Chapter Twenty-Six: A Decision Made, A Price Paid

Heart pounding fit to burst, legs aching and trembling from running, mouth dry though his cheeks were wet with tears, Legolas stumbled through the corridors of his home. He ran not heeding where he was going, through hall and tunnel, gate and archway, he just ran. His limbs were trembling so badly they threatened to give way beneath him and he knew he would fall but he could not stop.

It wasnÂ’t from Haldir that he ran but rather from what he had just done. He had just hurt the one person who had believed him, believed in him and helped him through this nightmare. But for him, the prince would have been dead long ago- in the forest or by his uncleÂ’s hand.

The worst part of it was Haldir had let Legolas hit him. He had seen it in his eyes. The older elf had looked at him as though he had wanted to be punished. Deserved it even and Legolas had done it. He had struck his friend and he felt wretched with the knowledge that Haldir might never forgive him for it. And worse for knowing that he would never forgive himself.

His legs finally gave way and he crumpled to the floor, shaking against the wall. But he did not cry though his cheeks were still damp. It was as though he had finally run out of them though his pounding heartbeats shook him back and forth, seared horribly with hurt and anger and guilt. His head fell forward into his hands and he gripped his hair, tugging at it as though he wanted pain.

He had forgotten his errand but as he slowly gained mastery over himself, the longing grew even stronger within him to see his mother. His heart ached and his only thought was to be in her comforting arms, her soothing voice in his ear. Somehow, if he could just get to her, he might be able to fight through this misery. But he didnÂ’t think he could face Haldir again. Not after what heÂ’d just done.

But he couldnÂ’t stay here either cowering like a child waiting for his uncle to find him. Ainan had always told him to act like an adult. Now he would.

Wiping the dampness of his tears on his much-torn tunic, he rose on shaking legs and made his way stealthily down the corridor, trying to keep his breathing even and focusing all of his remaining energy on placing one foot in front of the other. Every once in a while, he passed several soldiers but they did not speak to him and he did not recognize them.

At last, he came to his own room on the west wing of the palace. He glanced towards the door of his bedroom with a shudder and looked quickly away again. It was empty and everything was arranged as he had left it. Staring at his bow and quiver lying empty and forgotten in a corner, his books where he had left them, he was overcome with the oddest feeling that he was staring into a strangerÂ’s room.

It seemed part of another time when life was peaceful and emotional distress had not yet been a daily part of it. He stepped softly out again, not wishing to linger as he hurried onward, his spirits lifting a little out of the deep horror of his soul.

His parentsÂ’ room was just around the corner.

His back was hurting horribly by now but he did not stop, bounding lightly down the corridor, his heart in his throat as he thought that he would soon see his mother. Eagerness and fear throbbed through him with every beat of his heart. Eagerness to see his mother and wretched fear that she would be disappointed in him, hating him for what he had done.

Swallowing all of his emotions, he flung himself around the corner and paused just outside his parentsÂ’ room. Slowly, he stretched out his hand and turned the golden handle.

The stately rooms of the king and queen hung in deep shadow for the curtains were drawn and the air stuffy and dry though chill for there was nothing but cold ashes in the grate. The main chamber where his fatherÂ’s courtiers and noblemen gathered was utterly silent. The door to the left opened to his fatherÂ’s study was locked. The prince wandered around, his heart sinking through his boots as he moved to his parentÂ’s bedchamber, poking his head in.

It was empty.

Legolas shivered, the happy balloon in his stomach deflating rapidly. For a moment, he leant on the door with his head pressed against the lintel then walked in. It was very dark but the young prince would have known this room in the pitch blackness with his eyes closed. The small elegantly carved writing desk is where his mother kept her journal but the candle lay upon the table, dark. The rug under his feet felt deliciously soft after nothing but hard stone for days.

As he had when he was a small child, he crawled up onto the large bed, sighing quietly as he closed his eyes. He had not slept in a bed for so long, he had forgotten what it felt like. Even though his parents were not there, he could feel them in this room. The pillow still smelled of his motherÂ’s sweet hair as he buried his face in it.

His father, laughing, swung the pillow back at him and Legolas dodged it nimbly. His mother uttered a loud protest as the offending object flew at her.

Sitting before the fire in winterÂ… wrapped in her warm embrace as his father read to him of the tales of the Elder DaysÂ…

Lying lazily in the window seat, watching the green limbs of the trees wave cheerfully from over the burbling stream which he could hear even from hereÂ…

The memories nearly made him burst into tears again but he carefully schooled his face into impassiveness though there were none to see him. It had become nearly automatic to him by now.

Somehow in the bright light of day, in the familiar room he had grown up in, he saw what his uncle wanted him to do. How hollow his false promises seemed now. Legolas knew better now that he could think clearly and had not the threat of the whip hanging over his head. Ainan would no sooner free his friends than he would abdicate the throne. And what would he do to his motherÂ… ?

Dull horror swept through LegolasÂ’ heart and he felt his very soul shudder at what he had nearly doneÂ… He couldnÂ’t lead them to herÂ… not to herÂ… that would be a deeper betrayal than anything he had yet done. He would have to put aside his own longing, to keep her safe. Resolutely but with a heavy heart, Legolas rose, determined to get as far from here as he could.

Something creaked and the prince started up, whirling towards the door.

A figure stood there, wreathed in the bright sunlight pouring through the doorway.

Not knowing how to react to this apparition, Legolas shrank back against the bedpost, his eyes wide as he shaded them with a slender hand.

“Kirar,” he said, shocked when he recognized the figure. He hadn’t seen his teacher in several weeks- not since his father had disappeared. It seemed like an age ago.

Kirar looked down into the young princeÂ’s drawn face and felt his heart wrench. He laid a hand on the boyÂ’s shoulder but Legolas flinched away, hiding his face beneath his curtain of golden hair.

“Tolo, ernil nin. (Come along, my prince.)”

Legolas slowly raised his head and hesitantly took the hand the lieutenant offered him to pull him to his feet.

“Where are we going?” he asked, trotting alongside his tutor as they moved out into the hall, leaving the King and Queen’s chambers behind. But Kirar did not answer and Legolas felt a growing disquiet rise in him. He glanced out the window and realized that the sun was falling from its zenith, the cold wind lashed the tree branches against the windows and still they walked on through the long halls.

Suddenly, Kirar stopped.

Startled, Legolas checked too.

“What’s wrong?”

The older elf did not answer as he gazed down into his studentÂ’s face, a faraway look in his eyes.

“My prince… Legolas… nin goheno, (forgive me,)” he murmured, dropping to one knee to look up at the prince’s face, taking his hands beseechingly. Legolas looked down at him in confusion and embarrassment.

“For what?” he asked, his heart thumping painfully between his ribs as a cold sweat broke out over his back and hands.

The older elf dropped his eyes and shook his head, running a hand through his hair, tugging at it in agitation.

“So many things…” he muttered, almost to himself. He closed his eyes for a long moment and when he looked up, there was so deep a sadness in them that Legolas’ felt cut to the heart. But there was fear there too and anguish in his mentor’s eyes that he had never seen there before. And a new determination.

Slowly, Kirar rose to his feet. Legolas watched him carefully. His teacher looked almostÂ… frightened and a tingling warning shivered up his spine. The elven lieutenant cast a quick glance around the vacant hallways then abruptly grabbed LegolasÂ’ shoulder, pushing him towards an overhanging archway.

“Come on, this way,” he urged, pushing the prince ahead of him with a hand on the small of his back.

“Where are we going?”

“Upedo, (Don’t speak,)” his teacher hushed him with a frantic glance over his shoulder. “I’m going to help you escape from this.”

“Really?” Legolas felt a sudden unspeakable rush of gratitude towards his teacher.

“Yes, and that is why you must be silent.”

Their feet fairly flew over the paved stones of the passages, leaping down flights of stairs until Legolas was panting to keep up. He had no idea where they were going or why but Kirar seemed desperate to escapeÂ… something. Impatiently, he grabbed the princeÂ’s hand when he faltered, staring uneasily over his shoulder for long periods of time and then hustling him along even faster than before.

Just when Legolas feared he could not move another step, they stopped. The magnificent palace gates spread out before them. Massively carved of old, reminiscent of the dwarves who had aided in its construction, it stood nigh on thirty feet tall from top to bottom, inscribed with emerald threaded vines and silver mithril veins from the deepest caverns, carved with all images of bird and beast.

The doors would only open by magic at the KingÂ’s command.

A curious sense of relief and fear rushed through the prince as he thought of what might be beyond those doors: freedom from this nightmare, a true escape, but without food, shelter or weapons. If Kirar left him hereÂ…

“Do you know where your mother is?” Kirar asked suddenly, turning to him. Legolas shook his head, stricken from his fearful musings.

“No.”

Kirar looked slightly disappointed and his eyes skated around the room again, searching the small, dark corners.

“There has to be a way…” he muttered quietly. Again Legolas had the impression that he was talking to himself.

Then, the noise they had most dreaded to hear.

Footsteps.

“Kirar! Thank the Valar, you found him!” a voice called out, halting them abruptly as an elf in long rustling blue robes, flanked by three guards, hastened towards them. The elven lieutenant visibly stiffened and his face paled.

“Serkë, did he send you out as well?” he asked as casually as he could.

“He is getting impatient,” the elf councilor responded with a twitch of his shoulders and an uneasy glint in his eyes. He did not even look at the prince. “You’d better bring him now.”

Legolas looked pleadingly up at his teacher. Kirar shot him one, quick, apologetic look and laid a hand on his shoulder, steering him around. Legolas could not believe it, able only to watch as freedom slipped away from him step by torturous step.

Quickly now, they moved back into the heart of the palace. Environed on all sides by stone-faced guards, Legolas could only walk at his teacherÂ’s side in growing fear and apprehension. A sense of loss, increased by his near escape, crept over him and shivered his soul. Idly, he wondered if his mother was safe, and HaldirÂ… But thinking of him made the young prince recoil from the memories and he halted that train of thought even as they slowed.

Unconsciously, he uttered a little cry and tried to break away from his teacher but Kirar held him tightly, grimacing at the look of anguish on the princeÂ’s face. He turned towards the head of the chamber, gently pushing the prince forward into the chamber.

“I brought him as you asked, hir nin (my lord)” he said stiffly.

If Ainan heard any bitterness in that address, he did not heed it. He rose from the elegantly carved throne with a small smile, a silver circlet glinting on his fair brow. AinanÂ’s eyes flickered over the princeÂ’s head at the doorway, as though searching for another. Frowning slightly when he did not find what he sought, he returned his gaze to Legolas who still stood with his arms gripped by the unfamiliar guards as if he were a prisoner.

“So nice of you to join us again, little prince.”

Legolas scowled up at him without fear.

Despair had made him bold.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Uncle!” he cried out in an anguished tone, trying to wrench away from that grip of steel. “I will not let you hurt my mother!” He had promised his father he would protect her.

AinanÂ’s lean face twisted into an angry scowl then he smiled. Legolas shivered deep within himself as his uncle bent forward so that his face was a mere few inches from the younger elfÂ’s own, his silver-blue eyes boring into his.

“Then you have sealed your fate, child,” his uncle said quietly, his eyes glittering strangely in the dim half-light. “And you have not saved her- for I will have her one way or the other. And then… I thought of letting her live but now, her end will be long and slow- thanks to you.”

Legolas felt his heart drop through the bottom of his stomach and a cold feeling tingling throughout his body.

“And your friends will not be spared. One by one they will die. But as for you, little princeling, I think I will keep you around just long enough so you can watch the life fade from their eyes. To see their looks of unending suffering, to see their hatred and condemnation of you before you die.”

Legolas merely stared at him with a blank blue gaze, his face utterly devoid of expression and Ainan prided himself on having put that look there for a dark smile lifted the corners of his lips as he straightened.

“But, I have other affairs to attend to than bothering with you,” he sneered and Legolas, realizing that he was being given a reprieve from torment, sighed inwardly in relief. Something of it must have shown on his face for Ainan smiled slightly.

“Fear not, nephew, punishment is only put off, not forgotten.”

He ruffled the princeÂ’s hair in a cruel mockery of fondness, undaunted when Legolas jerked away from him. His voice lowered to a dangerous growl as he gestured for the guards to seize his nephew.

“I will make it so you will betray your dearest friends for want of a sight of the sun.”

~*~

Haldir sighed in aggravation. He had gotten completely turned around somewhere in these wretched tunnels and could no longer hear any sight or sound of anyone, let alone the prince. He wandered somewhat aimlessly, guessing half-haphazardly at the direction in which Legolas might have gone as he wracked his brains, trying to conjure up a recollection of these parts of the palace.

But his memory of the mad rush through the halls was vague at best and he could only recall glimpses of long, stone corridors lined with torches that guttered madly as he passed them. Shaking his head ruefully, he moved onward, trying to ignore the biting pain in his back and legs and the much sharper one in his heart.

So absorbed in his thoughts was he that he didnÂ’t realize that he had come to a door until he nearly ran into it. Halting abruptly, he examined it. The portal was heavy and well-built but it didnÂ’t seem to be locked or even barred. He hesitated only a moment before he pushed it open.

Sunlight dazzled his eyes and he blinked in the brilliance, feeling suddenly elated at the sight of the sun which he thought he would never see again. The fresh chill breeze that blew in from the north revived his spirit a little and blew away the last vestiges of weariness and fatigue that had been dragging at him though his heart remained heavy.

He stepped into a courtyard, realizing with a thrill of shock that it was not much past midmorning. How could the sun shine on such a black day? It seemed impossible and yet, the merry light did, capering among white fluffy clouds past the swaying boughs over his head. Haldir shaded his eyes with a slender hand and gazed across the expanse of frozen lawn that lay between him and the other wall where another door loomed ahead. The gate looked as though it ran further down into the palace but he would have to cross the open courtyard without being seen in order to do it.

Moving into the deeper shadows cast by the sun that had not yet risen over the top tiers of the palace, the elf stepped warily down the short flight of broad stairs. An espalier of trees stood in the centre of the courtyard, bare of their leaves in this bitter winter. He glided stealthily from shadow to shadow, watching the blank high windows that glared down at him like so many eyes, sparkling in the sunlight. It seemed to take an eternity before he reached the door. He pressed himself against it, relieved when it yielded to him and he escaped the sight of the eyes.

He did not see the black shape slip in after him before he swung the door to.

With a twinge of discomfiture, he realized he was in another, very narrow tunnel, standing on the first of a straight set of stairs that receded sharply downward into the cold blackness. There were no torches here and a single misstep might send him hurtling into the black air to land painfully at the bottom. Images of him lying on the landing with a broken neck plagued Haldir as he eased himself carefully down the stairs, praying the dizzy spells would not return at least for this moment.

He forced his knees to bend and his feet to keep steady pace as he traversed the stone stairs that seemed to last forever, going down, down, down into the Valar-knew what foulness was down here! But perhaps luck would stay with him and he would find Legolas again or, at any rate, something that looked vaguely familiar.

It was then that he heard it.

A noise, soft and catlike, like a bootstep soft against the stone.

From behind him.

Haldir tensed, twisting around sharply, hand flying to the hilt of his borrowed sword as he lunged backwards down the stairs to avoid something scything towards him out of the dark.

A ringing screech of steel on stone resounded close to his head and he shied away as the sound rang painfully in his ears. Something clipped his arm in the dark. Shaking it off, he drew his sword blade, grasping it firmly in both hands, his elbows nearly brushing either side of the walls. He would have very little room to maneuver if he managed to at all.

But there was nothing there. Only empty blackness.

Suddenly, something struck him hard from behind and Haldir stumbled up the stairs a few paces as pain raced up his back. He whirled round swiftly. An iron grip closed around his throat and the Lórien elf gasped desperately, trying to draw in air that refused to reach his lungs. He kicked out sharply and his boot connected. With a grunt of pain, the grip on his throat released.

Haldir twisted away, heaving in air through his crushed windpipe. His head spun from lack of oxygen and the poison still in his lungs made it difficult to regain his breath. He coughed, blinking to clear his watering eyes. He saw a gleam of steel as though a cold light had been unsheathed and swung towards it. But he still could not see what was attacking him and it was driving him mad. His enemy seemed always to be behind him though he didnÂ’t know how that could be possible in such close quarters unless his adversary was a wraith of his own imagining.

But the pain was very real as something struck the joint at the back of his knee hard and reflex overcame will, dropping him hard to the stairs. He lost his balance and rolled down the rest of the stairs, landing hard on his back with the wind knocked out of him. His sword rang on the stone where it had been knocked from his hand during the fall. Bruised and gasping for breath, he lay still, trying to collect himself.

Before he could shake off the stun, that unbreakable grip seized him again and slammed his head back against the floor, dazing him. Once. Twice more in quick succession. Silver and purple sparks exploded over his vision. And then it hazed yellow as he dropped to the floor, swallowed up in a pool of inky blackness.

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