Mirkwood: End of a Journey
Legolas led the group, his senses alert as he tried to distinguish any hostile presences among the trees and the surrounding nature. His whole body was tense and his attention was focused on any likely threat. His eyes seemed fixed on a precise and distant point but in fact, he missed little of the forest because as a Wood-Elf, his bond with the woods spared him the need to look around him. He only had to focus himself on that bond to know immediately if something was amiss. He had sensed since the very beginning the critical glances the Imladrin Elves had cast on them, feeling their puzzlement. But he had little time to take care of their questions. They were running out of time. Too soon, Anor would give way to Ithil, plunging the forest in a much deeper darkness that was more favourable to the evil beasts creeping through the Woods. The sooner they would reach the Forest River, the better it would be.
It had been easily agreed between Lord Elrond and his father that the troops should avoid the Forest Path which crossed the realm and the thick nests of the spiders, as it had become incredibly dangerous and was closely watched by Sauron's minions. It would have meant losing any advantage surprise might have given them. It had also been decided that the riders would bypass the heart of the forest and enter the Woods at the very last moment. Even if the path might appear longer, it was indeed much shorter as the vast plains surrounding the forest of Mirkwood were more adapted to the pace of horses than the dark glutted paths through the woods.
But two days ago, the northern patrol had reported an encounter with spiders inside the area defined by the Forest River. Such encounters were rare there. Spiders were known to fear the water and were unable to swim. But those monsters always found a way to cross the river thanks to a fallen tree or to shallow crossings. On the other side of those paths, traps had been installed but sometimes, spiders succeeded in sneaking into the Elves' domain and tried to gather as much information as possible to bring the Elves to the dark power living in Dol-Guldur. Their presence was a testimony to the will of the Shadow that wished to eliminate the Elves and completely control the forest. But the Elves were less than willing to forsake the place that was their home to the dark forces troubling the southern Woods.
Traps had been reset and hunts had been organized to clear the path they had taken. But the great arachnids were not easily found when they decided to hide themselves. Five had been killed and their bodies burnt in a bonfire to avoid their putrefaction, which would corrupt a little more of the area. But no one was sure if any of them remained, having escaped the Elves' wrath and continuing to secretly observe every move that their foes made with the intent to report the presence of the Imladrin warriors to their fellows.
Such a thing could not happen. The King had been most clear on that point. It would upset all their plans of attack.And so thus their pathway was the obscurity of the forest and silence of secrecy in the hopes to keep that surprise on their side.
A soft rustling of the leaves caught Legolas' attention and he dared to glance quickly in the direction of a tree. He saw nothing, but the trees were particularly high and leafy in the current part of the forest they were in and it was possible that the sharpened sight of the Firstborn would not catch the sign of an unwelcome presence. Briefly closing his eyelids and slowing his breath, he shut himself from his immediate surroundings and focused his mind on the link he shared with the forest. A harsh wave of burning heat overwhelmed him, making him feeling somewhat dizzy. But he remained quiet, waiting for the dizziness to pass. He did not halt his walk, afraid that if he did so, the creature would understand its presence had been discovered. But it passed quickly as every tree suddenly became focused. Their voices were twirling vividly in his mindBut in that world of warmth there was floating a dark essence that emanated a different aura, and the trees declared it as a threat.
He did not need further persuasion and he quickkly opened his eyes, cutting his deep connection with the trees and ignoring the sudden sharp pain that was elicited by the brutal return to reality. His actions did not take more than a second and had not drawn the Noldors' attention, save perhaps for the perceptive Elf walking at his side. He knew his soldiers had also noticed the unexpected sound and that they were only waiting for a sign from him to act. He had no need to glance behind his shoulder to know that they had discreetly prepared themselves to fire a sharpened arrow; their steady hands clutching the fine wood and their keen eyes scanning the foliage of the trees towering them.
Without hesitation, he acted on instinct and came to a sudden halt, seizing an arrow from his quiver before drawing it back on his bow in a large fluid gesture. Pausing and aiming, he let the sharpened projectile fly, following its race through the trees with his gaze even as he readied himself to fire another one. But he was not the only one to have fired. The two guards who were the closest to him had also aimed an arrow precisely in the same direction.
No one seemed to react as the Imladris Elves also came to a halt, too stunned by the others' acts to speak. But Legolas knew their arrows had found their target when a horrible piercing shriek tore the silence as the creature in the tree lost any thought to hide its presence. But, even if it had been touched by the Wood-Elves' shots, the creature was still alive and most willing to flee. Frenetic movements agitated the leaves of the tree. But, before the spider, or whatever dark creature it was, took to another tree, a second arrow was fired by the Prince. All movement ceased and the trees became silent again as a dark mass fell to the ground with a thud, convulsing in a grotesque twitching of the long limbs before stilling, its hairy body pierced by four arrows.
Silence made room to chaos as the Imladris horses startled out of surprise and neighed in alarm. It took some long moments and many reassuring words from their riders to calm them down. During that time, one of the Wood-Elves approached the evil animal to confirm its death, his bow drawn and readily aimed at the creature's heart, knowing well that its bite was not lethal but not eager to be wounded by the long retractable claws hiddenalong the length of the hairy legs.
It was indeed a spider and all of the Imladris warriors observed the evil animal with a morbid fascination, as none of them had ever seen one before. The corpse of the dead arachnid was about two meter long and twice as large with those eight unending legs that rested now on the forest ground, limp and distorted by the fall. Three arrows were protuding from its fascinatingly smooth abdomen; one was set in its head. Dark blood was flowing out its wounds. The spider seemed to look at the Elves with glazed blind eyes, its mouth slightly opened, revealing two sharp hooks that shone dangerously.
For a long moment, no one moved or spoke as they watched the Elf that gathered the arrows and cleaned them on the grass before handing them towards their owners. Then, on a command of the Prince, they resumed their walk, taking a cautious circle around the dead corpse, willing to avoid another wave of alarm among their horses.
The day ended in an apogee of bloody tones. The blue sky had taken on a deep red shade which seemed to coil up around the top of the trees. At some points of the sky, the colour seemed to pale slightly into a bright orange or a faded pink. The landscape was a beauty to behold. The trees stood out clearly the golden and red shade of their autumnal foliage slightly darker than the blazing colour of the sky. In the distance, Anor was disappearing; her burning sphere absorbed by the horizon.
A little crowd had gathered at the entry of the underground palace. A few minutes ago, a sentry had come announcing the imminent arrival of the troop from Imladris and the Mirkwood warriors accompanying them. They had passed the northern fortifications and would reach the hill in one hour. As was required by tradition and etiquette, the King of the wooded realm left the Great Halls where he usually sat enthroned, closely followed by a few number of guards and, at a respectful distance, a great procession of courtiers and councillors. The King stopped on the stone bridge, the only entrance to the caverns, and stood straight and regal, seemingly oblivious of the disturbance surrounding him. The guards were watching over him, keeping a small distance between their ruler and themselves. A few minutes later, his two oldest sons joined him, breaching the crowd that was waiting behind the King, and standing at each of his sides.
The King's gaze looked through the landscape before him. His keen sight took notice of the trees around the hill, of the wild vegetation, and of the small number of habitations emerging from the forest at certain places, before halting his perusal toward the north where a part of the protective stone walls were still visible far away. Memories flowed through his mind as he stood, quiet and regal, waiting for the warriors to arrive.
When, almost three millennia ago, he had moved his Kingdom from the Grey Mountains to the northern hills, he had made built this enclave, which had then been the regal domain protected by thick walls and Elven magic, where his people might seek shelter in case of attack. He had relied on the natural protection offered by the Forest River and by the Enchanted River. In that era, habitations had been built all around the walls and, even, much further. Attacks of the Shadow had then been weaker and Elves had still inhabited the forest. But six centuries ago, with the growing strength of the Necromancer in Dol-Guldur, wargs, spiders, Orcs and trolls had begun their attacks on the Mirkwood realm. His people had retreated inside the walls, building new habitations within the walls, while the houses in the trees had fallen, destroyed by the blows of the Shadow. And now, only the warriors risked their lives outside of the enclave.
The mighty Elven magic had helped the part of the forest protected by the walls to remain like they had been when the fortifications had been built. The trees were still healthy and emanated a strong aura of warmth and goodness. Their trunks were straight and tall, their roots well buried in the ground. Their voices were as clear as before, even if they often reflected their infinite sadness about the sad fate of their kin left to the mercy of the Shadow who corrupted them every day a little bit more. The King knew how important those trees which remained untouched by the evilness were. They were certainly the only reason that prevented the departure of the remaining Elves in the realm. His people felt themselves bound to protect them. And protected they would be. What could Wood-Elves do if the last part of nature came to fall to the temptation of the Shadow as the largest part of the forest had done? Their people could not live without the sacred link they shared with nature. The Shadow was well aware of that fact and it used it as a weapon against them, corrupting the trees thanks to the presence of spiders who wove their webs through their branches and slowly poisoned slowly the souls of the forest. The Elves living in Mirkwood were so attached to the trees and so perceptive of their suffering that many had left their realm for the Undying Lands or for the forest of Lorien. They could not bear the slow fading of their beloved forest, the fading voice of the trees that had trailed off into a mere whisper before dying off.
Things might have been different if he had had a Ring to protect his realm and his people. Perhaps he would have been able to fight the growing Shadow and to repel it far from the place the Elves had chosen to live. But he quickly chased away those thoughts as he had many times when they stirred in his mind. They had brought him naught but resentment. He cleared his mind in an effort to chase away such negative thoughts, singing softly to himself, and took patience in silence.
Seeing the gathering at the entry of the hill, many other Elves of Mirkwood had left their small houses and approached the entry of the caverns, admiring the presence of their King. Thranduil was clad in a fine silken white robe, which enhanced the gold of his hair. The cloth fell with heavy folds, almost completely covering the gold pair of leggings he was wearing. His hair was braided in the intricate way of the House of Oropher, signalling his rank and status by the gracious arabesques. His brow was girded with the traditional circlet made of green leaves weaved together in a customary fashion. His long-fingered hand was clutching the regal oak-made sceptre the paleness of his alabaster skin contrasting with the dark shade of the wood. On one of his finger was shining a magnificent emerald mounted on a circle of mithril. His ageless face was closed, showing naught of the thoughts in his mind. From him emanated an aura of wisdom and power. Everything about him told his rank among those Elves, not just the traditional attributes of royalty.
Next to him his sons were standing, still and silent, their beautiful faces as grave as their father's. They were both clad in the same deep green fashion. Their robes were a little bit shorter than their father's, revealing the velvety dark fabric of their leggings. Both were of the same height, even if they were slightly shorter than the King. The strange trinity was a sight to behold: the two younger Elves framing the elder one, their dark dress a pleasant contrast with the pale colour of the King's robe.
Time passed slowly as they waited for the warriors to appear at the top of the hill in front of them. The silence was barely disturbed by some occasional comment uttered by some of the present wood-Elves. The unusual gathering had caught the attention of the trees on and around the hill and they were whispering together to find out what was happening.
Then, still distant but seeming to near with every passing second, the pounding of hooves resounded, making the earth tremble and the trees whisper more strongly. Many eyes turned toward the direction the noise was heard. Soon, horses came in sight, their coats shining in the fading light. At the head, the guards of the realm led the group, the reins for their horses in their hands, freeing the steeds of any constraint Behind them, the warriors from the vale of Imladris, riding harnessed mounts. Mirkwood Elves usually did not use their horses to cross the forest as a rider was always easily spotted. They would rather use the paths through the trees. Only urgent matters which required a fast return to the palace justified one taking his horse. Horses were used inside the walls, not outside. But, knowing well the Noldorin warriors would arrive on horseback, the guards who were to accompany them had posted their horses near the walls.
The crowd watched with increasing curiosity as the riders gradually slowed their mounts before encouraging them to halt a few feet from the bridge. With a brief signal of one of the riders, some servants approached the warriors who had dismounted and were now standing near their horses, not really knowing what to do. After some quick instructions, they led the tired animals to the paddocks, which had been especially built for them. Wood-Elves' mounts did not need any paddocks,as they preferred the wild of the forest and enjoyed their freedom.
The Imladrin Elves surveyed their surroundings, noticing how different it was from the rest of the forest. It was a strange feeling, almost as powerful as the feeling of rejection and warning they had felt when they had first entered the forest. But it was different...soft and comforting like a whisper in the mind or a lullaby from their childhood And the more they walked within the walls, the more they felt it. A kind of counteraction to the evil of the rest of the forest. Here the trees were friendly and welcoming and the sky was visible through their foliage. An image set itself in their minds... a heaven. But not like Imladris, where the impression was natural. It was a subtle feeling and only the oldest and the most perceptive of them were able to understand that the place was ripe with magic, of a mingling essence fighting against the evil emanations that tried to conquer the place. But all of them were able to feel that the source of that impression was the wooden hill they faced and the Elf standing in its middle that they easily identified as the King of that realm.
However, none of them had the time to ponder those thoughts further as the Prince that had accompanied them until their destination turned to Turelio and spoke softly, yet loud enough for all of the warriors to hear, "It is the custom of our folk that you present your greetings to our King."
Seeing in the other's eyes some uncertainty, as if he feared to have offended the captain of the Imladris' troop, the red-haired Elf shook his head lightly and answered reassuringly, "Your custom is also our way, my Prince."
He purposely used the younger Elf's title as it was the first time he addressed him thus, intente on making him understand he would do nothing to compromise the etiquette. Then he added, "I would tell the King the words my Lord has charged me to convey ."
A silent understanding passed through the two Elves as they shared a knowing gaze. Both of them were feeling the satisfaction to have found someone they would be able to properly work with and would understand. Then, the Prince broke eye contact and turned on his heel, slowly walking toward the bridge to give Turelio time to order his warriors to follow him.
A few steps brought them all to the beginning of the bridge and they halted there when their captain slightly raiseda hand. They felt the eyes of the crowd on them, noting their faces and the weariness of their features along with the filth of their clothes. But they remained still: their attention fixed in front of them.Their heads were held high and proud, while their lithe but strong bodies were straight and tall. They felt the curiosity of some Elves and the interest of others. The air was filled with something like expectation. But they did not look back at the crowd. They watched as the Prince crossed the bridge until he faced the King and bowed deeply before straightening himself. His melodic voice rose above the respectful silence surrounding the proud monarch. "My King... As you have asked, I have led the proud warriors from Imladris through the traps of the forest. They are now waiting to pay their respects to you."
The King, whose eyes had not left his son's face, slowly noddedhis approval. Once the Prince had stepped aside, taking his place at his eldest brother's side, the golden-haired ruler brought his attention toward the gathering of warriors, closely studying each face before him as if assessing the warrior by that simple way. The Elves from Imladris felt the weight of that gaze upon them as the King's great presence imposed itself upon them and, unconsciously, many tensed, straightening themselves more. Some of them recognized the gaze of a general watching the army he was to lead into the battle and immediately acknowledged the power emanating from that regal Elf. He was nobility and courage merged with strength and respect. But, most of all, he was the heart and the soul of that realm and to those who lived within those walls. A single gaze taught them everything of his status among his people and of his interaction with them. Once he was satisfied with what his gaze found, his stare trained onto the Elf who broke slightly away from the group, whosered hair was almost the same shade as the sky of the dying day. The King's eyes narrowed slightly when he looked at the other Elf. Then, recollection appeared in them, briefly shadowing the clearness of his orbs, and before his features softened as the Elf spoke, a clear and formal voice "My King... I bring to you the greetings of Lord Elrond of Imladris. My name is Turelio, son of Calimo. I have been entrusted by Lord Elrond with the leadership of the promised troops of reinforcement."
He paused momentarily to give the crowd time to acknowledge his words, but he had not expected the King to speak in the short lapse of time. "An excellent choice in my opinion, Turelio, son of Calimo. You have proven your valour and your skills at the time of the Battle of Dagorlad."
Even though the proud Imladrin warrior did not show his surprise, the King's words struck him and left him temporarily speechless. He had not thought the proud son of Oropher would have remembered they had fought side by side so long ago. Many things had happened that fateful day, among them, the death of so many fellows and so many Elven leaders, making other events seem trivial and unworthy to be remembered. But before he had the opportunity to gather his wits and answer the King's praise, Thranduil's voice resonated again within the respectful silence."Warriors of Imladris... The entire people of Mirkwood are indebted to your courage and your altruism. Our realm lives a dark hour in our battle with the Shadow. We are very grateful for your help."
The King took two steps toward the gathering of warriors, his starched robes rustling with his pace. Turning slowly toward the hill and stretching out the hand that did not hold the sceptre in that direction, he added, "But now is not the time to speak about such things. You must be tired and eager to take some rest. Rooms had been prepared in the palace for you, Turelio Calimoion, as well as for the two sons of Lord Elrond and quarters for the rest of the troop have been readied as well. All of you are invited to attend the feast that will be given in your honour tonight."
Then, not waiting for an answer, the King turned his back to the gathering. Seeming to glide along the ground, he passed through the crowd of courtiers and councillors who respectfully stepped aside to let him pass and then disappeared inside the hill under the cautious watch of the guards who followed him.
Turelio watched the King's figure disappear before turning to give his warriors some instructions. Even if they were tired from their journey, it would be really ill-mannered to refuse such an invitation from the monarch.
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