Chapter 10

"Gandalf?" Haldir reserved melodic voice cut into Gandalf's mind as he circumspectly surveyed Elrond's activities. Though his eyes remained fixed on the Elf-Lord below his mind continually ran back to the young human and elf stretched across the floor behind him, some part of him aware of their every breath.

"Haldir?" he questioned, without turning around. Below, he could see the shadows of the Noldor Elves following Elrond into the stable. Crashing thunder continued to rumble above him. Tension swam in the air, and he found himself bending painfully, as the shadowy figures below bowed and covered their ears.

What was that? He wondered, straightening carefully. Though still shrouded in darkness he could see the elves below a touch more clearly. Most of those he could see still clutched at their heads, hands clamped tightly over their elegant ears. Gandalf had felt the pain, but heard no noise.

Behind him, Haldir groaned tightly—a soft controlled sound he could not ignore.

Turning quickly, Gandalf saw both Haldir and Legolas were curling into themselves, the now common appearance of pain crushing at the paleness in their faces. Between them Aragorn remained still. So still Gandalf rushed anxiously from the window and spread his withered hand on the human's chest, relieved to feel he still breathed. He watched his face a moment, until finally a twitch of the man's eyes convinced him the ranger's life still remained strong.

His eyes rested next on Haldir's white-knuckled grip—the elegantly strong fingers woven tightly through the man's tunic. When Gandalf looked up further, the elf from the Golden Wood was looking straight at him, but the sorrowful gaze, in reality, sought something miles away.

"Haldir?" he asked gently, the dim lamps of the corridor shimmered their reflection in the elf's eyes—matching rhythm with the thunder's next protest.

"Why can I not touch him?" asked Haldir, his eyes flickered downward.

Gandalfsaid nothing, and it seemed Haldir had not really expected him to answer. He moved the hand on Aragorn's chest to the shoulder Legolas angled toward him as he twitched. The young elf held his eyes closed, but behind his eye-lids they could see the rapid movement his eyes were making. Gandalf had no eloquent answer for Haldir, and knew it best not to pretend he did.

They sat in silence until another ache ran through the wizard's body, and his controlled groan met the moans from Legolas and Haldir, the latter covering his ears as Elrond's elves had done before. It was only the second of many such pains they would feel.

"Is it getting stronger?" asked Haldir.

"No," Gandalf answered hesitantly, "I believe it's getting weaker."

Elladan awoke being dragged roughly across the ground by an intense grip of his wrists. He could see nothing but the shadows of trees and branches as he moved over the ground, and feel nothing but the jagged digs of the rocks and sticks that clawed at him. His head pounded and a strange ringing cut out all other sound that he felt he should otherwise be hearing.

He tried to struggle, twisting his hands only to have them caught more tightly. He tried sluggishly to drag his feet, to catch them on something, but he could not seem to force the limbs to follow his orders.

Everything flashed by so quickly it felt conversely as though time had stopped. What of the orcs? He wondered. What of Elrohir? What of the safety of Imladris?

He twisted his hands again, and the dragging stopped momentarily—but only momentarily. Something strong forewent his wrists, clutching instead at his collar. He felt a painful jab to his shoulder and hip. His vision clouded, blackness closing in at the edges just as the dragging started again.

Stretching a hand over the balcony, Gandalf laid his palm on the raw split wood of the tree standing near. It had once risen above the highest buildings in the valley—now cut just high enough to touch the boundaries of Elrond's healing room. The wounded tree creaked and swayed, the branches that remained in place straying in a light breeze.

The sky overhead remained dark, but unless Gandalf was allowing himself to be carried into delusion, it was a more natural dark, less oppressive. The bitterness he'd tasted in the air receding to the sweet of river mist. The heavens continued to rumble but the lightning struck down farther and farther away.

A hand reached out and settled on the broken tree near his own fingers—Haldir had joined him on the balcony. Gandalf instinctively looked back at Aragorn. The Ranger's head had been propped on a pillow, a thin covering thrown over his legs. Legolas's legs and torso had been covered as well, but his head still rested on the stone floor and it was obvious he'd been otherwise untouched.

"The Ranger breaths on his own," said Haldir, still touching the tree.

"I am glad to hear it." And Gandalf truly felt relieved. They had not been prepared for this. Perhaps this is what Haldir had come to warn them of—more dire news, he was sure they couldn't take.

"I wish they would awake—it is not a natural sleep." The Lorien elf fixed on the Mirkwood elf's closed eyes.

"No," Gandalf said simply, withdrawing his hand from where it still rested on the tree's raw wood.

"The trees sing an unnatural song," Haldir continued. "There is much sadness in their sound—confusion. But I think they feel now also—life."

Gandalf reached out with his senses. The familiar evil—the static power of dead air still hovered, but the feeling now hung on Gandalf's shoulders as a morose outline of what it had been. The wizard's only remaining concern was if their victory would be completed or if this was portend to a continual battle like unto that of the Mirkwood elves.

As though in answer, a cutting sound hailed the fall of the first drop of rain—life cutting through the dead.

"Elladan!"

Elrohir had to again re-adjust his grip on his brother who was once again attempting to dislodge him. It wasn't the best way to move him, but Elrohir didn't have a choice. After tackling the creature hovering over his brother, he'd been lucky enough to roll away with the knife. He believed he could have fought the one but the other remaining orcs were already descending on them from the trees.

Clasping the knife he'd dove again at the creature, unable to kill it, but barely able to push it aside, sufficiently allowing him to seize his brother's arm and yank him into cover. But it wasn't enough. He needed to get them to safer ground—more defensible ground.

He hadn't seen an orc since the rain started, but he could feel them, knew at the very least the one still pursued them and that currently they were easy prey. His options were limited. He didn't know where their horses were, and he couldn't stop moving long enough to attempt using his bow.

His only current course was to keep them from being surrounded, and if attacked, keep them from being dead.

He dropped Elladan's wrists, catching his tunic instead. His brother's knife felt slick in his opposite hand, rain slipping into his palm from around the hilt as the skies continued to empty themselves of moisture. Still, he didn't pause. With his new grip he rushed them onward.

"How are they?" Elrond was justifiably wet but as he re-entered the healing room, still managed to carry with him the cloak of authority and control.

Haldir had returned to take vigil against the wall, lingering near the arches of the lanai, just out of the rain.

Gandalf moved forward, "They sleep—they seem free of distress."

Elrond bent over Legolas and Aragorn in turn, the cautious eye of a healer noting every detail of what might be amiss. With deliberate care, he shifted his arms under Legolas's shoulders and legs, looking up at Haldir in question.

In swift gentle motions Elrond lifted Legolas onto the settee he'd occupied previous to their assault. Haldir silently shifting Aragorn onto another that Elrond indicated.

Both elves looked worn—worn and weary.

Haldir stepped closer to Legolas as Elrond continued his examination, looking over his shoulder at the young Ranger then back again. Lord Elrond looked questioningly at him again.

"They dream," said Haldir simply.

Pleasant Dreams, Gandalf hoped. Or at the very least, dreams that would not hold them for long.

"Legolas."

The walls of Thranduil's court echoed the name, causing it to seem unnaturally loud to Legolas's ears. He paused waiting for the grating sound to cease before moving closer to where King Thranduil stood in the large empty room.

"My Lord," he answered.

"Legolas," Thranduil said again.

Obsequiously the young elf inclined his head, crossing his palm over his heart then extending it out. The gesture was not simply customary. It was not an effortless greeting nor meant to be. Among elves the gesture signified all the elemental hopes extended to another upon meeting or departing, stretching beyond straightforward goodwill or faith—it was reliance, loyalty, trust, and all else he could offer.

In the world of men, he thought, the gesture would not be truly understood—not by most. To them it would hold no significance—an illusive illusion of honor just within their reach yet expansively overlooked.

Legolas paused in his thoughts, disturbed that though he'd been freed from the world of men for some time, he still compared the habits of his people to those men he'd come to know. He had still not quite escaped them.

Swallowing carefully, he pushed the disturbed feelings from his mind and looked carefully up at his father, nearly expecting one of the concerned looks Lord Elrond so often cast in his direction—somehow always knowing where his thoughts had wandered.

Thranduil was not looking at him at all. He had turned to face the windows, staring out into the distant trees.

"Ada?" questioned Legolas.

Thranduil did not answer.

Something uncomfortable pricked up Legolas's spine. "Ada?" Carefully, he searched his father's stance. Still Thranduil did not look at him.

"Legolas," his father repeated again. "You are here."

"Yes," Legolas answered carefully, his eyes flashing as he cocked his head slightly to the side, wanting to see Thranduil through the shadows being cast from the trees outside the window. "I was given leave to return." He waited for more.

Suddenly his father's court seemed unnaturally empty, devoid of sound, and very very cold. A trembling shiver skimmed the surface of his skin. Legolas felt confused. Elves do not experience cold easily, he thought, looking around the room and out the windows for some clue to his chill. The dense trees allowed enough light between them to convince him the sun was indeed shinning. Perhaps I was not as ready to return as Elrond believed, he wondered, not wanting the sentiment to be true.

Uncomfortable with his thoughts he tried to push them away.

He was grateful when, again, his father finally spoke. "Where did you go?"

The confusion deepened, showing unhidden in Legolas's eyes. He wished Thranduil would look at him. "Before?" he questioned, unsure of what his father meant. Thranduil had known he was in Imladris. Representatives from Mirkwood had come to Rivendell upon his recovery.

There was no response to his request for clarification.

After a moment, Legolas attempted an answer, "I ventured into the forgotten realms of Arnor. I felt compelled to see them." Unexpectedly he felt the need to justify himself, "I had been dreaming of the Dunedain." He had never told Thranduil or anyone else of these dreams and wondered why he did so now.

"Dreams do not always lead us out of danger, Legolas, nor do they always lead to what things we should seek out." Thranduil countered, casting him a small glance before resuming vigil out the window.

"It is true, for in none of my travels did I cross paths with them," he admitted, feeling the resurgence of events that previously seemed an eternity away.

"The Dunedain are a hidden people, travelers in the shadows, protecting those who journey without dark intentions—they did not protect you," his father replied. His voice was flat.

Legolas swallowed. "No."

"It is not like our people to wander so."

Legolas felt the reprove, archaically wishing his brothers' remained to shield the difference in his nature from their father—wishing he could return to the day when his wanderings had been his own and against no ruler's mandates. Never before had Thranduil made issue of them.

"I did not intend my absence to be so long." He didn't know what else he should say—the feeling of uncertainty was uncomfortable.

"You should not have left. I allowed your wanderings far too long." Thranduil's voice still sounded hollow.

"Forgive me, my Lord. I did not mean to stay away."

"I began to wonder…where you had gone."

Silence hung between them for a long time, the cold again prickling at the skin along Legolas's arms. Thranduil continued to stare out the window. Confusion gained ruling power in the young elf's mind. What now was he expected to say?

"Did you need me here, Ada?" he measured.

Thranduil gave no answer.

"...Ada?" The cold crept down his spine.

"Adar, did you need me here? …My Lord?" Why wouldn't his father look at him? "…My Lord?"

Thranduil spared him a brief glance with his toneless answer. "…no."

tbc