Dregad Trihant [Flight Through the Garden]
His heart was racing again even as his feet flew soundlessly down the
incised stone steps in the steep rock wall of the mountain fortress,
pumping four beats at least for every tread his bare toes
touched. Legolas expected to feel the pounding vibrations of
Thranduil's boots crossing the floor of the open balcony and listened
with elevated trepidation, hoping to make the ground before this
occurred, anticipating the heavy weight of an angry father's grasping
hand upon his shoulder any moment. Knowing the depth of
Thranduil's love and pride in his newborn only made the inevitability
of pursuing the intruder more certain, thus when the sound did not come
Legolas grew even more fearful for the fate the King might seek to
apportion out for so serious an infraction.
He trained his sensitive hearing upon the garden below. Had there
been time for guards to be alerted? Were they waiting for him
there?
Surely not, unless Thranduil knew what I was about, and that could
not
be., Legolas tried to reason logically with himself but found he
was
tensed as if about to step weaponless into an encampment of Orcs.
Legolas leaped the last few meters to the pathway and ignored the
piercing intensity of agony lancing through his injured limb upon
impacting the earth, speeding away with perhaps a bit less than his
usual agility. He knew this garden well and hoped that Thranduil
was as averse to roaming its sheltered by-ways now as he had been all
the years that the fallen archer had dwelt within the stronghold. For
one familiar with the terrain, here was ample space to elude capture
and find an obscured entrance back into the fortress or out into the
courtyard, and other than Ningloriel no one was more certain of the
landscape's layout than he.
Ignoring the delicate perfume of honeysuckle mixed with rose attar,
Legolas did not pause to appreciate the changing collections of flora
within the wide tract of open land encircling the fortress. Remaining
well back from the sandstone masonry protecting the haven from the
bustle and dust of the barracks and stables, Legolas sought the
interior of the manicured groves and artificial glades. He headed
straight for the maze, a cleverly constructed topiary emblem of his
mother's name, formed by carefully training a tall hedge of evergreen
yew, and darted between the concealing boughs.
At the exit he did not slow to gape at the bedded blossoms dappling the
luxuriant green carpet starred with pale blue periwinkle like
constellations in a moonless night. Did anyone save him recall
that the careful placement of these beds did actually represent the
position of the stars on the day of his mother's conception? The
realisation that there was no similar commemoration of his own creation
stung more than his healing thigh.
His swift passage did not prevent him from wondering at the hours
Ningloriel must have spent coaxing the unyielding earth into nourishing
the incredible variety of plant life around him. Strolling
through the paradise she had created was like journeying to foreign
realms, for she had imported and transplanted all manner of exotic
flora, replicating the natural environment in which the species thrived
as closely as possible. As an elfling, Legolas had adored this
place, and it was within the security of the enclosed stone walls of
Ningloriel's utopia that he had first learned of and yearned to see
other realms and distant lands beyond the Greenwood's trees.
He had no time to sample these memories now, yet that did not disallow
the flash of comparison between the centuries of care tendered to the
plants and the same centuries of indifference to his own nurturing.
He crossed a bamboo bridge that seemed to float centimetres above the
gurgling surface of a narrow brook, remembering how his curiosity for
understanding what held it up cost him a drenching in the cold
water. He had been so small then, but had dived in to discover
that the slender, hollow reeds were supported by finely spun hithlain
threads from which the bridge was suspended at either end.
The flow itself was formed by diverting a portion of the stronghold's
water supply through a hidden sluice amid a wild tangle of blueberry
stalks. It was impossible to see the small aqueduct without
knowing where to look, but Legolas was well aware of it and veered
towards the outlet, following to its origin in the body of the
mountainside.
The grounds declined along the mountain such that this part of the
garden was terraced and dropped below the level of the main gate by the
stronghold's courtyard. Here there was a small grotto delved by
the welling waters beneath the stone and the little spring had formed a
deep silver pool from which the household drew the day's requirements
for cooking and bathing and washing up. The rear of the small
cave had a stepway that led within to the scullery and thus to the
kitchens. And on these steps Legolas at last halted and sat down,
for he was out of breath and far sorer than he would have liked, and he
was fairly certain he had averted capture at least for the moment.
He breathed and listened to his thumping heart as it slowly calmed and
wondered at his uneventful traverse of the gardens, for he had been
certain that Meril would divulge his visit and his accusing words to
her husband.
At least she will not speak of Lindalcon's part, and he will have
only
her displeasure to endure rather than the severity of a thrashing or a
stint in some black pit underground.
Legolas shivered just to think of it, but he had decided even before
enlisting the younger elf's help that he would not allow Thranduil to
imprison Lindalcon should his part in the adventure be found out.
Dark demons or no, he would go in the dungeons to free Lindalcon if
required.
As yet it may be, if Gwilith talks of this to the King! he
suddenly
realised and abruptly stood up, yearning to know what Thranduil was
doing and assure himself that his younger brother was not in any danger.
Just before he was to dash back into the stronghold and find Lindalcon
reason asserted itself and he regained his composure. Meril would
never allow her husband to lock away her child in a cell, regardless of
how much she loved Thranduil. Legolas drew a deep lungful and sat
back down, finding himself a little shaky and terribly tired.
But a minute had he been seated when footfalls alerted him to an elf's
approach, though these did not mimic the hastening thunder of searching
guards or the furious staccato of Thranduil's wrath. Instead, the
barely discernible patter spoke of feet clothed in thin leather
slippers and indeed they brought in a female water-bearer, stone jar
balanced upon the crown of her head. She froze upon the landing
with an expression of nervous disbelief rounding her golden eyes to
impossible dimensions. Legolas looked over his shoulder to meet
her astonished gaze and exhaled a weary sigh.
"Nenvylliel [water-bearer maiden], go and find Fearfaron, tell him I am
here," he said quietly as he rose and reached for the huge jug.
Silently she relinquished it and watched as he descended to fill it
then carried the brimming burden back and lifted it up for her.
She stooped a bit to aid in placing it more securely and then
straightened and turned to regain the inner caves, leaping up the steps
as though she bore no weight upon her neck at all.
Legolas ascended to the small triangular turning in the stairs and sat
again, stretching his aching leg out and down the three steps below
it. He reclined on his elbows to take the pressure off his side
and let the back of his head drop to the stone behind him between his
hunched shoulders. He shut his eyes rather than stare at the
disconcerting image of the inverted passageway and listened to the
activity of the staff in the chambers above.
A lot of loud whispering and scurrying around attested to the
water-maiden's rapid dissemination of her news, but this disruption in
the night's tasks was more overtly proclaimed by the eventual silence
that descended over the generally talkative folk of the stronghold's
staff.
Footsteps again, a double set this time, very faint, excruciatingly
hesitant, and punctuated by an audibly whispered "Bado bo! [Go on!]",
made Legolas smile slightly as the chosen emissary of the curious
descended ever so slowly. He waited and did not open his eyes.
Four steps above his head the elf stopped, and then the sound of
earthenware utensils gently contacting the stone as they were set down
met his hearing, followed by an energetic rustle of fabric as the
visitor retreated.
But not too far! Legolas thought and his grin grew larger.
He
raised his lids a minuscule portion in time to see a small chestnut
crowned upside down head peer around the turning of the stairs, enough
for the elfling's eyes to see the Tawarwaith, and then pull back again
with another resounding murmur to his comrade: " Úrinc ho!" [He
does not move!]
Legolas chuckled and turned on his good side, still propping his body
up on his elbow, and righted his vision to see there upon the step a
mug next to a plate with two generous slices of honey-coated yeast
bread. He pulled himself up beside this offering and leaned against the
stone wall, for as everywhere in the stronghold this utilitarian
stairway was but little more than a wide rounded chute with footholds.
The smell of the syrup-saturated bread made him realise he was very
hungry, having skipped luncheon and dinner, and he consumed the simple
repast in haste, gulping down the mug's contents before registering
that it was not water but wine he had been given. Legolas gave an
appreciative exhale and lifted the mug and his gaze up toward the top
of the stairs, where the elfling's face retracted immediately behind
the barrier of the curved stone.
"Hannad!" [Thanks!] he called softly and wiggled the cup in the air.
"Ananta, alfar! Adpartho, saes!" [But yet, not enough! Refill,
please!] A flurry of hushed arguing followed this command.
"Man cerim?" [What do we do?]
"Adpathram, hand'wathren!" [We refill it, dim-wit!]
"Bedich ten toltho!" [You go fetch it!]
"Nay, bedin medui!" [No, I went last time!]
"Grogach!" [You are terrified!]
"Aye!"
"Úveren!" [Coward!]
"Avbedo sen, Cemendur!" [Do not say this, Cemendur!]
"Baw!" the Tawarwaith's quietly distinct rebuke interrupted them.
"My thirst is not so great as to warrant such discord between
brothers!" He rose and climbed the stairs to confront them, for
the utterance of that name struck a chord in his heart and he wanted
very much to see these two more clearly. The elflings, however,
could not bear the idea of facing the forest champion, yellow pyjamas
notwithstanding, and with dismayed gasps bolted up the stairs and out
of reach.
"Ai! Watch where you are going, young imps!" a familiar voice scolded
the retreating elves and soon the carpenter was at the top of the steps
to greet Legolas as he emerged from the dark stairwell, cup and dish in
hand. He bent awkwardly to set them on the floor and then gave an
apologetic smile as he straightened, waiting for his foster-father's
reaction.
Fearfaron did not know if he wanted to hug Legolas or cuff him soundly
for causing so much worry among his friends, but of course it was not
really a debate and he swept his adopted son into his relieved arms and
pressed him against his chest tightly.
"Please do not do that again! I feared for you! Have you no
concern for a father's heart?" he admonished quietly, gently caressing
the head of golden hair leaning upon his shoulder.
"I am sorry, Ada, but I had to see Taurant," Legolas said, knowing this
would only make Fearfaron's concerns grow, yet he had no wish to hide
the truth now that it was done. He felt the Spirit-hunter stiffen
and simultaneously push him out at arms' length, searching his eyes,
and the archer let him see for himself how important this event had
been.
Fearfaron sighed and drew Legolas close again, resting his chin on the
crown of the warrior's head as he rubbed his back consolingly. He
was relieved the wild elf no longer worried he was the product of his
mother's dalliance with Malthen, but the ferocity with which the archer
claimed his new siblings was almost as extreme as his grief had
been. Once more his love for another would result in harm to
himself, if he continued in this manner, yet the carpenter was not sure
how to change this.
It would be pointless to harangue the Tawarwaith for his rash
behaviour, for what had transpired could not be changed, and Fearfaron
understood that even were this possible to achieve Legolas would never
allow it. Whatever the price demanded, he would count it as
nothing compared to the opportunity of seeing the child.
"I have no idea what will happen now; Meril found me out. I tried
to talk to her, but I do not know what impact my words may have."
Legolas said calmly but gripped his father's waist tighter as he spoke.
"Valar! I have a fairly concrete notion of what will result, and
it is not good! On top of that, Talagan returned with Aiwendil
and the Noldo Lord from Imladris. Thranduil is treating him like
a guest and Aragorn and Mithrandir are with them now also. The
King is not likely to be in good humour and Meril will tell him of your
folly!"
"What Noldo Lord?" asked Legolas, terrified and shocked into rigid
tension, dreading to know which one of the pair would be so bold as to
follow him into the heart of the Woodland Realm.
"It is Erestor." Fearfaron felt Legolas relax and shift and he
released him, taking the archer's arm in hand, but Legolas would not
meet his eyes.
"I must leave here," he said very quietly. "I want to go to our
talan now, please? I do not wish to have to see him."
"That plan I do approve! I do not think it can cause harm to
leave now since we would have gone in the morning anyway."
He did not add that before minuial there might be orders to prevent
them from doing so, given Legolas' impetuous trespass upon the nursery
of the newborn prince. He led his adopted son away, noting with
concern that the archer was favouring the injured leg again and
unconsciously let his arm wrap around his sore side. And still he
would not face him. These were not things to address here in the
pantries, however, unless Fearfaron wanted the entire Woodland Realm to
know within the hour what they discussed.
They ascended to ground level via the servants' stairs amid the kitchen
elves' silent gawking and rapidly averted eyes and Fearfaron hastened
their pace to the more formal and thus less populated halls. His
goal was to reach the Council Chamber and the open archways there, thus
avoiding crossing the barracks and the possibility of encountering
Malthen.
Yet they did not succeed in their departure for the passage was quite
suddenly blocked as Talagan ran from a room just ahead and on their
right, sword drawn, following his King's footsteps to aid if he
might. He halted as he nearly skewered the carpenter and Legolas
responded by shoving Fearfaron behind him and scowling up at his old
captain. The two warriors glared in silence for half a heart beat.
"I am sure you did not mean to threaten an unarmed citizen of the
Greenwood!" snapped the Tawarwaith.
"And I am equally certain that whatever is going on to cause Thranduil
to bolt from an important meeting, dagger in hand, has something to do
with you!" countered Talagan and allowed the point of his sword to tap
his prized sniper's breastbone lightly.
"I am not responsible for his behaviour!" shouted Legolas, though he
had a fairly good idea of what had prompted Thranduil's action, and
swept the blade away, neither feeling nor caring about the narrow gash
the sharp steel bit into his palm.
"Nay, Legolas!" cried Fearfaron and pulled back on the archer's arm
strongly, fearful as the dark trickle of scarlet dripped to the floor.
"Enough of this!" Aiwendil stepped out from the doorway. "What
fool put a sword at your side yet did not teach you when to wield it?"
this insult was followed by a sudden burst of energy as he cracked the
gnarled bulbous end of his tall beech-wood staff into the back of
Talagan's skull. The veteran warrior toppled over without a sound
as his sword made a clanging crash, loudly echoing as the metal
impacted the polished granite floor.
Legolas stared with mouth agape as Aragorn hurried over and knelt at
the captain's side, feeling his neck for a pulse. Mithrandir left
the study and ambled over to Radagast, an amused twinkle in his dark
eyes as he arched his bushy brows in mock censure of his fellow Istar's
loss of control.
Aiwendil ignored the teasing; he had borne no love for Talagan before,
knowing his part in the Judgement, and this day's events only
exacerbated his dislike. Mild of mien the Bird-lover might be,
but it had been a long journey and he had as yet been offered nothing
but a cup of wine. Thanks to the captain's short temper, most of
that was now all over his long walnut coloured robes rather than
soothingly warming him from inside out.
Behind them Erestor stood in the doorway and held his breath to learn
if the warrior lived, suddenly much more appreciative of the Brown
wizard's restraint in the use of that stout pike over the last few days.
"He has a concussion, I am certain, but I do not think any permanent
damage will result. He will awaken with a most unpleasant
headache!" Aragorn said without too much sympathy as he glanced up at
Legolas and stood. "I daresay he spoke something akin to the
truth, though," he added with a tone of disparagement to the wild
archer. "The whole day we have been searching for your
whereabouts!"
Legolas did not answer, nor did he really hear the Man's complaint, for
his eyes had found those of Erestor and while he wanted to say
something he simply could not find adequate words that were fit to
speak. It was all too mixed up to sort into any coherent phrases.
He was absolutely enraged at the Noldo for hiding the truth and aiding
Elrond, furious for being lied to and used, outraged to have been
handled and groped, fucked and sucked. Ashamed that this elf knew
every inch of him, inside and out, humiliated to have so readily
allowed it, and utterly mortified that everyone present was aware of
all these private things. Yet he could not deny that he had encouraged
and enjoyed it, had even felt a deep sense of gratitude for the
tenderness and acceptance Berenaur had shown him. How was he to
reconcile guilt with joy, indignant wrath with humiliated shame?
How would he ever be able to call this elf Erestor?
"Forgive me, Pen-rhovan!" whispered the seneschal and turned away from
those azure irises that served as mirrors of his besmirched character
and low repute. It was so much worse than he had thought, for he
had debated whether Legolas would attack him on the spot or collapse
from the torment of his shattered soul, but had not envisioned this
stunned and empty expression upon the wild elf's face. It did not
look as though there was any spirit at all in those eyes, and Erestor,
who had seen fading before, could not bear to observe evidence of it
here.
The archer could not really recall how the awful confrontation ended,
for he was lost in the daze of his conflicted heart, reliving the
experiences he shared with the Noldor, trying to find a way to make it
a reality he might endure without wanting both to kill and to
die. He only realised that Fearfaron had steered him away when
the carpenter shut the door to the humble quarters the King had granted
them and was guiding him to the bed. With a shudder he returned
from his despairing fugue and looked about in frustrated confusion.
"I thought we were leaving here!" he wailed and in a near panic tried
to get back to the door, but Fearfaron held him firm and pulled him
into a tight embrace again.
"Nay, Legolas, we cannot go now. You did not notice, but the
clamour aroused the household and several warriors were called.
They were only reluctant to lay hands on us due to the presence of the
wizards and the direction of Iarwain.
"Try to understand, Talagan is their captain, and you alone have reason
to bear him a grudge. They believe you are responsible for his
injury, despite Aiwendil's claims to the contrary! Until the
warrior wakes and names his attacker, we are all to remain!"
Legolas stopped struggling and sighed in exhausted capitulation.
Of course they would think him responsible, and Fearfaron would never
leave without him, nor Aragorn or the wizards, and he supposed Bere-
Erestor was really under house arrest despite the pretence of
hospitality. Thus they all must stay within this suffocating
cloister until the Council convened. He let himself be helped
under the covers and as before Fearfaron climbed up beside him and
gathered him to rest against his heart.
"Tell me what happened," said Legolas.
"Ah! It was a sight I am sure! Three guards, swords drawn and
ready, ran in from one side of the fortress while the counsellors
arrived from the other! I know not who gave the alarm. No
doubt everyone's meal was interrupted and soon the hall was absolutely
packed!
"Aragorn cursed something quite vile, in Dwarvish I think, and
unsheathed his broadsword also, blocking them from reaching us.
Then Erestor dashed inside the study and I thought he was off to hide
himself in safety, but he raced back out, armed with a most impressive
sabre of his own, and shouted 'An Damand ar Gondolin!' [For Damand and
Gondolin!] as he took his place beside the Man!
"That cleared out all the lookers-on quite effectively!
"Aiwendil tried to calm everyone down and explain, for Iarwain and his
associates were shouting at the warriors to put up their weapons, who
were yelling back that they would do so only when the Imladrians
did. Mithrandir made no move at all, but kept his eye on you the
whole time. He was as worried over your lack of responsiveness as
I was!
"Gladhadithen made her usual timely entrance and instructed the guards
to carry Talagan to the healing house and for me to put you to
bed. She ordered Erestor to go bathe, Aragorn to find him rooms,
and the counsellors she shooed back to their dusty chambers to finish
their dinner! The wizards she commanded to find food and drink
for you, for she pronounced you in shock and exhausted.
"And as always, everyone obeyed her without question or argument!
It is difficult to disrespect the wishes of someone who has saved your
life or that of a loved one!"
Legolas relaxed as his adopted father retold the events, and agreed
with his explanation of the healer's gift for getting her way.
With spider venom and Orcs' poisoned weapons as never ending threats,
she had probably treated everyone in the Greenwood at one time or other.
He vaguely remembered the scenes detailed for him, but as though he had
watched from some distance rather than caught in the centre of the
turmoil. He smiled a little, not because he found the description
amusing but because this was not what he had wanted to know.
"I meant, what happened during this important meeting from which the
King fled?"
Fearfaron was silent a moment and then the two shared a small grin at
the misunderstanding.
"Well now, as to that, I have no knowledge! I was not invited and
felt it best to keep searching for you!"
A knock on the door preceded the entrance of Radagast and Gandalf,
staffs tucked awkwardly under their arms creating a stilted hesitance
in their movements. The former bore a tall pitcher and a tray of
mugs and the latter carried in a platter heaped with an assortment of
bread and fruit.
Fearfaron got up to help, clearing everything from the bedside table
and placing the food there as Mithrandir took both sturdy canes and
leaned them carefully against the wall in the corner.
Aiwendil just set his burdens upon the floor and leaned over to embrace
Legolas and beg his forgiveness for not intervening, for failing to
decipher the subterfuge of the elves' false identities, for trusting
Erestor to keep him safe.
Legolas was too drained to feel any more anger this day and merely
nodded his acceptance of these explanations, face pressed down into the
soft woollen cloth of the Maia's nut coloured robes.
Fearfaron reclaimed his place and firmly disengaged the Tawarwaith from
the Brown wizard. If the Istar found this an affront it was not
apparent and he sat at the foot of the bed perched on the edge of the
mattress. Gandalf took the armchair still situated by the bedside
and helped himself to a plum from the plate.
"Where were you?" he demanded sternly but quietly, sending his most
daunting scowl from under severely creased and puckered grey brows.
Legolas snorted at that, for Mithrandir had not the power to frighten
him when the wild elf knew his heart so well, and shared an unimpressed
smirk with his foster-father. Fearfaron's serious countenance
returned him to a more sober disposition at once, however.
"Aye, he has done something very foolish and how we will get him out of
this one I know not!" the carpenter answered the wizard as Legolas
uttered a cry of disbelief.
"Nay, not foolish!" he protested vehemently.
Before the story could be told the door was thrown back and Lindalcon
burst in, out of breath and wild-eyed, and slammed the heavy oaken
barrier behind him so hard he winced from the shock to his ears while
Fearfaron and Legolas covered theirs.
"Naneth has betrayed us!" he warned as he threw the bolt. "The
Council will convene at dawn and Legolas is charged with attempting to
harm the babe as well as striking down Talagan while trying to escape!"
And then he could not hold back the anguish wrought of Meril's deceit
and rushed to fling himself into Legolas' accepting arms as his grief
poured out in tears and noisy sobs.
Tbc
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