back.
Before any of them could make another move, a voice interrupted their
fight.
“Elrohir! Stop it! Can’t you see that Aragorn’s ready to drop any
second now?”
As if on cue the two brothers lowered their weapons, turning into the
direction of the voice.
“I am not, Legolas!” the human protested, running a from the exertion
slightly shaking hand over his face, wondering about the amount of
perspiration that had somehow accumulated on his brow. Before his
little encounter with Cornallar and his men he could have gone on like
this for at least another half an hour before tiring this much.
Legolas rolled his eyes as he idly ran his fingers over the fletchings
of an arrow whose tip he had just sharpened.
“Oh, please, of course you are and…”
“He is right, Estel. I should have noticed, I’m sorry,” Elrohir
apologised, cutting the prince off and sheathing his sword as he
stepped closer to
his human brother. “Why don’t you sit down?”
Aragorn turned dark, reproachful eyes on his elven friend.
“See what you’ve done.”
The prince just grinned down at him from where he sat on top of a pole
that was used for teaching different sword moves to the novices. Any
human would look ridiculous up there, Aragorn mused darkly, but Legolas
just looked his usual, graceful self. How it could be comfortable
though was a mystery to him. Then again, his race didn’t sleep
in trees either.
“I mean it, Estel,” Elrohir repeated and pressed the young human down
on a bench just to the left of Legolas’ pole. “You have done well
today, for the first sparring match in months. But it won’t help any if
you collapse from exhaustion now. Father might decide to stay here
after all, and I think the news that Elladan and I were staying would
be enough to push poor Hithrawyn over the edge.”
His young brother grinned at that. Elrohir was probably right there,
the only thing that seemed to prevent the master healer from going
insane
was the fact that the twins were leaving the day after tomorrow.
He absent-mindedly rubbed his wrists as he remembered his brothers’
faces when their father had told them that there was absolutely no way
they would be allowed to stay as well.
“I couldn’t do that to them!” Elrond exclaimed, looking scandalised
at the mere thought. “Hithrawyn and the other healers ... King
Thranduil ... Mirkwood itself ... definitely not, my sons! We need the
wood-elves
as allies, not enemies!”
“Ada!” Elladan complained, “We are not that bad!”
Elrond just looked at his oldest and raised an eyebrow.
“Let me phrase it like this, my sons – and you two as well,” he nodded
into the direction of Legolas and Celylith who were keeping back a
little, grinning broadly at the identical look of indignation that
Aragorn and his elven brothers wore, “If Sauron ever does something
truly unforgivable – and I do not mean trivialities such as trying to
conquer all of Middle-Earth – I will allow all five of you to pay him a
visit. After a week he will come
crawling to the front door of the Last Homely House, begging for mercy!
I would wager he’d even be willing to trade in all of the úlairi
to get rid of you.”
The Lord of Rivendell gave a mock shudder.
“It would have to be a terrible transgression though, not even the Dark
Lord deserves that...”
“Father!!” the three of them exclaimed with wide eyes.
Elrond gave them a quick smile before turning serious again.
“The answer remains the same: Elladan and Elrohir will accompany me
home while Estel will remain here for the winter and follow in the
spring as
soon as the weather permits. And that is final.”
“Are they hurting again?” Elrohir’s softly spoken question brought him
back to reality.
The young ranger looked up from where he had been rmassgaing his hands
and quickly shook his head.
“No. No, I was just thinking.”
Legolas hopped down from his seat, landing soundlessly on the stone
tiles that covered this remote corner of the courtyard. He leaned his
refilled quiver against the stone bench and turned to his friends.
“Let me see, Strider,” he demanded, grabbing the human’s left wrist.
Aragorn opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again without having
said a word. Legolas was far stronger than he was, and if the blonde
elf wanted to inspect his wrists, then he would do it, no matter how
much he assured
him that they were fine. He rolled his eyes as his friend gently turned
his
hands palms-up; sometimes it could be really annoying how much his
family
and Legolas fretted over him when he was injured.
‘Ha’, he thought, ‘The next time he is hurt, I will make sure he knows
exactly what being mothered to no end feels like!’
The fair haired elf lightly touched the slowly fading scars that wound
round the ranger’s wrist. When they had finally got to Aragorn, he had
been tightly bound for over a week, because his captors hadn’t wanted
to
take the risk of untying him for even a second after an escape attempt.
By the time they had tried to get the bonds off him, they had cut into
the flesh of the man’s wrists and forearms so deeply that it had taken
Lord Elrond quite a long time to loosen them. The result had been that
Estel
hadn’t been able to really hold anything on his own for about a week,
and
the wrists were still weak and hurt.
“Ada said the scars would disappear completely in a few weeks,”
Elrohir said softly, “And your wrists haven’t taken any permanent harm.
Just give it time.”
“I know, I know,” Aragorn sighed, trying to twist his hands out of
Legolas’ grip and shooting him a dark glare the other didn’t even seem
to register when he failed. “It’s just frustrating.” He gave Legolas
another look before turning back to his elven brother. “Why don’t you
go and see where Elladan and Celylith are with the ‘sweet little
spider’s’ lunch? We’ll wait here.”
Elrohir gave his fair haired friend a quick glance and nodded at his
brother, disappearing quickly into the direction of the palace.
“Legolas?” Aragorn asked when the younger twin had passed out of
earshot, “What is it? And could I possibly have my hands back now?”
Legolas’ head shot up and he quickly released the human’s wrist.
“Forgive me, mellon nín, I was in thought.”
“And where exactly were you?” Aragorn prompted, giving him a slight
smile that was not returned.
Legolas didn’t say anything for a while before admitting softly,
“Back in that forest in the little clearing where I left you in
Cornallar’s hands without doing anything to help you.”
The young man shook his head, suppressing a shudder of fear that raced
down his spine when the elf’s name was mentioned. He really didn’t want
to remember him or Donyc, the commander of the humans Cornallar had
hired
to help him capture him...
Aragorn blinked quickly, returning to the present. Elladan had warned
him that something like this might happen, that Legolas wouldn’t be
able to easily put behind him that he had left his best friend behind,
as he saw
it…
“You didn’t know I was there, Legolas,” he said slowly, closely eyeing
his friend. “And how could you have? Cornallar may have been insane,
but he wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what he was doing. You had no
reason
to suspect that I was in the camp and besides, you were injured. You
weren’t thinking clearly.”
His friend bowed his head at his words and his fair hair fell forwards
over his shoulders, framing his face with soft golden tresses.
“I did. I was.”
“What do you mean?” Aragorn questioned, his forehead wrinkling in
confusion.
Legolas slowly raised his head again and looked him in the eye.
“I was suspicious,” he said, his usually bright eyes dark with
self-accusation, “I suspected Donyc kept something from me; I just
didn’t know what it was. I should have known they weren’t hunters, I
should have known what they were up to, I … I should have done
something, anything. But I rode on, and left you there. Had I
only done something, everything would
have been different, and you would probably be in a much better shape
than
you are now. It is all my fault. I should have known.”
For a moment the young human was just stunned by his friend’s
statement, but he quickly recovered and shook his head vigorously.
“Legolas, what are you talking about?” he asked, grabbing the elf’s
forearm and shaking him lightly. “This doesn’t make any sense!” He
shook his head when Legolas made a move to say something and added,
“Now you listen to
me for a second, you stubborn elf!”
He put a finger under his friend’s chin and raised his head until their
eyes met.
“First, you were delirious. Elladan has told me everything about your
memorable arrival in Rivendell, and as a qualified healer I can assure
you that you were not thinking clearly.
Second, if you really had noticed anything, Donyc would have killed
you. I heard them talking about it, Cornallar told him not to harm you
until
he had no other choice, but if you found out something, he was
authorised
to shoot you. And in the condition you were in, he would have succeeded.
Third, nothing would have been different. The only thing Donyc wanted
was to break me, and he would always have found an excuse or
opportunity to try exactly that, believe me, Legolas.
And Forth, this – was – not – your – fault. Nothing of it was. You
saved my life, once again. You shouldn’t have known, you couldn’t have
known,
and I have thanked Ilúvatar many times that you didn’t. I choose
hurting wrists over a dead friend at any time.”
Slowly, very slowly the prince’s face broke into a smile as he accepted
what his friend had said.
“If it were only your hands…” he began, but stopped quickly when he
noticed the long-suffering look Aragorn gave him. “Peace, my friend, I
have heard your words. Thank you.”
“No,” Aragorn said, giving the elf’s arm a squeeze before letting go
of him, “Thank you, Legolas.”
Legolas only nodded, still smiling at the ranger who noticed with
satisfaction that some of the guilt and pain in the blonde elf’s eyes
had disappeared. It would take the other a while to really believe that
he was truly not at fault and that no-one blamed him, but in the end he
would.
‘Elves,’ Aragorn smiled inwardly, ‘Always so keen to take all the blame
on their shoulders…’
At this point a hushed conversation met their ears which chased the
sombre mood away in an instant.
“Where is the boy? I thought you wanted to ask him if he wanted to come
as well? You know Estel would be happy if he came, the boy’s leaving in
two weeks after all.”
“And that’s a very good thing if you ask me, Elrohir. If he hadn’t been
accepted as an apprentice and would have had to remain here, I think he
would have gone insane. I have asked him, by the way, but all
he did was stare at me as if I was about to eat him, shake his head,
slowly back away and slam the door in my face.”
A muffled snicker could be heard.
“Well, but I still don’t understand what took you so long, brother. It
can’t be so hard to get enough meat from the kitchens for a giant
spider, can it?”
“Hush, Elrohir!” Celylith’s voice hissed softly, “Do you want anyone
to overhear us?”
“Frankly? Yes.”
“Careful, Elrondion, careful,” Celylith threatened. “If anyone finds
out about Wilwarin because you couldn’t keep your voice down, I will
not
rest until I have located her mother and set her on you.”
“And we wouldn’t want that,” Elladan’s snickering voice interjected,
“I would not only lose my dear twin brother but a treasured pet as
well!
It would be a tragedy indeed if anyone found out that the noble Lord
Celylith, captain of one King Thranduil’s guards, is keeping a giant,
ugly, hairy, black, malicious, ill-tempered, in short, a perfect,
adorable spider as his
pet!”
Right then the three of them rounded the corner, and Legolas’ grin
widened when he saw the mock fury on his friend’s face who couldn’t do
anything but glare at the brothers because he was carrying various very
heavy-looking bags that were obviously filled with Wilwarin’s lunch.
“Shhh, Elladan!” the silver haired elf said a little louder this time,
scowling at the older twin. “Not so loud! If I weren’t carrying all
this, I would hurt you for talking about her like that.”
“She is a spider, Celylith!” Legolas said, rising to his feet and
pulling his human friend with him who quickly masked his grin when
Celylith shot him a dark glare. “A spider whose family is coming ever
closer if one can believe the sentries!”
His elven friend gave him a hurt look while they were quietly making
their way out of the gates to a remote, half-forgotten shack that had
served
as a barn some decades ago and that was far enough away from the palace
to guarantee that no-one stumbled over the elf’s little ‘butterfly’. By
now Aragorn wondered how such an encounter would end, since Wilwarin
was
now big enough to eat anyone unfortunate to cross her way unprepared.
“That is hardly fair, my lord,” the elf complained, tightening his hold
on the bags when they threatened to slip out of his grasp. “There is no
proof that the increased spider activity is connected to Wilwarin in
any way.”
Legolas rolled his eyes while they directed their steps down the
half-overgrown path that led to the shack.
“Well, let me see,” he began, frowning in mock concentration. “It began
about three weeks ago, that is only a few days after we arrived here
with her, and it has been getting worse ever since. Really, Celylith,
what other reason could there be? And don’t tell me the spiders just
want to play a little with our warriors!”
Noticing Aragorn’s unbelieving look, he added, “He claimed that once
when a dozen of them were about to have us for dinner.”
“I am sure we would have found a way to communicate if you hadn’t shot
the last one of them, Legolas!” the silver haired elf insisted.
“That spider was about to eat you, my friend!” Legolas exclaimed,
ignoring his now openly laughing friends from Rivendell.
“That’s what you think,” Celylith replied curtly. “Besides,
there is no way they could have followed my tracks back here, I didn’t
touch
anything besides that branch.”
“Was it part of the nest?” Elladan asked slightly alarmed, fighting off
a renewed fit of giggles.
“Only of the little one Wilwarin had built for herself, and you should
have seen it! It was perfect; she is such a very clever little spider…”
The three brothers and Legolas traded a helpless look. You couldn’t
tell Celylith anything about spiders, it was just a waste of time to
try and
reason with him.
“But, Celylith,” Aragorn began, carefully choosing his words, “I know I
am very young and un-experienced, especially concerning things in
Mirkwood, but I do seem to remember that spiders can have an
exceptional sense of smell. And if you touched that branch, especially
after taking one of their young, the whole colony will take up the
scent and follow you, you know that. From what I’ve heard females don’t
take kindly to people who try to snatch one of their offspring.”
“I didn’t snatch her!” the elf protested, putting down the bags and
taking out the key to the small hut they had reached by now. “I just
couldn’t
leave her there all alone! Something could have eaten her!”
Elrohir snickered again.
“Uhm, Celylith, spiders are the ones that eat other things
here. She would have been the menace to others, not the other way
round.”
Celylith glared at the highly amused twins.
“And what about wargs? A warg could eat a baby spider! Even a wolf
could! Or a troll!”
“You are right, mellon nín, it was your duty to protect
it,” Legolas said quickly and laid a hand on the irate elf’s shoulder.
Celylith took
such remarks personal.
“Wilwarin’s not an ‘it’, Legolas, she’s a she,” his friend growled
quietly and pushed the door open. “How would you like it if someone
called you
‘it’ and ‘the elf’ all the time?”
Legolas didn’t answer for he was far too busy fighting the urge to take
one of the knives that hung in two leather sheaths on his belt and
simply kill the spider that became visible now that the door swung
open. Or kill Celylith if he didn’t come to his senses soon, that still
remained to be seen.
He could feel the twins next to him stiffen and Aragorn take a deep
breath. True, he mused dryly, if one didn’t see it quite as often as he
did, then the sight could be rather alarming.
Celylith’s sweet little spider was now at least five feet high and,
with legs and all, about twice as wide. Four large, black legs could be
seen
on each side of its body, and the older it became, the more it began to
become covered in black bristly hairs. The worst though were in the
prince’s
opinion the eyes, the luminous compound eyes that were the most
memorable
part of its face. The rest of the space was covered with the large
mouth
and more pinchers than Legolas ever wanted to see at close quarters.
The spider began hissing and screeching as soon as it set eyes on them,
straining against the leash that wound round its neck and secured it
tightly to the wall.
“Wicked!! Wicked!! Nasty, evil elves, let me go! Nasty, wicked, nasty!!”
Celylith took a step closer to it.
“Don’t worry, my little butterfly, it’s only me! I’ve brought you some
delicious bloody deer for lunch!” When the beast wouldn’t calm down, he
shot his friends a reproachful look. “See? You are scaring her! Get
back
a little!”
Only too willingly the three elves and the human complied, eyes fixed
unwaveringly on the spider that really seemed to quieten down a little
once they retreated and was now busy tearing through the bags with its
pinchers and claws to get to the meat.
“These eyes…” Elladan muttered. “They just invite a knife, don’t they?”
“My thoughts exactly, my friend,” Legolas replied, smiling nervously.
“I never knew they grew the hair when they matured,” Aragorn said,
obviously fascinated against his will. “And I didn’t know their eating
habits were quite as disgusting,” he added as the spider raised its
head and hissed
at them as if to challenge them to come closer, a piece of meat still
dangling from its mouth.
“Neither did I, little brother,” Elrohir stated, unconsciously taking a
step backwards and reaching for his sword he had left at the palace. “I
have happily lived for more than 2800 years without that knowledge and
I could have happily done without for another 2800.” He shot Celylith a
dark look. “Another thing I have to thank him for.”
“You have to do something, Legolas,” Aragorn said, watching the silver
haired elf that began to pat the spider’s head now. Surprisingly, it
didn’t stop him, but that might have been because it was so busy
grinding the
bones of its meal. “Do something as long as we can still control it.
Spiders
aren’t stupid, and it knows it’s not yet strong enough to take on all
of
us. In a month or two that might be different though … and just think
of
what your father will say once he hears that his warriors are having
that
much trouble with the things because Celylith had to take one as a pet!
We cannot deceive the others indefinitely, sooner or later someone will
find out about all this…”
All of them shuddered. King Thranduil probably wouldn’t be too pleased.
“You are right, mellon nín,” Legolas said grimly,
watching as
the spider raised its head and eyed his elven friend as if it was
contemplating eating him next. “This has gone far enough. As long as if
its presence
threatened no-one else, it was tolerable, but I will not have it
endangering
my people. Celylith!” he called, giving him a stern look.
“Yes, my lord?” he replied and stepped closer, neatly escaping a sharp
claw that was trying to fasten around his ankle.
“We need to talk, my friend. About it.”
“You mean her.”
“That too, Celylith, that too.”
That same evening, Elrond was walking with King Thranduil through the
king’s gardens, admiring the sight the autumnal parks presented. Even
though they had already shed most of their leaves, the trees were still
beautiful, the branches dark and slim and stretching towards the
heavens like giant fingers. This part of Mirkwood, the part right
around the woodking’s halls, was truly beautiful, a last memory of what
the whole forest had looked like before Sauron in the guise of the
Necromancer had taken up residence in Dol
Guldur, far to the south of here.
Quickly the Dark Lord’s evil had spread throughout the once fair
forest, and orcs, spiders and wargs began to multiply and harass the
elves of Greenwood the Great. After only a few centuries the entire
forest had fallen into
darkness, its tress gnarly and bent, growing thicker and thicker as if
to
smother and suffocate all life that they could reach, the paths cutting
through the wood like tunnels amidst a sea of hostile darkness. And the
wood-elves had become suspicious and somewhat xenophobic, the foul
things
had turned the merry Silvan folk into warriors that were always
hard-pressed
to defend their home from the creeping darkness that sought to encroach
them,
even now that the tower was empty and Sauron gone.
“I would very much like to know where your thoughts are, my friend,”
the king’s melodious voice cut through his contemplations.
Elrond turned from where he had stared into nothing and smiled sadly
at the King of Mirkwood.
“I was remembering, Lord Thranduil, remembering things that once were.”
Thranduil understood his guest’s meaning almost instantly.
“I do the same,” he admitted softly, stepping up to the Lord of
Imladris and looking over the gardens. “I come here often to listen to
the trees
and remember what once was. That what was when my father was still
alive
and our people carefree and safe. But it’s no use,” he said grimly,
giving
Elrond a resigned look. “There are things that will never come back,
things
that are never going to be like they were before.”
“Don’t say that, Lord Thranduil,” the dark haired elf to his left shook
his head, “For not even the wisest of us can tell what the future will
bring. A great storm is coming, and none knows what it will leave in
its wake.”
The woodland king shook his head in disgust, his eyes dim with memories.
“Death and pain, as these kinds of storms always bring. Destruction and
loss for the younger races and suffering for the firstborn, for
whatever will come to pass, the days of the elves are all but over. We
will either leave these shores or stay and die where we have lived for
so long.”
Elrond inclined his head, his face stony and sad.
“We will need to fight once more for what we hold dear, your Majesty,
and, Valar willing, for the last time before we can leave for the
Blessed Realm. I for my part do not intend to desert Arda before I have
seen Aragorn fulfil his destiny.”
“Neither do I,” Thranduil replied and smiled thinly when he saw the
surprise on the other elf’s face. “I will not leave before I have
witnesses him
becoming the leader you tell me he will become, because you know as
well
as I do that Legolas will not follow unless he has made sure that the
Dúnadan will live in peace. And, Elbereth, I will not lose
my
only child to death or heartache, not if I can prevent it!”
“We cannot make such choices for our children, I fear,” Elrond replied
solemnly, shaking his head. “I pray to all the Valar that I will not
experience of what you speak, but I have the premonition that…”
He took a deep breath and blinked, as if coming out of a deep trance.
“However, these things are still in the future, and there they should
remain for the time being, for we can do nothing to prevent them now.
Besides, there is still the question whether or not they will even
survive this winter.”
The golden haired elf laughed, gladly welcoming the direction the
conversation was taking now.
“I cannot guarantee for anything, my lord. As I said, trouble is never
far behind when your sons and Legolas get together. And now that Estel
is able to move around freely, I fear the worst. There is a tiny ray of
hope though, and that is that you are leaving in a day. I meant no
offence,
my lord,” he quickly assured the dark haired elf lord next to him who
had
raised an amused eyebrow.
“None taken, mellon nín,” Elrond smiled, inviting the
king with a move of his hand to walk back towards the main building. “I
know perfectly well of what you speak. I think the prospect of our now
imminent departure is the only thing that has kept some of your people
alive and sane, even though I think they haven’t quite grasped the
implications of the fact that I am taking only the twins with me.”
“They will learn quickly enough,” Thranduil sighed as they walked up
the garden path. “Oh, they will.”
“Come now, my lord, they are not that bad,” Elrond said. “They are
rather accident-prone, yes, but I do not think they are doing these
things on
purpose.”
“Do you have proof for that assumption?”
“No,” the Lord of Rivendell admitted, wrinkling his forehead in
thought. “No, I don’t, but I am willing to give them the benefit of the
doubt.”
Thranduil laughed incredulously.
“You are far too trusting, Lord Elrond! Let me tell you one thing I
have learned during these past twenty-something centuries: Things are
never
as they seem, especially not with my son or yours.”
Elrond smiled slightly, stopping on the cobbled area just in front of
the big window doors that led from one of the woodking’s rooms to the
gardens.
“Then you will have to keep a close eye on them for me, my friend.”
Before the blonde elf at his side could reply, Galion, the king’s
butler, appeared in the doors, looking at them questioningly.
“Pardon my intrusion, my lords, but do you know where your sons are?
Hithrawyn is looking for Estel, I believe.”
“Isn’t he in his quarters?” Elrond asked, slightly worried.
“No, Lord Elrond,” the butler replied, giving the two pained-looking
elf lords a sympathetic look. “He is nowhere to be found, and neither
are
the Lords Elladan and Elrohir, Captain Celylith or Prince Legolas.”
Thranduil closed his eyes, trying to remember when he had seen them
last. It had been about an hour ago, he decided finally, the five young
ones
had excused themselves after dinner… He sighed inwardly. He hadn’t
expected
them to do anything before the twins had left.
‘That was your first mistake,’ a chuckling voice inside his head told
him, ‘The second was not to chain the two of them to the walls of their
rooms
until the twins had left.’
The golden haired king opened his eyes again and looked at his guest
who had apparently come to the same conclusion as he had.
“An hour is a very long time,” Elrond stated calmly. “Judging by that
mischievous sparkle in my sons’ eyes I saw earlier, I would think that
they have already left the grounds.”
“I think you are right, my lord,” Galion sighed. Bowing slightly before
the two of them, he added, “With your Majesty’s permission I will go
and ask the gatekeepers if they have left.”
The elven king nodded, trying to remain calm.
“Please do that, Galion. And inform them also that I wish to see the
prince and his companions in my rooms once they come back. No matter
what
hour it will be.”
The other elf nodded and, with a last look at his lord’s stricken face,
he turned and quickly walked back the way he had come. The way things
were going, he mused as he closed the door behind him, it was going to
be a long and very interesting winter.
Elrond stifled a grin when he looked at his companion’s slightly
twitching face. Thranduil was really rather easy to incense.
“Somehow, your Highness, I am having doubts whether or not you will be
able to keep an eye on them on your own.”
“‘Tis already too late for that, my lord, as you can see,” the King of
Mirkwood muttered as they were making their way inside the palace. “And
this is only the beginning. May the Valar help us all.”
The Lord of Imladris hid his grin behind one hand and put the other
comfortingly on the other elf’s shoulder. He was so unbelievably glad
that Aragorn and Legolas were staying in King Thranduil’s house for
this winter and not
in his…
With only the twins it would be almost peaceful, and if he could keep
them inside the house, stopped them from going on any hunts, scouting
trips or walks and locked away all sharp tools which could somehow
cause any damage, they should be just fine.
He would have liked to assure the king that he was sure that the five
young ones weren’t up to anything foolish and that everything would be
just fine, but that would have been an outright lie.
And one could say what one wanted about the Master of Rivendell, he did
never lie, not even to comfort a so obviously despairing elf.
A few miles to the south, the forest was dark and quiet, its stillness
only interrupted by an occasional shuffle in the dark trees high above
the grassy ground or the sounds of almost inaudible steps that soon
disappeared in the distance.
That quiet, however, did not last for much longer, for on a path that
led further southwards there appeared a group of six beings, and it had
been
a long time since a more curious group had passed through here.
It consisted of four elves and a human that talked quietly among each
other and a giant spider that put up quite a fierce resistance while
being dragged along with them. It really wasn’t very happy with its
current situation, judging by the almost continuous hissing that
emanated from under the hood that was fastened on the beast’s head.
The group stopped for a second and one of the elves, with dark hair and
an annoyed expression on his fair face, said exasperatedly,
“If it doesn’t stop that soon, I will kill it. Right now and right
here, without even giving it a second thought.”
“I will gladly offer you my sword for this noble deed, brother,” the
human said, wiping his sweat-covered face with a dark shirtsleeve. “I
still
don’t understand why we couldn’t take a torch with us. I know you four
don’t have problems in the dark, but we humans are usually not able to
see at night as clearly as in the light of day.”
The silver haired elf looked outraged at the elf that had spoken
earlier.
“Kill ‘it’? Well, sons of Elrond, let me tell you one thing: If any of
you harms as much as a single hair on Wilwarin’s head, you will regret
it.”
“I seriously doubt that,” the dark haired elf’s twin grinned. “The only
thing I would regret would be not having taken off the whole head.” He
quickly took a few steps backwards to avoid the clout Celylith had
aimed at him. “The answer to your question, Estel, is very simple: You
just don’t light fires in Mirkwood at night. Sometimes it’s better not
to see your surroundings clearly, believe me. What I don’t
understand is why we couldn’t take any horses.”
At that the last member of the group grinned wickedly, his blonde hair
shining like flowing silver in the sparse moonlight.
“Well, Elrohir, I think I can answer that: First, because we could
never have explained to the guards just why we wanted to take a walk
with our
horses, and second: Do I really need to explain to you what would
happen
if my horse saw you ever again?”
The younger twin winced while the others broke out in laughter.
“It’s not a horse, it’s a demon,” he muttered under his breath. “It
doesn’t even have a name. May I suggest one? What about … let me think
… ‘Goroth’?”
Legolas’ face darkened and he took a step closer to the dark haired
elf, a threatening expression on his face that didn’t seem to disturb
the other in the slightest, for he only jumped behind Aragorn and
continued.
“No, that’s doesn’t sound quite right, what about ‘Gwarth’?
Not bad, but ‘Anca’ is better, I think…”
The young ranger tried to look at his elven brother who was hiding
behind his back before fixing a pleading stare on his irate