Mirkwood: Bath Time
Well...castle was not the most appropriate word. It was so much more than a royal residence since it hosted a great part of the Mirkwood population.
The King of Mirkwood and his sons lived in an isolated wing of the palace while the councillors lived in another one. Scholars, scribes, and healers were lodged somewhere in the western area and the rest of the household occupied the deepest levels. Only some warriors along with a few craftsmen had chosen to live outside the wooden hill but their houses were generally not far away from the secure area.
In his opinion, the castle of Mirkwood was not unlike a giant ants' nest. Long corridors seemed to sink into the depths of the earth and there were unceasing crossings where the innocent wanderer could not help but become lost. 'An ants' nest with its established hierarchy,' the younger twin nodded to himself as he neared the lower levels and crossed the path of a young maiden, who bowed deeply at his passing. The twins had wondered every now and then on if the Wood Elves had an extraordinary sense of orientation that was completely alien to their poor Noldorin senses or that, after a few millennia of being lost, they might also grow accustomed to the maze of corridors and linked rooms.
Privately, he knew it hopeless. He was not sure he would ever remember the way to the stream that flowed through the lower levels. But it would not be by lack of practice. Elladan and he had taken to bathing in the river when the others were sleeping. It was a way for them to have the intimacy that they were so fond of to share their thoughts of the day.
A smile came to Elrohir's lips as he realized that if he managed to reach the common baths, he was not sure he would find Elladan there. He shook his head with merriment and pushed away the strands that came into his eyes. If he became lost again, he would have to ask his way from one of the guards that were posted at various intersections.
Two months had passed since they had arrived in the realm of Mirkwood and it felt like it was just the other day to him. Between the days spent with the patrols and those spent in council meetings with the King and his advisors, he had not seen the time flow away.
Patrolling Mirkwood was much more different than patrolling Imladris. The patrols were bigger – twenty to twenty-five warriors – and led them much farther away from the borders than he had expected. At first, they had focused their efforts toward the immediate surroundings of the royal domain. He had fought Orcs and Wargs so close to the grounds that he still shuddered at the thought.
The Imladris' Elves had learned soon that one did not fight in a forest as one did in the plains. There in Mirkwood, trees were as much a constraint as a shelter and he had learned why the archers were so prized in Mirkwood. The forest was a challenge he had yet to master.
He had fought Orcs and Wargs before and had thought himself a seasoned warrior. But a new respect had arisen in him for the Mirkwood's warriors when he had faced the full strength of the Shadow for the first time. The Orcs were different from those that he had come to expect. Bold and cunning, they did not fear much and attacked viciously. They were organised and demonstrated a strategy that he had always thought alien to them. To fight them, the Elves would retreat to the trees and attack with arrows, pushing them towards carefully laid traps. Close combat took place as a very last resort.
It might be safer but somehow, such tactics deprived him of what he craved and needed: the excitement of the fight and the satisfaction of the kill. His thirst for revenge could not be appeased by keeping his sworn enemy at distance. He needed to see the spark of life fading from the soulless eyes...to feel his sword enter the flesh. People could think him mad but he did not care. Revenge was gnawing at his guts and screamed for fulfilment.
It was revenge that had pushed his brother and him to organise great hunts against the forces of the Shadow. Theirs was a dangerous game that could end up in more tears than it had begun. But the burning pleasures of danger attracted them, pushing them to seek it where it did not exist. No matter how much he tried to reason with himself, it was as though he could not help himself.
But the fight of the Wood Elves was much different. They were not fighting for revenge but for their lives...for their right to live where and as they had chosen. There in Mirkwood, the Shadow was not something one could push aside when coming back home. There was no shelter. There was only hope.
Pondering that thought, Elrohir decided that his own problems were insignificant when compared to what those Elves had faced for centuries: an exhaustive battle against an invisible and boundless enemy. He was simply glad that they had achieved significantly diminishing the number of Sauron's minions in the area defined by the Forest River.
He paused at another crossing and turned left as he recognized the tapestry that hung on the wall representing the Awakening at Cuivenen.
The next day would mark an important step in the fight against the Shadow. They would cross the river to destroy some of the spiders' nests that had been woven through the trees. Elrohir felt a shiver of anticipation run through him. They had not encountered any spiders since their arrival and he was more than eager to face them finally. The attack had been carefully planned and the composition of the troops had been cautiously studied. The one which would lead the attack was the youngest Prince and Elrohir had been delighted at the choice.
It would be the first time that he saw the object of his fantasies somewhere else than at the formal gatherings. Wondering why he never saw Legolas in the palace but not daring to ask lest his questioning appeared suspicious, he had finally learned that the youngest son of Thranduil dwelt in the quarters of the warriors. A small smile graced Elrohir's lips. He longed to see the skill promised in the Prince's stance and agility.
More than ever, the younger twin felt the weight of his attraction towards the fair Prince. The grace and innate seduction of the wild Elf enthralled him each time their paths met. He knew that he was not the only one who found him beautiful and desirable. But Legolas seemed to glide on the gazes bestowed upon him like a cat turning his nose up at an unworthy prey. No preferences were given and Elrohir knew the Prince had no official lover.
He had tried to catch the other Elf's gaze but it seemed to him that the Prince was intent on avoiding him, which he had done during the feast in Imladris. However, he could have sworn that he had felt Legolas watching him when he wasn't looking. He hadn't reacted in time to catch a glimpse of the blue eyes. But every time it had happened, Elrohir had felt as though the world had been reduced to a deep ocean that lured him.
He suddenly perceived the faint roar of the water and allowed all thought to flee his mind. When he heard his twin's voice, he approached the alcove where they were used to bathing. Taking off his boots and his clothes, Elrohir spared a glance at his surroundings. Left in its natural state, it was nonetheless breathtaking with its high vaults born from the labours of water. The ground was polished and smooth and he relished in how it felt against his bare feet. He could not help but wonder at the work of nature. It had taken millennia for the river to make its way through solid rock.
He spotted his brother chest deep in the water and leaning against the bank with both arms resting on the rock. He frowned though as he noticed the silver-haired Elf who was talking animatedly with his twin.
Elladan felt his brother's presence and welcomed him with a grin. "Finally, muindor...I thought you would never make it." Not bothering to answer, Elrohir submerged himself in the water and felt his muscles relax. Elladan continued. "Brother, this is Vanyacar, one of Thranduil's advisors. He ails from Lorien."
As Elrohir nodded his greetings, the silver-haired Elf corrected Elladan with a smile. "I have not been in Lorien for quite a while, son of Elrond. But it is true that I have not yet become a full Wood Elf."
The Councillor looked at one twin then the other. He had already seen them from afar and had often heard how lauded their perfect likeness was. But, there in their glowing nudity, they were plainly fascinating. 'Wild and beautiful,' he thought to himself and yet completely inaccessible in a way that he could not decipher.
"How do you come to live in Mirkwood, Vanyacar?"
Vanyacar met the curious scrutiny of the two pairs of grey eyes with the air of someone used to the question. "A long time ago, I was a Galadhrim and I never thought I would leave the Golden Woods. I came here to follow my heart's desire. I met my lover on the fields of Dagorlad and chose to live where he dwelt."
"But did you not say you were Thranduil's advisor?"
A shadow of pain passed quickly in the Lorien Elf's eyes and he lowered his face to stare at the water. When he spoke again, his voice was laced with pain and regrets. "I am not able to fight anymore, so I made myself useful in the best way I could." He raised his right hand from the water and held it in front of him. It would have been a beautiful hand, long and slim with strong fingers if were not for the two fingers missing and the ugly scar that crossed the palm. "This happened during the battle that cost my lover's life. I am now unable to wield either a sword or bow. I would have been a poor addition to the patrols in this state."
The twins swallowed uneasily. The same thought crossed their mind. If something like that befell them, what would they do? The life of a warrior was the only life they knew. Would they be strong enough to go on and build a new life?
Elrohir looked at Vanyacar. "I grieve for you," he murmured and meant it.
But there was no trace of self-pity in the Councillor's eyes as he said, "You should not. I am alive and still able to fight the darkness in my own way. It may be little as the Shadow grows stronger with each passing day but I will not cease."
"Aye," Elladan stepped in smoothly. "We have been witness to the ravages it wrought onto this realm." He did not expect the reaction brought by what he thought words of comfort.
"You have seen nothing, sons of Elrond. You have yet to cross the River. That stream is a natural protection against many dangers. Orcs, Wargs..." He paused with a shudder. "And above all...spiders"
Warning was in Vanyacar's voice but Elladan, clearly angered by what he perceived as a chastisement, retorted, "We have seen Spiders before..." But he could not go on as the silver-haired Councillor interrupted, his placid eyes blazing.
"Tomorrow, you will attack one of their nests!" He lowered his voice till it covered the din of the water. "I know... But beware a lone scout is naught when compared to the true strength of spiders. Tomorrow, you will be on their ground, not yours. If I were you, I would watch my back closely."
Vanyacar tried to warn them truthfully. Of course, he had heard of the sons of Elrond, mighty hunters and fine trackers even among their peers. When he had finally faced them, he could see for himself that the gossip was true. They had strength, grace, and beauty...but there was also a thirst for blood and revenge that consumed their very fäer. But as skilled as they were, they could not know what they were going into for they had never been there.
Feeling the tension build between the two other Elves, Elrohir chose to break the silence, his voice soothing. "You speak of great danger, Councillor Vanyacar, and we would be foolish to discard your words lightly. However, your warriors seem rather confident."
The silver-haired Elf turned his attention from one twin to the other, trying to decipher how he could explain what centuries among the Silvan folk had taught him."Sons of Elrond, never judge a book by its cover. All Wood Elves wear a deceiving face." He stopped thoughtfully. "They will never show you weakness or uncertainty. You cannot imagine how it must have injured their pride to ask for the help of your people. I will give you advice." Vanyacar smiled brightly. "Do not underestimate a Wood Elf's pride...that is the only thing that keeps them alive and on this side of the Sea."
At his words, the twins both laughed, for during their time in the Woodland Realm, they had become acquainted with that side of their cousins. "I would rather say that what keeps them alive are their skills with weapons," Elrohir put in smoothly with the ease of a courtier. More seriously, he followed, "They are really fine warriors."
Vanyacar shook his head slightly. His voice was laden with mourning as he replied, "Very fine warriors indeed. But too few have the strength left to fight." He fell silent for a moment while staring at a whirlpool as he tried to master the emotion in his voice. "Witnessing the fading of the realm has gnawed on the confidence of most and weakened their will to fight. Only the youths, who never knew the realm before the Necromancer, still have the faith to fight. Others remain here out of habit and love for the Woods." Vanyacar's smile grew bitter. "Elves will never change. We are immortal and we live in fear of whatever change tomorrow will bring us. It is so much easier to dwell in the past. Few are those who have still hope to see the Woods restored to their old glory."
Elladan, who had remained silent for a noticeably long time, spoke up with a slight frown, "I do not have the feeling that either Thranduil or his sons will let the Shadow spread through the forest without doing anything to prevent it."
"It is different for the royal family," the silver-haired Elf answered while wondering if this was something he should discuss with some strangers. "King Thranduil is the heart of the Realm. His strength is that of the forest. The day Sauron will spread completely over our land will be the day of his death. He will never leave Greenwood, even if he is the last to stand in a world corrupted by the Shadow. And his sons...the two elder are fine warriors and politicians but they still mourn the memories of better times..."
Vanyacar fell silent as though lost in his own pondering. Elrohir bit his bottom lip and held back the question he really wished to ask. He could feel his brother's amused gaze upon him as his twin always knew what was in his thoughts. Soon, he realized that he would not be able to ask and, hoping his interest was not too obvious blurted aloud, "What of his youngest? Legolas?"
The Lorien Elf smiled and took a closer look at the twin who had uttered the question. He had already seen the same expression in those who had shown some interest in the prince. This one was skilled at hiding it but Vanyacar had not spent centuries at court without learning to see behind masks. He could not blame him. The Prince was fair among the fair ones and countless were those who had tried to seduce him without any success.
In a tone of the amused confidence, Vanyacar chose to indulge the younger twin. It was harmless anyway. "It is not for naught that the youngest son of Thranduil has seen himself entrusted with the command of the Southern patrol which takes care of the darkest corners of the Realm. He is a fine and impetuous warrior who wants to free this place of its evil no matter the price."
Elrohir focused on the silver-haired Elf and forgot about his surroundings. When Vanyacar ceased speaking, the younger twin pondered dreamily on what had been said, unaware of the knowing smirk bestowed upon him by the other Elf. He was disturbed in his thoughts by a bemused Elladan, whose voice sounded clear and strong in the cave...too strong and clear for his liking. "That looks quite extreme, do you not think?"
Vanyacar met Elladan's eyes without surprise. He understood the twin's perplexity with the strange ways of the Wood Elves. He himself had wondered for a while before piercing the mysteries of that people, which was so different from others. "The situation itself is extreme," he explained. "I suppose it was not easy for the younger ones to grow here in a realm corrupted by the Shadow...and everything has been worse since the death of Queen Menelwe."
Silence fell upon them. The twins had been told of the Queen's tragic end and speaking of her brought back the memory of their own mother who had sailed West. Yes, they were able to understand how rage could take hold of people and never let go again.
Unaware of the flow of memories awakened by his words, the Lorien Elf added, "Many were those who left the realm after her death as the Shadow kept on growing stronger and stronger. Many sailed to Valinor and some linger under the protection of the Lady Galadriel. Few remain here and even fewer are ready to fight for the realm. If it is not the Shadow that is taking us over, it will be grief."
When he finally noted the sorrowful expression on the two brothers' faces, Vanyacar cursed himself for his thoughtlessness. After a few minutes passed without any of them speaking, he decided that he should leave them alone to quell their grief. Rising from the water, he climbed onto the bank, water streaming the length of his body and dripping onto the ground. As he bent to pick up his towel and wrap it around his waist, he allowed anger and hatred for the Shadow to flare in his heart for a brief moment...anger and hatred for the dark beasts who had taken his lover, his friends, and his Queen. But he restrained those feelings because, even if it relieved him to set them free, they did little to help him live.
Managing to look dignified as though he were not half nude, he bowed to the brothers, "I will take my leave. May the Valar protect you tomorrow. It will not be an easy fight."
Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel and left. As the sound of the Councillor's steps faded slowly, the twins remained quiet and oblivious of their surroundings. Then, after several minutes of silence and stillness, Elrohir rose, his desire for a bath forgotten. He had no need to look over his shoulder to know that he was being followed by his twin. Silently, they headed for their rooms in the underground palace. Words were useless as their heavy hearts spoke for them. The next day, Sauron's minions would die by their hands for the torment of their mother.
Soon.
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