Behind the shadows of the soul
Part II: The best foes
Author: Casualis ( Casualis2000yahoo.fr )
Pairings: Elrohir/Legolas (implied), Elrond/Thranduil (slight)
Rating: PG
Warning: none
Summary: They were friends once, but even the strongest feelings may die out one day.
Disclaimer: In my dreams, they are mine and mine alone. Unfortunately, I only sleep ten hours a day.
Author's notes: This is the second story in the BSS arc. I hope you will enjoy. Many many thanks to Dorothy for beta-reading.
"I'm not ashamed. I have known love… I have known rejection... I'm not afraid to declare my feelings... Take trust for instance, or friendship... These are the important things in life. These are things that matter, that help you on your way. If you can't trust your friend, well what then? What then?"
from The Shallow Grave
The trees were whispering together, their voices soft and caressing, their leaves shaking and rustling according to the rhythm of the calm conversation between the old beings. They were the oldest souls of the ancient forest. Centuries had flowed over them, bearing joy and also sadness, leaving invisible scars in their memories. They had seen many people wandering through their woods. They had seen many races being born then disappearing. They had witnessed war and carnage, silent testifiers of the blood soaking their roots and of the bodies rotting upon the dusty ground. They had seen lovers seeking shelter from the rain under their foliage, they had heard their laughter and the wild beating of their hearts. They had seen children grow and adults die. They had watched and they had learned.
They were part of the old forest that once had covered Arda, spreading from east to west, north to south, of which the golden mallorn of 'Lorien and dark beech and pine of Greenwood had once belonged. With the passing of time, the great forest had disappeared, leaving room for the new inhabitants that appeared on Arda. But even if the trees sometimes experienced the bitter taste of melancholy, they were wise enough to push the unwanted feeling aside, having learned well that everything was meant to fade. The only concern was to know when.Their discussion was calm and quiet. There was no need to hurry or to be tense. Trees were immortal and had all the time they wanted; the passing of days was nothing more than a mere blink of eye in their long lives.
Today, the high oaks, beeches and pines were speaking about the travellers walking through the forest. The group had not yet passed next to them, but the news of their arrival had been heard by the unseen ears of the patient beings, brought, at first, by the breath of the wind and the joyful thrill of little birds, then by the voices of their close fellows. It seemed the
whole forest was awakening at the unexpected announcement of the group of visitors. The animals nesting in their branches seemed to be more alive, babbling and skipping between the high trees. Birds were singing, spreading the news of the joyous event through the air. All of nature seemed delighted.
Firstborn were coming! This was a rare event, enough to make the whole forest sound as a young maiden waiting for her first lover. Impatient and agitated. Happy and excited.
The oldest of the trees were able to remember distant times, when elves travelled from one realm to another through the forest, singing bewitching melodies, speaking with the trees bordering their path, walking and running with animals, greeting the wind caressing their fair features. But such times were no longer. Bit by bit, fewer and fewer elves had come to pass through the fading forest. Other beings had replaced them, and if trees were capable of such
feelings, they would have said that they did not like them. They were unable to repel the newcomers, and could only watch helplessly as they travelled back and forth. These men did not speak their language and were indifferent to nature, using it to satisfy their own needs. They thanklessly took without asking what would have been gladly offered, and its anger was great.
The most ancient of the forest beings was one of the most delighted. It had been truly a long time since he had spoken to a respectful and graceful child of nature and he had yearned to see one once more. His tortuous roots shuddered with eagerness. For one brief moment, he wished that he was not an imposing, rooted tree, and envied the wings of the birds flying amongst his dense foliage, free to go where they wished. He soon forgot this unexpected wish as an odd tingle in his buried roots caught his attention. He focused on the feeling to try to identify the strange sensation. His old soul, connected to the life-force of his surroundings, did not take long to realize the source of the sensation, and his leaves quivered in anticipation.
Elves were nearing.
It was a pretty large party; twenty or thirty, maybe more, all mounted upon fierce and
beautiful horses. But they were not simple elves.
"Wood-elves" confirmed a little golden bird, perched upon the sturdiest of his branches, before taking flight through the forest to spread the unexpected information.
"Wood-elves", the squirrels repeated excitedly, jumping from branch to branch, avoiding obstacles with fascinating agility and rising clouds of dust upon the ground.
"Wood elves…" murmured the light rustling of the ancient soul's leaves, betraying his perplexity.
This was strange. Wood elves had not left their realm nestled in the horizon for a very, very long time, millennia perhaps. Something must have happened to push them to travel. The old tree lightly shook his fresh green leaves, spreading the information to the other tall trees. Then, he waited patiently for the coming of the Firstborn. If he was lucky enough, they would halt next to him and he would be able to ask them a few questions about his cousins living in
Greenwood. Wood elves were nice creatures indeed, always eager to speak with trees.
Twenty-six they were. Twenty-six wood elves riding twenty-six magnificent horses, all of them equally beautiful in spite of the dirt soiling their pale features. Even if their eyes, fixed upon an invisible point far away, betrayed their weariness, each elf sat proudly upon his steed, back straight and head held high. They were truly a sight to behold. Proud and noble. Strong and wild. Worthy to be called the Fair Folk.
They were advancing at an unhurried pace, as they had been riding for a long time now and began to feel the need to take a short rest. They remained alert, ready to react to whatever might befall them, shoulders imperceptibly tense, one hand clenched in their horses' manes, the other clenching the curved shape of their bows. They were riding through the forest, listening to the sounds reaching their keen ears, trying to pick up signs of any foe's activity. They were clothed in the green and brown fashion of Mirkwood, their long hair braided in the same manner typical of the warriors of the great forest: two little braids behind their delicately pointed ears and another, thicker, behind their head, preventing thus errant strands to fall in their eyes.
Their skin seemed to be made of alabaster, its paleness enhanced by the dinginess of their clothing and, for some of them, the dark hair framing their beautiful faces. Mounted high upon tall horses, their slender frames might appear fragile, but appearances can be deceiving. They were strong and highly skilled elven warriors whose elegant features reflected the wisdom and experience acquired through millennia.
They were riding still and silent. The only noise emanating from the large party was the regular pounding of the hooves upon the dry ground and the occasional snort of a horse. Nothing interrupted the soothing calmness of the forest. They focused their attention on their surroundings, the silence somewhat frightening, eliciting a tension that reverberated within the group. None broke the silence of the tense atmosphere as they continued onward, their senses alert for potential danger.
His shining hair formed a shimmering halo around his stern face. His gaze did not flinch when a little golden bird grazed his shoulder before flying away. But his silent confidence was displayed for the benefit of his warriors, for what he truly felt was a far cry from composed countenance of his expression.
nevermore to put a foot within its boundaries. Today, he was to break his promise. Willingly. Almost grateful to be allowed to do so.
It was a rude blow to his pride to have to ask anything of the one whom he had long ago refused to call friend. To do so was to deny centuries of deep-rooted feelings of resentment, ignoring the tears and regret that had been borne upon the ashes of their failed relationship.
It was defeating.
Thranduil Oropherion did not like the bitter taste of defeat that dwelled in his mouth. He clenched his jaw as a wave of memories assailed him, enhancing the angular form of his face. Mercilessly, he pushed the memories aside, but it was not fast enough. For a brief moment, the laughter they had once shared resounded in his ears, followed by the harsh words they had exchanged. For the first time in a millennia, he allowed himself to ponder the possibility that things could have been different. But he also knew in this heart that he did not want to face Elrond Half-elven.
Because he was afraid.
Afraid of the past, and of the inevitable questions. He was frightened of the questioning that surely would follow their meeting, and of having to admit that he was not able to keep his kingdom safe on his own.
"Failure" was screaming his mind.
"Failure"
If he had been able to return to Mirkwood, he would have done so, but he could not. If he had learned anything during the past years, it was that he was King of Mirkwood before being Thranduil Oropherion, and that his duty to his people prevailed over his owndesires. Mirkwood was in danger and needed all the help he could summon. His own pride was irrelevant. If he had to beg for Elrond's help, so be it.
He could only hope that his former friend would not ask for more.
TBC…