Hours of Darkness: Chapter 1
Author's Note: I owe a million thank-yous to Melethril, who prodded and encouraged and pretty much didn't back down until I'd written this whole thing. :-) The story is complete in three parts (and it's fully written, so no worries there).
It's set after Where Battle Ends, Fic #4 in the Mirkwood Matters series, and will probably make more sense if you've read that first, although it isn't necessary. It's also sort of referenced in Practise to Deceive, Fic #3 in The Toys of War.
Also, I'm going back to this 'verse after an insanely long time, so please be forgiving! ;-)
Summary: The Watchful Peace has ended. Mirkwood grows dark. These are times that try faith and friendship.
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to the professor.
Hours of Darkness
Part I: Shadow
Thranduil
The winter night is cold and dark. A shadow lies over Greenwood the Great. The halls of the stronghold are still, the Elves uncharacteristically silent as they go about the business of their lives.
The Watchful Peace has drawn to a bloody, battle-filled close. It is a sadly depleted War Council that is meeting in my study. The room where it usually meets is nearby, but it would be unbearably disheartening to sit around the long table and count the empty chairs.
"What word?" I ask Arbellason.
The commander of my army responds with a helpless shrug. "Ellaurë has gone to help Bercalion. They are holding the border to the south, but they need reinforcements. Mîr-megil is pushing his own forces south, but it will not be enough. We must send them more warriors."
I nod, turning to my son, who is standing by the window with Thorontur, the Archery Master. "Legolas?"
"There has been no message from Aeroniel," Legolas says, exchanging a glance with Thorontur. "Colfind has gone to help her with such archers as we could muster. I can pull some of the archers off their patrols, if I must, but…"
"But the archers are all on double watches in any case," Thorontur finishes for him.
"I will speak to Îdhron when he returns," Arbellason offers. "I expect him in the stronghold tomorrow morning. If he can spare enough horsemen…" He shakes his head. "But, Legolas, if we do need archers -"
"I will do what I can. But I doubt Lady Ellaurë and Lord Bercalion can wait until Aeroniel has returned, and only the youngest archers are in the stronghold now. I do not want to send them to the border without an experienced leader. I can take them myself -"
"Only if there is no other option," Arbellason says firmly. "I do not want you on more than routine patrols until Mídhaer and Ionwë have returned, Legolas. Thorontur and your father and I cannot be the sole members of the War Council in the stronghold. None of us sees battle regularly anymore."
"You are needed for other purposes now, my lord," Legolas says with a light smile, as though he knows how much the forced inactivity frustrates all three of us.
"That may be. But I want you here for the moment." After a moment's hesitation, Arbellason goes on, "I am not questioning how you deal with your warriors, Legolas, but how much longer do you intend to keep Saeldur from his duties?"
Legolas meets the older Elf's eyes squarely. "I know my archers, Lord Arbellason. Saeldur says he is ready to fight, but he is still grieving. It has only been two weeks."
"Celephindeth came to me," interjects Thorontur, glancing from Legolas to Arbellason to me. "I would not say this if there were anybody else here, but… She begged me not to let Saeldur go into battle so soon. She said she could not bear to send another child into danger so soon after Candnaur's death."
"What did you tell her?" Arbellason asks.
"What do you think?" Thorontur demands. "I told her that I no longer command the archers and it is not my decision."
I note, with gratitude, Arbellason's approving nod. Commanding the archers is one of the most demanding and thankless tasks imaginable, especially when courtiers who have never even held a bow insist on questioning every decision Legolas makes. But the War Council, and especially Thorontur, Arbellason and Ellaurë, support him completely. It is not everything, but it is enough.
"I would not let Saeldur return to his duties yet in any case," Legolas says. "He is not ready to face battle. It would do more harm than good. He is grieving and he blames himself for Candnaur's death, though he has no cause. It was not his fault."
"It was not your fault, either," I say sharply.
Legolas meets my eyes. "I know."
There is a long pause, which is broken by Arbellason.
"I think we have decided all we can for now. I will speak to Îdhron. Legolas, tell me at once if there is a message from Aeroniel."
He leaves. Thorontur, with a squeeze to Legolas' shoulder and a nod to me, goes after him.
Left alone with my son, I ask, "When is your next patrol?"
"Tomorrow morning."
I cannot keep the relieved smile from breaking across my face. I have not spent time with Legolas outside a War Council for days. "Good. Then you can have dinner with me now."
Legolas, smiling back, follows me from the room.
Legolas
I am trying to keep my patience. I truly am, but in all the time we have known each other - and we have been friends since we were Elflings - has Saeldur been this difficult.
"I will ride with you!" he snaps furiously.
"Lord Thorontur feels you are not ready. And -"
"Lord Thorontur only trains the archers," Saeldur growls. "I passed my trials when you did. You are our commander, Legolas. If you do not want me to fight, at least have the courage to take responsibility for your own decision."
"I was about to say I agree with Thorontur. There. It is my decision. Will you accept it now?"
Saeldur glares at me. "You agree with Thorontur."
"I think you should not be on active duty yet. You are not ready - wait," I say, forestalling his angry objection. "I do not impugn your ability as an archer, Saeldur."
"So you doubt my courage."
I resist the urge to throw something at him. As we have been told on more than one occasion, we are no longer Elflings and we can no longer settle disagreements with fistfights. Especially not thisdisagreement.
"Your grief for your brother is too near. You should not be in battle at such a time."
Saeldur seizes my tunic in both hands and pushes me back against the wall. I barely refrain from rolling my eyes.
"You are only proving my point, Saeldur."
"I am ready to fight."
His forearm pins me to the wall. I make no attempt to push him away; it will only upset him more, and Saeldur is hardly likely to hurt me.
"Saeldur -"
"I am going to return to my duties. No matter what you have to say on the subject."
"As your friend I want what is best for you," I tell him as calmly as I can. "As your commanding officer I am responsible for your safety. I will not give you leave to join a patrol when you are mourning your brother."
"You did not scruple to give Candnaur permission to stay in camp though he was not even a warrior," Saeldur snarls.
I flinch - I cannot help it. Saeldur knows me, and that was meant to hurt.
Saeldur's eyes widen, as though he has just realized what he said, and his expression turns apologetic. "Legolas…"
"No," I cut him off. I know he was only angry, but we cannot have this conversation until we are both feeling more rational. "We can discuss this later. I have a patrol to lead in a few hours, and you have work to do."
"Work," Saeldur scoffs. "Watching children play with their bows."
"Training the novices. Lord Thorontur is glad to have your help - he is, Saeldur," I insist, when he looks disbelieving. "They have much to learn from you. And they admire you."
"At least somebody does."
"Saeldur!" I push him away, and he blinks as though suddenly realizing that he was pinning me to the wall. He flushes, caught between shame and anger. I sigh. "I trust you with my life. You know that. All I ask is that you let yourself recover."
"If you trusted me, you would not think I needed to recover."
This is getting ridiculous. We might argue, but Saeldur would never imagine I did not trust him unless…
"Who has been upsetting you?" I ask.
"You have," he snaps. "Doubting my loyalty -"
"Saeldur, please. You know I have never doubted your loyalty."
"You may never have done it before, but you are doing it now." He goes to the door. "Forgive me for wasting your time, my prince."
He leaves. I force myself not to go after him. We will only argue more if I do.
Thranduil
The Council meeting is one of the most tumultuous I have ever presided over. Everybody's nerves are frayed. The forest is growing darker, and as fiercely as my warriors fight to stem the tide, despite the daring sorties and night raids, we are holding on by a fingernail and the Council knows it.
I have just seen Legolas off. He looked weary, despite his relatively relaxed night, and I know he is pushing himself harder than he should.
I know, but I cannot prevent him. I cannot even suggest that he take time to rest. I expect my people to send their children and spouses and siblings into battle with no guarantee that they will survive it. How can I do less?
All the same, I am feeling irritable myself, and in no mood to humour Norgalad when he launches into a complaint about the increased restrictions the War Council has announced on movement through Greenwood. I point out, a little tersely, I admit, that the measures were taken in the interest of general safety, that we are doing all we can.
We have had this debate every day since the announcement.
"That is what you have been telling us for weeks, Thranduil!" he snaps, as though I am the one being unreasonable. "You said that as soon as the warriors could return to a normal schedule, the restrictions would be lifted."
A sharp glance from Thorontur warns me not to react, and Arbellason picks up the thread smoothly.
"We all hoped that would happen quickly," he says. "That is proving difficult."
"And we are to be confined to the stronghold indefinitely?"
"I understand your frustration," Arbellason responds with a dangerous smile. "And I trust you understand that most of our warriors have barely rested for weeks. I assure you that you cannot possibly be more eager to return to our normal routine than they are."
Norgalad has the grace to look abashed.
The meeting ends quickly after that. Nobody quite dares to say anything else to Arbellason, whose eyes are flashing like he hopes someone dares to impugn the honour of his warriors, just so he can demonstrate what happens to those who do.
I return to my study to find Saeldur waiting for me. I have to suppress a groan. Normally I am more than willing to speak to any young warriors who need encouragement or a sympathetic ear, but at the moment all I want is some peace.
"Saeldur."
"I want to fight, my king," he says without preamble.
"So I have been told. But both Legolas and Thorontur feel you are not yet ready. You have served the realm with distinction, Saeldur. There is no shame -"
"I am ashamed," Saeldur cuts in furiously. "It shames me to stay in the stronghold in safety while my companions - my friends - ride to defend our home. I know Legolas and Lord Thorontur worry about me, but they have no cause. I am ready, my king. I am."
I cannot hold back a frown at that. It sounds suspiciously like…
"Why are you here, Saeldur?"
Saeldur hesitates a moment. Then he seems to gather his courage. "I hoped… If… My king, if you tell them I am ready…"
"I see. You have come here expecting that I will annul an order given by both your commanding officer and the Archery Master." Saeldur flushes as the implications of his action dawn on him. Debate is encouraged, but in a kingdom at war we do not, I cannot, condone disobedience. "You should know better than that."
"You will not tell them?" he asks.
I sigh. If I thought Saeldur was simply trying to escape a reprimand, I would tell Thorontur, at least, but I know the young archer well enough to know that he wants to spare Legolas' feelings. It will not hearten my son if he hears that his trusted second-in-command went behind his back in an attempt to have him overruled.
"I will not tell them," I say at last, "if your protest ends immediately."
Saeldur, cheeks still scarlet, gets to his feet and leaves without another word.
Legolas
"How bad is it?" I murmur.
"It is serious," Voronwë responds, his voice grim and tense. "But, Elbereth be praised, we have lost nobody in this. There are injuries." His hand flits over my chest, deftly undoing my quiver and pulling it off, and then he peels back my tunic to bare my ribs. "Hold still."
"But I have to -"
"You have to listen to me, because when it is a question of your safety I am answerable to Lord Arbellason, not to you." He holds me down with embarrassing ease with just one hand, using the other to paw through his pack. "Never again will I let Eredhion organize my pack," he mutters. "I can find nothing! If I did not know better - ha!" He fishes out a small, flat box. "Do you want something to dull the pain?"
"No. It will dull my senses as well, and I cannot afford that now."
He rolls his eyes and mutters something involving the words 'Elfling' and 'idiot', but he does not object. I grimace at the first pull of the needle, and look around the clearing, trying to distract myself from the stitches.
"Sound off," Voronwë calls, guessing what I want.
I listen to the archers as they call out their names, one by one. They sound tired. Most of them have been injured in one way or another. It was supposed to be a routine patrol - if there were spiders this far north…
I shudder at the thought of spiders overrunning the stronghold, and Voronwë pats my arm soothingly.
It is as well that it is almost time for us to return. I do not think anybody is in any condition to stay here much longer.
As I look around the clearing again, my mind goes to the duty rosters. Most of the Elves with me with me will need a few days to recover from this, and that will mean sending out patrols of ten or eleven instead of twelve. Or asking those who are fit to take on even more, and that I cannot do. I am already demanding too much of them.
"Elbereth," I sigh. "We cannot keep this up, Voronwë."
I speak too softly for any of the others to hear me. All the same, Voronwë casts me a warning glance before he answers.
"Have faith." He helps me sit up. "We will turn the tide, Legolas. Somehow."
Thranduil
I am in the midst of meeting petitioners when I see the flash of movement by the door. Feredir is there.
For a moment I think he has come to speak to Thorontur, but he is not looking at his father. He is looking at me, face grave. There is blood on his grey healer's robe, and without a word being said I know why he is here.
I know why he is here, but I also know that Legolas' injury, whatever it is, is not life-threatening. Had that been the case, Feredir would have come in uninvited, regardless of protocol, demanded my immediate attention and delivered the news.
And if it is not life-threatening, I cannot leave until the day's requests have been dealt with.
Thorontur, without waiting for me to speak, gets to his feet. "I will see how bad it is."
I nod and force myself to concentrate on my work.
It is two hours before I can leave. I go to the healing wards, where Feredir tells me he has released Legolas with orders not to get on a horse or touch a bow for at least a week. I feel relief, and guilt. I know Thorontur would have done as much to make Legolas comfortable as I could, but that does not change the fact that I did not do it.
My father was right. One does not know the price of kingship until one has a child old enough to ride into battle.
I find Legolas asleep in his bed. Feredir did say he told Legolas to take a mild sedative, but I am astounded that Legolas actually did - until I see Saeldur sitting on the windowsill and deduce (correctly, as I later learn) that there was force-feeding involved.
Thorontur, sitting by the bed, gets to his feet when he sees me.
"He is sleeping easily," he assures me. "There is no danger. Feredir only took Legolas off duty as a precaution, lest he do something to make the wound worse." He claps me on the shoulder. "I will tell Galion to send you something to eat."
He slips out, and Saeldur gets off the windowsill and comes to the bed.
"He will probably sleep through the night, my king," he says quietly. "I… I took the liberty of giving him a fairly strong dose. He needs the rest, and there is no other way to make him take it."
I smile. "If he makes a fuss about it later, you can tell him you had my leave."
Saeldur laughs, a little bitterly. "I doubt that will help."
I clap a hand on his shoulder. "You need to get some rest yourself, Saeldur."
"I?" He shakes his head, stepping away. "I have been doing nothing, my king, except sitting in the stronghold lecturing children about the importance of well-oiled bowstrings."
"Saeldur, at this moment your parents need you here."
"Do Aeroniel's parents not need her presence? Does Lady Mídhaer not need Rochendilwen?" He turns to the still figure in the bed. "Do you not need Legolas, my king?"
"You have done as much as anybody else for the defence of the realm. You have nothing to prove. You saw your brother slain before your eyes. A few weeks of peace will not diminish your valour."
"I cannot bear to see my friends work themselves to exhaustion to fulfil my duties."
"Would you do any less for Legolas?"
Saeldur looks at me as though I have missed the point, bows his head formally, and leaves.
Legolas
Rochendilwen and Saeldur are in my study helping me reorganize the archers' rosters. It is not difficult, once we reach the decision to send patrols close to the stronghold out with eleven Elves each. I am not pleased about that, but, short of going to the healing wards and demanding that Feredir clear all the injured archers for duty, there is nothing else to be done.
"Do not look so worried," Rochendilwen murmurs as she marks off the patrol routes on a map of the forest. "It is only a few days, Legolas, and then Feredir will let you ride again - and, if we are fortunate, Aeroniel and Colfind would have returned as well."
I sense Saeldur stiffen, and Rochendilwen blushes. I shake my head. I know she meant no harm; all the same, it was the wrong thing to say in his presence.
"Tell me," Saeldur says coldly, "which healer's leave do I need to ride again?"
"Saeldur -"
"You think I should not be on patrol? What of you? How long has it been since you rested, Legolas? You would not be in the stronghold now if Feredir had not insisted on it."
Saeldur's voice vibrates with tight, barely-controlled anger. Rochendilwen meets my eyes, and I nod for her to leave. The fewer witnesses we have, the better.
Saeldur lets out a breath as the door closes behind her. "Are you sure you were wise to send her away? Who will defend you now?"
"Defend me from what?" I ask.
Saeldur crosses his arms. "If you trust me -"
"Saeldur -"
"Why will you not let me fight? Do you truly have so little faith in me? If you had let me lead my own patrols, this might not have happened." He indicates the bulge of bandages under my tunic.
"You would have been injured instead -"
"Nobody might have been injured at all. I would not have been exhausted from days and nights of patrol duty. Why am I here if you do not trust me?"
Something about his tone is odd. Unusual. It takes me a moment to realize what, and when I do…
"Who has been upsetting you? Again? Saeldur, whoever is telling you these things -"
"What?" Saeldur demands. "If someone has been telling me things, what of it? You have already taken me off active duty, Legolas. What more are you going to do? Tell me which Elves I may and may not speak to? Control what I may say to you?"
I know I should not react, that Saeldur is grieving and lashing out, but I am exhausted and he is pushing me past endurance.
"All I ask is that you have some faith in me!" I snap. "No matter what you think, I am not going out of my way to shame you."
"Then you are afraid -"
"Saeldur -"
"Afraid of what my mother will say, terrified she will summon you before the Council if something should happen to me -"
"Saeldur -"
"She wanted to do it in any case! She would have summoned you before the full Council for what happened to Candnaur but I begged her not to, Legolas." He glares at me. "I think now I should have let her do it."
"If that is how you feel about it," I snap, "you should."
Saeldur glares at me a moment longer before he gets to his feet and stalks out.
I bury my head in my hands.
I cannot think of a single way this day could possibly get any worse.
TBC