Fan Fiction ❯ Demons in the Dark ❯ Chapter 11

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Italics indicate memory or dreams.

Commonly used Sindarin words:

Ai: Oh!
pen-neth: young one
muindor: brother
gwador: sworn brother, not those by blood
Ada: dad
melethron: lover
a'maelamin: lover
ernil-nín: my prince
ion nín: my son
*~*~*

Elladan and Elrohir met Glorfindel at the stables before Arien had fully risen. Elladan hadn't been able to find any rest the previous night and had been ready to go when Elrohir had walked through the door to get him. They prepped their horses in silence, long familiar with the routine. Estel emerged with Elrond, the healer carrying water skins and other supplies. Six other members of the border patrol likewise readied their mounts. They were all members of the patrol that Glorfindel led, and the twins rode with.

"Be safe," Elrond addressed them all, but Elladan could see he had eyes only for Glorfindel.

"Always," the blonde replied.

The small troop followed Glorfindel's lead, riding in a familiar formation out of the vale. All ten riders were armed and wary, always scanning the surrounding area for any sign of Orc or traveler. For haste, they stuck to the main road.

They rode in silence and as fast as they dared. Their horses were all reliable mounts, the animals could only be asked to work so hard. Glorfindel called for a brief halt to allow the horses a break, and the Elves quietly spread out, searching for any sign of a fallen rider, though they were some distance from scene of the attack.

Elladan was slowly picking his way through the brush, when he felt a tug in his chest. He felt his breath grow short, and somehow, he knew immediately that something was wrong. On silent feet, he rushed to find Glorfindel. "We must keep going," he said in a breathless whisper.

"Something has happened?" Glorfindel beckoned to Elrohir, who gave the signal to return and made his way to Glorfindel's side.

"I think something is wrong," Elladan explained. "I can feel something - not right."

"Legolas?" Elrohir questioned.

Elladan could only nod. The pull came again, a little more insistent.

"We ride," Glorfindel ordered.

They pressed on, Elrohir sticking close to Elladan's side. After those initial tugs, the pull had faded, at least for the moment. They came upon the scene of the attack and dismounted, trusting their mounts to stay close. The Elves struck out in pairs, Glorfindel with Estel and Elladan with Elrohir as they scouted the area.

Elladan stumbled when the pull came again, more insistent than before. "Something is wrong, Elrohir," he said as his twin caught him. As he righted himself, something caught his eye, in the brush. "What is that?"

"What?" Elrohir asked.

Elladan led his twin unto the foliage. "There." He pointed. The remains of a horse. "Valar, no," he swore softly. There was a small leaf brand just below the horse's ear. "It's Lach," he whispered.

Elrohir gave a birdcall to alert the rest of the troupe. They knelt by the carcass. It appeared the animal had two broken legs, and the Orcs had not spared the animal mercy. The remains had been desecrated, probably for the meat and hide.

"We'll come back and get rid of it," Glorfindel said quietly after observing the scene.

Elladan watched as Glorfindel moved on silent feet, keen elvish sight peering into the distance. "There are some caves back that way," he gestured deeper into the brush. "It would make a good stronghold. Tie up the horses," he ordered. "We'll continue on foot."
*~*~*

When the Orcs returned, Legolas did not have the strength to resist them anymore, in body or in spirit. No one from Mirkwood would notice his absence for many weeks, and the Elves of Imladris would not think anything was amiss until his father sought his whereabouts. He was cold and alone, and the pull to the Halls of Mandos were growing stronger as each moment passed.

As the blows rained down on his body, Legolas accepted his fate. It was a struggle to draw breath, and he felt dizzy from the lack of air as his breath came in shallow ragged gasps that pained him. The beating continued, strikes landing on already bruised flesh and Legolas did not struggle, not even making the attempt to protect his aching chest.

Noises drifted into the small cavern, the sound of steel on steel, and the hiss of arrows flying.

"We're under attack!" The shout reverberated through the small room from a passing Orc.

With a snarl, Legolas' attacker kicked him one more time before leaving, not bothering to seal the cave behind him.

Legolas could no longer feel most of his body and he was grateful, for there was no pain in the first time since what felt like forever. The way of escape was open, but he could not take it. Even if he'd had the strength to flee, he had not the will.

He knew he was close to death. He could no longer see himself glow in his stone prison. Legolas' eternal flame was going out - he could feel it in the cold that crept over his body, in the sense of hopelessness that had overtaken him.

His vision was slowly fading to black, the world going fuzzy around him. Slowly, he forced open a hand, which had remained clenched in a fist for Valar knew how long. There was a thin line of blood, both dried and fresh along the heel of his hand where his fingernails had dug into the flesh as he'd clung to the only hope he'd had for beating after beating. The mithril ring sparkled in the dim torchlight.

Forgive me, meleth nín, Legolas thought as his breathing slowed further. I never should have left you. Know that I love you, will always love you, and keep hope, Elladan, a'maelamin, that I will be released from the Halls of Mandos and we will be reunited.

With the distant sound of metal striking metal and arrows finding targets, Legolas lost his final battle with pain and darkness.


Translation:
meleth nín: my love