In The Darkness Bind Them - Book One
a Lord of the Rings story
by Katlyn Egan
Every year it was the same... and just when I was beginning to think nothing would change, it did. I do not know why, or how. But from the moment I arrived in Mirkwood in the week before Yule a piece of my heart shifted and somewhere deep inside I knew - everything would change. And it has, in ways I had never imagined. Things have come to pass for which I had never dared hope. One simply does not court one of King Thranduil's sons, not even the youngest. So much the worse if one is a peredhil (half-elf)... and one of the twin sons of Lord Elrond. Perhaps Elbereth smiled upon us; perhaps it was a Yuletide miracle - something gained for all that was lost. Or perhaps it was fated, as he says in his more romantic moments. Myself, I believe it is better not to question. Better to simply accept the gift and be grateful. Every day I do... and I am. This is how it began.
Elrohir and Elladan reined their horses in at the same moment, gestures mirroring each other as they did so often. It was one of the reasons that many could not tell the brethren apart. Only those who knew them well could, and even then sometimes mistakes were made. In their elfling days the twins played upon this for their own benefit. Many were the times Glorfindel thought Elrohir accompanied him on a hunt when it was Elladan beside him. And equally many were the times Erestor thought Elladan studied his ancient texts, when it was Elrohir's dark head bent over the books.
Despite their closeness and physical similarity, Elladan and Elrohir were more like two halves of one whole, or mirror images of each other. Together they were complete. Or so they believed. Elrohir preferred solitary pursuits. He was serious and scholarly, calm and centered. But a streak of mischief ran through him and though not many ever suspected, Elrohir was often the mastermind behind Elladan's practical jokes. Elladan was as restless as Elrohir was settled. He roamed far and wide, even before the attack on their beloved mother, Celebrian, which sent them both out hunting orc bands with grim determination. Elladan was outgoing with both elves and elf-maidens. Rare was the edhel (elf) who failed to succumb to his charms. And fortunate this was, having saved both his and his twin's hides on occasions without number.
The twins had reached the border of Mirkwood, once called Greenwood the Great, now fallen to strangeness and shadow. The pines seemed to draw together above their heads in a deep green canopy. The last of the winter sun was falling away and the wood was fast becoming dark. A tangle of mist was curling around their horses' hooves, and odd noises rode the breeze.
Elladan glanced around himself, a slight look of unease passing quickly over his face. Then, as though he felt the weight of Elrohir's gaze on him, he turned toward his twin and grinned. "After you, brother mine."
Elrohir had to bite his tongue on a smirk. As the eldest, Elladan clung to the appearance of fearlessness, but he caught the glint of trepidation his eyes. Never one to resist a slight poke at his twin's expense, Elrohir cocked a brow, striking his best Elrond imitation. "As the eldest, the place of leadership is yours."
"As if that has ever stopped you from trying to usurp it, whenever it fit your desires," Elladan said quickly. And then he noticed the twitching of Elrohir's lips as he fought to keep serious. "Or is it that you are afraid?" Unlike the younger twin, Elladan was plainspoken, sometimes to a fault. Diplomacy was not one of his stronger suits.
"Indeed not. Would you risk King Thranduil's wrath if we entered his Wood unescorted?"
Elladan shrugged. "There is none here. I am certain the King would not mean to leave us waiting here in the dark and the chill."
Before Elrohir had a chance to reply, there came a rustle of branches above and pine needles rained down over the twins. Elladan reached for his sword, Elrohir his bow, but neither had the chance to ready themselves before an elf dropped from above, landing in a crouch and rising quickly. Both horses snorted and shifted nervously, but the twins grinned at the green-clad wood-elf.
"Legolas," they exclaimed in unison, as other elves, clearly Mirkwood guards, appeared as though coalesced from the mist and the dark. The guards' eyes were cold and challenging, expressions grim as though doubting the welcome the twins deserved. Without the protection of Vilya, the elves of Mirkwood were of necessity hard, fierce and somewhat feral combatants. The cultured elves of Imladris or Lothlorien these were not.
The youngest son of King Thranduil bowed in greeting. "Mae govannen (well met) Lord Elladan, Lord Elrohir. You are most welcome to Mirkwood," Legolas said, his tone and manner rather stiff and formal despite the words of greeting.
Elrohir found his gaze drawn to the young prince. Many years had passed since they had last met. In the intervening time, Legolas had passed his Majority, growing from a shy and coltish elfling into a lithe warrior. The hair that was once been silver, like his father's, had darkened into the sun-rich honey of his mother, Calarthoniel. Where it had flown free in the wind like a banner last time he saw him, standing atop the hilltop above Thranduil's palace and waving farewell, the golden strands were now pulled back from his face and bound into the simple yet elegant braids of the Mirkwood Guard. His eyes, still blue as the sky in Autumn, held a new sadness in their depths and hinted at changes that had come, deeper than the physical. The openness, the welcome that had always shone forth was missing and Elrohir wondered at the new shutters in his friend's heart.
Suddenly an odd screech sounded above, but before Elrohir could move to defend himself something hit him hard in the chest, knocking the breath from his lungs and sending him tumbling from the back of his horse. He lay where he landed for a moment, dazed. Whatever had hit him moved quickly back and away. The noise of a battle flared around him, arrows sang, breath came in harsh pants.
Elrohir blinked, clearing the fog from his eyes. Legolas stood before him, crouched in defense, long knives in hand. A spider stood before him, taller than he was, pincers snapping. The Mirkwood warriors let several more arrows fly, which struck home, but merely imbedded into the thick skin of the spider's back. Suddenly the creature sprang for Legolas and at the exact same moment he stepped forward to meet it. There was a blur of motion; mithril blades glinted in the sun. The spider came down upon him and he stepped aside, slicing quickly up and across, effectively gutting the insect. The thing fell at Elrohir's feet, oozing blood and innards. He could not stifle a small shudder of disgust.
Elladan moved quickly to Elrohir's side, concern furrowing his brows. "Elrohir, are you harmed?" He extended a hand and helped him to stand.
Elrohir shook his head. "No, I am fine." Several other, smaller spider carcasses littered the clearing. "What happened?"
"We seem to have disturbed a nest," Legolas said. "Come, we must leave this place quickly. There will be more. Sadly, Mirkwood is no longer safe as it once was. The taint has spread. I do my best to keep it in check, however I am merely a small force moving against the tide." Bitterness was heavy in his voice and Elrohir wondered at that too. There was much about his friend that had changed in a scant couple of centuries, short in the span of an elvish life.
Legolas nodded at the guards and they melted back into the Wood, as swift and silent as they had come. Once they were gone the tension in his body seemed to lessen and he let himself droop a bit. "I am pleased you have come in your father's stead no matter Thranduil's response," he said softly. "Long has it been since I have seen a welcoming face. Though I believe you come too late. And you will find our Wood much changed."
Elladan and Elrohir flanked him, leading their mounts as they passed through the forest. "So we have seen," Elrohir said.
Nearly speaking over his words Elladan added, "What has caused this change?"
Legolas ducked his head, as though he needed to study where he placed his feet. "You have not heard, then." He sighed. "I had feared as much."
"We have been much away from Imladris of late," Elrohir explained, struck with the sudden urge to offer reassurance.
"Adar (Father) told us but little of King Thranduil's request - only that he sought his aid in some manner. Thranduil did not detail the need for our father's presence, so he sent us instead."
Legolas glanced at Elladan sidelong, then away once again. The tension had returned to his body; Elrohir could feel him nearly vibrate with it. "It is a long tale, and one best completed before we reach the palace. Would you mind taking the more circuitous route," he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
The twins assented simultaneously, to Elrohir's relief. He knew Elladan would prefer to rush headlong into whatever lay ahead, but he was a friend to Legolas as well - he would not push. Legolas was quiet for a long moment, and in his silence Elrohir had a chance to hear the sounds of the wood. The normal birdcalls were absent, replaced by eerie scuttling sounds as creatures moved unseen through the darkness. The wind blew strong, moaning and sighing through the branches of the pines. The sharp chill of winter cut through his cloak straight to his bones, and though his elvish blood kept the cold from bothering him overmuch, it settled in his body and heart as a weight. Sadness rode the wind and the first flakes of snowfall were not peaceful, but fierce. When Legolas began to speak, his voice was as bleak as their surroundings.
"As you both well know, Thranduil and my naneth (mother) have battled the encroaching dark for ages. Long years have passed since the Wood was known by any name other than Taur-na-fuin (Forest under the nightshade). But even so, together they were able to bring a measure of light and joy to the wood-elves who call this place home. Together, they were balanced. My mother's kindness tempered my father's strength. Her passion lit his sometimes duty-bound vision. I barely remember those lighter days, now.
"It was nearly a century ago... Winter was just giving way to spring. A few of the more daring plants were sending green shoots up through the last of the snow. The breezes had begun to blow more softly, and there was warmth there that had not been before. My mother wished to go riding to greet the spring. She loved this Wood, darkness and all. She was a part of it, in a way that none of the rest of us were. When she rode beneath them, trees seemed to bend down to whisper their secrets in her ears. Flowers turned their heads to her. The Wood rejoiced when she rode through."
As he spoke, Elrohir remembered the Queen Calarthoniel. She had been named true -'lampkindler' - for she shone with the light of joy wherever she went, and where she passed, sadness and gloom seemed to fade. Her laugher often rang through the trees of the Wood, and none in the Kingdom could compare to her grace when she danced on Midsummer festivals, and she was oft crowned Midsummer Queen. Many believed that it was the Queen's calming influence that had allowed Mirkwood to flourish, even in the midst of darkness.
"Thranduil doubted the wisdom of the venture. Yrch (orc) and brigands had been sighted not far from the borders of our safe lands. The winter had been harsh, and it drove them to dare the arrows and swords of our guard. The reputed wealth of the Elvenking and the beasts of the outlaying settlements tempted them.
"I, however, had just finished a sweep of the paths Cala would take, and I counseled him of its safety. I had seen nothing amiss; I believed she would pass without threat of harm. I let her go. Without a thought, I let her go. She believed it was safe, she had no cause for doubt. And with her, she brought Nimuel." Legolas fell silent again, his face drawn and white. Elrohir could read his struggle for control in the lines of pain around his eyes, which were dark circled and bruised by lack of sleep.
"I was not with the band of guards who found her, and Nimuel," Legolas' voice echoed the hollow tone of the wind. "Suffice it to say there was naught we could do for them, except bring them home, to the King and his healers. I knew the moment my eyes fell upon her - Cala would not live to see the next day's dawning. Her wounds were deep and grave, redolent of the poison the yrch had used on their blades. But Nimuel ... she gave us a breath of hope. Though she was not conscious, her wounds seemed merely superficial. They lacked the reek of poison. We knew Cala would give her life to save her daughter and though it pained us, there was a piece of each of us that had hoped it had been so."
Elrohir closed his eyes briefly, sharing the Prince's pain. He knew what it was, to watch a mother fade. To lose someone who was body and blood, deeper than friend or lover would ever be. He would have turned and held him then, offering the comfort of touch, but Legolas was strung tight as a bow and there was a danger in his eyes warning him away.
"Yrch," Elladan spat the word. "Thrice cursed be Sauron for giving life to the fell beasts. After we give what assistance your father needs, we shall hunt at your side, Legolas. And those who see us ride will tremble before our swords."
Legolas turned to Elladan, clasping his forearms in a warrior's embrace. "Thank you, mellon nin (my friend). That means much to me. We have not yet been able to track down the band that took her from us..." His eyes shone with barely suppressed fury, but his throat worked as he swallowed.
A strange mix of emotions in the young Prince, anger and grief, vulnerability and strength - they pulled Elrohir to him as a magnet drew iron filings. Yet he did not move from his place beside him, did not move to touch him. Did not reach out to hold him, as his heart urged. He was unsure how the gesture would be received. With a sudden flash, Elrohir understood. It was not the embrace of one warrior to another he longed to give. And so he crossed his arms over his chest and held his silence. It was not the way of Mirkwood, for two ellon to love. Indeed, two warriors might take physical pleasure in each other, drawing some comfort from the contact after the heat and terror of battle... but no more.
Elrohir had heard of a few who had gone in the face of this tradition and been cast from the Wood. Some had sought refuge in Imladris, others with the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien. Queen Calarthoniel had often plead clemency, but Thranduil's rule held. Now, if she was indeed gone... The feeling would pass, and until then he would speak of it to no one, not even Elladan.
As though he heard Elrohir's thought, Elladan glanced at him. Elrohir could read the question in his twin's eyes, more familiar to him than his own, and for the first time he looked away without answering. Instead he gazed out into the darkness of the wood, as though watching for the possibility of any danger. Elladan turned back to Legolas, allowing Elrohir his secret, for the time being.
"We will track them. Do not doubt. But tell us, what happened," Elladan asked, encouraging the Prince to share his burden.
Legolas shivered in the chill, pulling his cloak more tightly around himself. "Slowly, far too slowly, the Queen faded, and passed into the Halls of Mandos. We who loved her could do naught but watch. And now Thranduil clings hard to his grief and will share it with none, not even his sons. His will has grown strong, but grim in the passing years, his judgment terrible. A fear sits over our people like a pall. Fear of their King. She did not go alone, Cala... she took with her the joy and the light of our Wood. We are sliding into the dark, and my father no longer fights it. His grief is too strong. And now... Nimuel fades as well." Legolas' eyes narrowed, and his voice sharpened with anger.
"I asked Thranduil to send for Lord Elrond years ago. I knew that if anyone could help Nim, he could. Tales of his healing have penetrated even to our lands, so I assumed that Thranduil would agree." Legolas shook his head and a bark of laugher escaped him. "I underestimated the hold Oropher's hate has on him, even now - ages after his death. He would not lower himself to ask for help from one he blames for Oropher's death.
"I begged, pleaded... everything I could. I even sent a messenger myself, but he was waylaid before he left the forest. He was punished for going against the King's decree." Legolas scrubbed a hand over his face. "And now... now I fear you come too late. And without your father. Nimuel's fea still wanders in the land of dreams, she has not woken. The thread connecting her fea to her body stretches thin. It may snap at any moment."
"Ai, Legolas... we knew not. The King's letter spoke of none of this. He merely asked for our father's presence at a meeting. Elrond is away in Lorien and so he thought to send us instead," Elladan frowned, pondering. "Perhaps Elrohir could help. He has learned no small bit of our father's healing skills."
For the first time Legolas turned to face Elrohir, his eyes too bright, a strange flush over his cheeks. He reached out, grasping Elrohir's arm. His touch was hot, as though fevered. "Please, 'Ro... could you," he asked, desperation edging his tone.
The diminutive struck Elrohir's heart like a blow. No one called him that, except the Mirkwood Prince. Elrohir wanted to pull away, to put space between them. Legolas' need was too great, and he had never healed someone so close to death. But he could see tears shimmering in those sapphire eyes, and he knew he would try. He had never met Legolas' younger sister, Nimuel... but he would try for Legolas. "I can promise nothing," he admitted softly. "But I will do everything within my power to help her."
A smile spread across Legolas' lips and he threw his arms around him, holding tight. The spontaneous affection reminded Elrohir of how he had been, before the grief. For a moment, without thought, he stiffened in the embrace and, perhaps feeling the hesitation, Legolas stepped away.
"Excuse me," Legolas mumbled and shuddered, a look of pain crossing his features.
Before Elrohir could speak, Elladan gave a small sound of surprise. "Legolas," he exclaimed. "You're bleeding."
Both Elrohir and Legolas followed his gaze to a spot of blood on Legolas' shirt, which was slowly growing. Legolas attempted to tug his cloak around himself, covering the wound at his side, but Elladan pushed his hands away.
"Elrohir, come look," he said, firmly grasping Legolas' wrists.
Legolas scowled, but could not pull away from Elladan's hold. "It is nothing," he protested.
Elrohir knelt at Legolas' side, heedless of the snow soaking into his breeches and raised his shirt. "It is not nothing," he said, examining the wound. There were two punctures, clearly where the spider had bitten him. Both bled, though sluggishly and there was a slight swelling and redness around them. "This must be tended. You should have told me you were hurt."
Legolas shook his head, finally winning free and stepping away from the twins' scrutiny. "It is merely a scratch. We must reach the Palace before nightfall. Once you have seen to Nimuel we may discuss my situation."
Elladan opened his mouth to speak, but Legolas cut him off. "It is not open for discussion. Come, we must hurry." The Prince strode away, leaving the brethren no choice but to follow. Elladan offered a hand and helped Elrohir to his feet.
"I am concerned too," Elladan said, putting an arm around Elrohir's shoulders and following the retreating form. "But he is stubborn as his father. He leaves us no choice."
A slight smile touched Elrohir's lips as he strove to reassure his brother. "I seem to recall others who do not rejoice at the offered ministration of a healer."
Elladan assumed a look of injured innocence. "I do not imagine you mean me? How could you? Merely because I prefer the gentle touch of a healing-maiden to that of a warrior and my own brother..."
"Merely because you refuse all assistance until you are forced by your own body's weakness..."
"Ah that," Elladan scoffed. "A ruse to gain the sympathy of the maidens, nothing more."
Lulled by the familiar banter, Elrohir found himself relaxing for the first time since they entered the Wood. And so it was that they reached the palace of Thranduil, called King of Mirkwood.
Barely stopping long enough to hand his cloak to a waiting servant, Legolas strode through the Great Hall, toward the family living quarters. He only halted at the sound of Thranduil's voice booming from the Receiving Hall as they passed. Elrohir caught the grimace that crossed his face before he pivoted and returned to the Hall, the twins in tow.
Thranduil sat in state, ensconced in his throne at the far side of the hall. Their footfalls made soft sounds on the stone floor as they crossed the room in silence. Elrohir could feel the chill of the King's piercing gaze on the top of his head as he bowed.
No less impressive in grief, Thranduil was clad in a voluminous robe of green velvet, his shirt of the finest silk, breeches the soft tanned hide of a deer. His crown reflected the season, wreathed with holly berries and ivy leaves. In his eyes all the ice of winter, though they were the green of the emeralds that graced his fingers. Silence hung over them all for a long moment, and then Legolas shifted impatiently.
"I bring the Lords Elladan and Elrohir to heal Nimuel," he said abruptly. "Will you keep us standing here on ceremony when they could be helping her?"
Thranduil turned his gaze to his youngest son, and electricity snapped between them almost audibly. The King narrowed his eyes. "Do you dare to bring the peredhel to Nimuel without my leave?"
Legolas raised his chin. "You sent for them, my liege." His voice dripped sarcasm.
"I sent for Lord Elrond. And he sends his sons?"
Though the question was not specifically directed at them, Elladan stepped forward. "Our father did not know why you requested his presence. As he is in Lorien on pressing matters, he sent us rather than simply not responding at all." His tone was courteous, his words formal, but there was steel underneath for all of that. The elder twin was not easily intimidated.
"I should have expected no more from Elrond of Imladris," the King frowned. "Very well; you may see her - though I expect you will be unable to heal her, none of my best and most well trained healers could do so." It was as though he granted them a favor, rather than the reverse, and Elrohir caught the muscle that jumped in Elladan's jaw at the snide dismissal.
However, he also noticed Legolas' pallor and his concern deepened. Elrohir sketched a bow. "I will do my best, Sire," he said politely and, taking both Elladan and Legolas' arm, he steered them from the room.
"Can you believe the way he spoke to us?" Elladan said, as they retraced their path to the family quarters.
Elrohir placed a calming hand on his arm. "Please, muindor (brother), peace," he said under his breath, glancing at Legolas who walked ahead of them. The Prince held his body carefully, as though it hurt him. Elladan sighed, but fell silent.
Legolas had spoken true when he said Mirkwood had changed. The palace, which had always seemed a bit close for Elrohir, felt oppressive, the air stale and heavy. They came upon few elves in the halls and those they passed avoided their eyes and ducked away as quickly as possible, as though afraid. Legolas did not seem to notice them, his mind clearly elsewhere.
At last they reached the end of the hall. A door on their right was slightly ajar, the flickering of firelight spilling out into the hallway. Without the slightest hesitation, Legolas pushed open the door and entered, Elladan and Elrohir at his heels.
The air of the room was uncomfortably warm, but did not smell of illness. Instead, Elrohir thought he caught a faint scent of cinnamon. The chamber was small, but comfortably held a large, four-poster bed of carven oak, two soft chairs by a small window and another by the fireplace, a dresser, a bookshelf and a wooden box at the foot of the bed. As Elrohir moved closer a figure seated in one of the chairs stirred and leaned forward into the light.
"Legolas, has he come?" Thraomar, Legolas' eldest brother and Crown Prince, asked. Catching sight of the twins, a look of disappointment flitted across his features before he could school his expression into the appropriate welcome. "Lord Elladan, Lord Elrohir," he greeted them, stepping forward to clasp their forearms in the warrior's welcome. "We had hoped your father..."
Elrohir allowed Elladan to draw the Crown Prince aside, attempting to comfort him with conversation. While Elrohir had always related most easily with the youngest of Thranduil's sons, Elladan was more comfortable with the warrior-nature of the eldest. Elrohir crossed the room to stand at Legolas' side next to the bed. They both gazed down at the young elf-maid lying there, completely still.
Her hair spread across the pillow, the same wheat-gold as Legolas', but utterly lacking any vibrancy. Her face was stark white, skin so pale as to be nearly translucent. Elrohir could almost glimpse the delicate blue webbing of veins beneath the skin. Her eyes were not open and glazed with sleep, but instead closed. There was indeed something drastically wrong. Glancing at Legolas for permission, Elrohir bent over the youngling and took one hand, clasping one wrist gently. Her fingers curled slightly and Legolas looked at him with hope. Elrohir shook his head. It was nothing more than an automatic reaction. He felt for the beat of the blood through her and found it, faint and slow.
"Nimuel, I am Elrohir, your brother's friend. I come to see how you fare, and to offer you healing, if I may," he said softly. There was no flicker of her lids, no response at all. He perched at the edge of her bed, brushed her hair back from her forehead. Her skin was dry and cool to the touch. There was no fever, but also no flush of life. He placed a hand on either side of her head, just at the temples, and closed his eyes.
He took a deep breath, then another and began a slow chant under his breath. He rode the flowing syllables down into the darkness, until his concentration was a single point of light, and then he leaned down over her and breathed in, taking her breath deep into himself. The breath of her life gave him entrance and he searched her body, looking for what was injured. He followed the flow of her fea (life-energy/soul/spirit), checking for areas where the flow was blocked. At each blockage he used his own light to untangle the lines of energy and soothe the places that were angry red. There were many, but all were surprisingly superficial.
Until Elrohir reached her core, that place in all females that holds the possibility of life, where he found a tangle so black and knotted he was unsure he would be able to reach its center. Without surfacing he reached out with one hand, searching for Elladan. He needed more energy than he had left. A hand closed around his, a flood of green passed into him and he nearly broke contact with surprise. Legolas had joined him.
Elrohir shook his head slightly, attempting to warn him away through their contact. They were together in a place beyond speech. You do not know what you will see here.
The response formed in his mind. She is my sister. She is my heart. Legolas' voice rode the wave of green, and Elrohir understood. In Legolas' place, Elrohir would offer no less for Arwen.
Holding the green carefully like a surgeon's blade, Elrohir started by trimming away the black, searching through the tangle for an end. A shiver went through the body beneath his hand, echoed in the body beside him. Slowly, with great care, Elrohir began to untangle the knot. As the strands won free, pictures were released. Memories of what had passed those years ago, but to those standing with her it was as though they were there, watching.
Orcs and men together ambushed the small party, coming upon them with unnatural swiftness and silence. Almost before it began, the battle was over. The guard that had accompanied them was overwhelmed by sheer numbers and fell beneath an orc axe. Blood stained the ground. Neither Calarthoniel nor Nimuel gave in easily. They both had no small skill with blades.
They stood back-to-back, golden hair mingling, blades flashing in the spring sun. The beauty of their movements was utterly incongruous, but could not be denied. The orcs and men closed in around them, the stench of unwashed flesh and orc nearly unbearable. Several orc had fallen at their feet, blood spreading across the grass, staining their shoes and the hems of their skirts the black of pitch. Still they fought on, even as the surrounding circle grew tighter, pressing them. And then a blade passed through Cala's defense and she fell, crumpling slowly, caught by none.
And then... orc hands on Nimuel's arms, her legs, yanking her dress away. Man hands touching her young body, just rising toward her maturity. Elrohir could feel the trembling through the hand that still clasped his, tight, tighter until his bones rubbed together, but the pain he experienced was nothing to what he knew Legolas must be feeling. He wanted to break the contact, but could not. He needed help, and Legolas would not let go.
There were many... too many. Nimuel did not cry out, even as the first pierced her. Instead she lay silent, sending her mind far away, into the trees, into the Wood. Her home. Searching for a safety she was denied. She stared up into the green branches and wished herself away as her body was taken from her.
Elrohir reached the center of the block. It was a spark, a hint of life left by man or orc, he could not tell. Somewhere in her heart, Nimuel knew what was to come and she was refusing it with the only choice she had. She would fade. She would not bare this child. Elrohir could feel the resistance in her, the strength running through.
As the last tangle slipped free, an image rose before them. Nimuel, not as the youngling she seemed, but as the elf-warrior she would have been and was, in her heart. She smiled, raising one hand, palm out, and the brightness nearly blinded them. A single word passed through her lips. Namaarie... (farewell) and she faded, slowly, until she was gone.
Beneath his palm, Elrohir could feel the change as her fea departed. A sigh went through her and then she was still.
Suddenly Legolas released his hand, stumbling back and away from the bed. Elrohir turned just in time to see him drop to his hands and knees and begin to retch. He moved quickly to his side, reaching out to pull his hair back from his face, to hold him, but was stopped short when Legolas shook his head.
"No," Legolas managed. "Leave me be." Shudders ran through his body and he shook, but Elrohir stepped back, allowing him his space. He gasped in air, breath coming in ragged bursts. Slowly the gagging passed.
Suddenly Thraomar was there, pulling Legolas close, cradling him against his body. "What is it? What has happened? What did you do to my brother," he demanded, anger twisting his features.
Elrohir swayed with fatigue and then Elladan was at his side, arm around his waist, supporting him. It gave him the strength to explain what had passed, what they had seen. A stunned silence followed upon the telling.
"Nimuel is dead," Legolas said, the words falling like stones and shattering the silence.
"You killed her?" Shock colored Thraomar's voice and he turned on Elrohir. "You let her die! You failed. How could you?" He let go of Legolas, shot to his feet and advanced on the twins. "Father was right, we should never have sent for you."
Elladan stepped forward. "Enough, Thraomar. This was not Elrohir's doing. He did not injure her, he did not begin this. He tried to heal her."
"Others tried to heal her, but she did not die under their hands. He held her while she died and did nothing! You both should be banished from these lands. You have killed the King's daughter!" Thraomar's voice rose until he was nearly shouting.
"He has done nothing of the sort. I suggest you calm yourself before I do it for you," Elladan said, his own voice dangerously soft.
"Do not dare to threaten me, peredhil," Thraomar growled. "I am Crown Prince of this realm. You are no longer in Imladris, where weakness is considered an asset."
"Be silent, Thraomar," Legolas interrupted, dragging himself to his feet and moving between them. "We must inform Thranduil of what has passed. I believe it would be best if you did this."
For a long moment Thraomar stood his ground, glaring at Elrohir. There was no vestige of the friendliness that had met him before. Elrohir bowed his head. With one last muttered curse under his breath, Thraomar strode from the room.
Though he was loath to release the only support he had, Elrohir knew Thraomar would need assistance in his explanation to the King and so he turned to Elladan. For a brief moment, he leaned his forehead against his brother's, taking comfort from the contact. "Help him, muindor," he said softly.
"Are you certain? You do not wish me to stay with you," Elladan's eyes were bright with concern.
Elrohir shook his head, his gaze drawn almost against his will to the grief-stricken youngest Prince of Mirkwood. He had collapsed near the head of the bed, kneeling before his sister's body. He held one small hand in his and stroked her hair gently, as though she might still feel his touch. Elrohir could hear a soft murmur as he said his good-bye.
Seeing where his twin's attention lay, Elladan nodded once and released him. With a last brief smile of reassurance, he followed Thraomar from the room. Elrohir grasped at the dregs of his strength and moved to kneel beside Legolas.
"I am so sorry, mellon nin," he said softly.
Legolas ducked his head, unwilling or unable to look at him. "It is not your fault. Thraomar did not see, so he does not understand. She did not want to come back to us. You let her die, yes. But you allowed her freedom." His voice was hollow.
"It is not that she did not want to come back to you, she simply did not wish to live with what had passed," Elrohir said. "She could not bring a child borne of hate into the world."
"I understand." Legolas released her hand and rose to his feet. "I did not protect her, and I cannot change what happened. She is gone."
Elrohir stood as well, steadying himself with one hand on a bedpost. "You must not believe thus," he said. He knew, perhaps better than any what guilt would cause... the lives it would destroy. "You did not breed the orcs that attacked her, nor did you make the Men what they were. Calarthoniel knew what the risks were, she has lived in this Wood all of her days."
"I told her it was safe," Legolas whispered, his eyes empty and lost. Suddenly he hunched his shoulders, wrapping his arms around himself and sneezing. "hiiih... k'tchh! Chh... K'tchh!"
"Galu a'vys, (blessings on you)" Elrohir said. Strange, elves did not sneeze, as a rule. Illness was rare among edhel, unlike the race of Men, or even peredhel. It could not be a good sign. He beckoned Legolas closer. "Come here. It is time I looked at that wound."
"I am fine," Legolas replied, staying where he was. His body, however, betrayed him as shivers visibly shook him.
Elrohir crossed the small space between them and carefully moved aside his jerkin and tunic. The wounds had stopped bleeding, though there was a crust of dried blood around them. Slowly, and with much care, he placed one hand over the wounds, checking for fever and the spread of venom. The skin was hot to the touch, each bite mark pulsing behind his eyes with angry red light. He opened his eyes and met Legolas', grey locking with azure for the first time. Elrohir nearly winced at the pain shining there, but he pushed the feeling away. Legolas needed healing. "You are not fine. If we do nothing this wound will fester and the King will not lose one child but two."
Legolas flinched, eyes darting away. He shrugged, affecting nonchalance, but the façade shattered as he sneezed again. "huhTchh!... K'tchh! HuhTchh!"
"The venom is already weakening you. Come, I need herbs." Elrohir would allow no argument. He took Legolas arm, trying to ignore the heat of his skin, and urged him from the room. Slowly Legolas moved to follow, casting one last glance over his shoulder at his sister's body lying still and silent on the bed.
"Must we leave her alone," he asked suddenly, hesitating in the doorway.
Elrohir put an arm around his shoulders, ignoring how he tensed in response. "She is not there, mellon nin (my friend). What is there is naught but a shell."
For a moment Legolas looked as though he would argue, but then he nodded and stepped through the door, closing it gently behind him. As they walked through the halls, Legolas held himself carefully, clearly in pain. Elrohir kept an arm around him, but after the attempt at healing Nimuel, he had not much strength left to lend. But what he had, was Legolas'.
He wished he could ask what had changed between them, because it was evident something had. Legolas had never been so closed in all of their time together. Unlike his more restrained brother, Legolas had always been free and easy with his affections, never hesitating to offer a comforting hug, a shoulder to lean on, a touch on the arm. He was quick to laughter and quick to tears, quick to anger and quicker to apology. He never passed up a chance to participate in the twins' jokes, despite his father's anger. Time spent with the young Prince had been a refreshing change from the colder nobility of Imladris, and Elrohir had enjoyed the light Legolas brought wherever he went.
There were even times when Elrohir wondered whether there might be something more than friendly affection for him in Legolas' heart. A touch lingering longer than usual, a certain glance, a faint flush... but he had never asked. Had always been afraid of what consequences might follow. He did not wish to risk the friendship they had for something which might be nothing more than a figment of his imagination.
The healers' room was empty when they arrived, but the herbs were well stocked and labeled and Elrohir had no difficulty finding what he needed. Still shrouded in silence, he urged Legolas to sit at the edge of one of the cots and remove his garments. Legolas acquiesced, without looking at him, baring the smooth hard planes of his chest. His skin prickled into goose bumps.
Elrohir took up a blanket from beside him and wrapped it around his shoulders, trying not to stare at the expanse of skin before him. Focusing only on the task at hand, he began to wash the wound gently. The skin around it was red and swollen, full of venom and Elrohir hoped they had not delayed too long. He wished Elladan had come with them, his ability to talk much and say nothing was much missed. He cleared his throat, struggling to think of something to say. Nothing came to him beyond the platitudes spoken thoughtlessly to one in grief. Elrohir scowled down at the wound, internally berating himself. Legolas was his friend, was in pain... so why was his mind so blank?
Methodically, he stripped the leaves from the stem of athelas and crushed them with mortar and pestle. He took refuge in the familiar action. "I have cleaned the wound, and the athelas will both dull the pain and counteract the venom," he explained. "I will brew you a medicinal tea, as well, which will help neutralize the venom already spreading through you."
Legolas nodded absently, but did not even watch what Elrohir was doing. His gaze was focused somewhere in the distance, his eyes glittering with fever. Every now and again a shiver would run through him. Elrohir sighed, but continued his ministrations, describing what he did as he moved. "I will leave the bandage loose to allow the venom to drain, but if you notice it slipping off, tighten it. The herbal poultice needs to remain over the wound." There was no response. At last he knotted the end of the bandage around Legolas' waist and sat back on his heels. Legolas ducked his head, sneezing into his shoulder.
"You are ill, Legolas," Elrohir said quietly, laying a hand along Legolas' cheek. "You should go to bed. I will bring you the tea."
To his complete surprise, Legolas reached up, holding the hand to his face and not allowing Elrohir to move away. He leaned into the touch. "Please, 'Ro... come with me." In the depths of his eyes, a hint of the Legolas Elrohir had known.
Elrohir nodded. "Of course. Let me get the herbs and we will go together." Legolas released him, clutching the blanket around himself instead. Quickly Elrohir gathered what he needed and then they walked together to Legolas' chambers.
Elrohir built up the fire, attempting to combat the damp chill of the underground rooms and placed a pot of water over the fire to heat for tea. How the King could live beneath the earth, trapped within stone walls was beyond Elrohir's understanding. He, like most Imladrin elves, needed open spaces and the warmth of the sun. Legolas slipped between the sheets, curling in on himself, coughing now. The momentary impulse to speak seemed to have passed, for Legolas said nothing, merely closed his eyes and lay silent.
His skin had taken on a slightly gray hue and a stab of fear went through Elrohir, freezing the blood in his veins. He had spoken true when he warned Legolas of the danger of the spider-bite, but what he had not mentioned was the danger of grief held close and not allowed vent. If he did not release the emotion, it would darken his light, steal the very fea from his body, and eventually he would fade as surely as Cala had before him.
Stirring the powdered tea leaves into a mug of the heated water, Elrohir made his way back to Legolas side. "Mellon-nin, you must drink," he said softly, not wanting to startle him. "I fear it will not taste pleasant, but it will help you to heal."
Legolas sat up and reached for the mug, drinking it down without even the smallest grimace. The bitterness seemed not to phase him. Once the mug was emptied, he returned it to Elrohir and lay back. "I am still cold, 'Ro," his voice was small, young, as though he were no more than the elfling he had been when they first met.
"It is the fever which makes you so."
"Would you... lay beside me," Legolas asked hesitantly.
"If you wish," Elrohir agreed, and at the answering nod he stretched out on the bed beside the other, joining him beneath the coverlet, though the heat of the room and Legolas' body was nearly stifling.
Legolas burrowed closer, hiding his face in Elrohir's shoulder. At last Elrohir gave in and wrapped his arms around him, sending healing energies through the embrace. Slowly the shivering stilled and Legolas slept. Elrohir, exhausted from the expended energy, drifted as well.
"What is the meaning of this?" A sharp voice broke into his dreams and Legolas jerked out of his embrace. Elrohir blinked. Thranduil loomed over the bed, anger fairly radiating from him.
"Nothing," Legolas excused himself, sitting up abruptly. "Elrohir merely offered me healing."
"What need you might have had for healing should come from our own healers. This one," he dismissed Elrohir with the barest of glances, "is not deserving of the name. He let Nimuel die."
"No, father, he did not. Did Thraomar and Elladan not explain?" Legolas' voice was hoarse and he scrubbed a hand over his face.
"Meaningless words, spoken by ignorants," Thranduil's voice was ice. "Thraomar may be Crown Prince, but he is no healer. And Elladan only speaks to shift the implication from his brother. I know my daughter. She had no desire to leave Middle Earth."
"King Thranduil," Elrohir said, "Nimuel was deeply wounded. She..."
"Silence," Thranduil thundered, turning on him, face blazing with fury. "I will not be told about my daughter by a peredhil." The word was dirty in Thranduil's tongue. "You and your brother will take your leave, and you will not return to this wood. Never again will another peredhil pass through my realm."
Elrohir could only stare at the King in shock. Was he truly going to place the blame on him? The tenuous alliance between Mirkwood and Imladris falling in an instant? But Elrohir could not find the words to explain to the King. The silence following this proclamation was broken by Legolas as he stifled a sneeze, and then another into the blankets clutched at his chin.
"You will not speak to Lord Elrohir in this manner," Legolas said, meeting his father's hard gaze with his own equally hard. "He is not to blame, and I refuse to have it placed at his feet. You know nothing of what he saw in Nimuel... of what we saw..." a shudder ran through him, but he held firm. "Nimuel was raped, father. By Men, by Orc... and she carried a child. This is why she refused to return. She would not give life to a creature of darkness. Would you have her forced to do so to keep her at your side?"
The bitterness in Legolas' voice was palpable and Thranduil blanched at the telling. Without a word he turned on his heel and left the room. Legolas stared after him, body tense and stiff. Elrohir laid a hand on his arm.
"You should never have seen what you did," he said. "It was Elladan I reached for."
"Would you have kept the truth from me then," Legolas demanded. "Would you have denied me the comfort of seeing her leave?"
"I would have spared you the sight of her distress. Spared you the sight of her violation."
"Do you not understand, not knowing was killing me! She has lain there, sleeping and unable to wake for years... and I could not reach her! No matter what I said, what I did... nothing broke through." Legolas' voice cracked, fissures running through his control. "I tried, oh I tried. I sought the best healers, I tried to reach your father... but I could not. And it was my fault 'Ro, my fault. Do you understand? I let her go! I said it was safe. And they took her and they broke her and left me with nothing. Nothing but a hole so deep in my heart I did not believe it would ever be filled." Tears came then, raining down his cheeks, wetting the blankets. Legolas sobbed, at last finding release. "Until you came," he said through the tears. "until you came. You touched us; you freed her... And I thank you for that, 'Ro... thank you."
Legolas leaned forward, close and closer until Elrohir could feel his breath ghosting across his cheek and it was Elrohir's turn to tremble. He nearly broke the gaze that held him, afraid of what Legolas would read there, afraid of what he would learn... but then Legolas pressed his lips to Elrohir's. Elrohir would have pulled back, moved away, but Legolas reached for him, twining his fingers into his hair, deepening the kiss. The fever burned Elrohir's tongue as Legolas urged his mouth open, but he cared not at all.
At last Legolas released him and Elrohir sat back, confusion clouding his thoughts. "I do not understand," he said finally.
"Do you not," Legolas asked in a voice barely above a whisper. "In all this time, do you truly not know? Amin mela lle, 'Ro. (I love you)" And though he spoke the words, fear lingered in his eyes - a mirror of the fear in Elrohir's heart.
Barely able to breathe, unable to believe, Elrohir reached out and ran a finger along Legolas' cheek. "But..."
"No, do not interrupt me. I know the consequences of this truth, of this love. I have tried to love others. I have tried to hold myself away from you, but I cannot. Through all of the years of our separation, you were the one who filled my thoughts, who occupied my dreams." Legolas captured his finger, pressed his hand to his chest over his heart. "Do you feel its beating? Feel the truth of what I say."
And in that moment of silence, with his palm pressed tight to Legolas' heart, Elrohir felt it. And knew. It was true. And the change was born.
The End
I could try and claim ownership of the elves you recognize, but you'd knowI'm lying. Do I look old, male or dead? Didn't think so... Plot, Thraomar,Cala, and Nimuel however are mine. A/N: Meant this to be for theWinterChallenge, but guess who's late as usual?