Laer o Faen

Dúath ad Ely

Third Age of Middle Earth – 2840-2841

Fëa nín bâd na le, hîr nín, ad calad nín tanatha bâd lín; na u-ídhrathad

The news reached Legolas from the Midnight Watch that the clouds were rolling in from the south. They need not have brought him the report. He had seen from the balcony of his apartments – unable to find rest he had taken the air, pacing back and forth, as unsettled as the night. He had seen the gathering storm: black clouds full of fire and rain – rain like stinging ice; unseasonal. It was as though menace hovered above Greenwood, a great threat just waiting to fall.

In a sudden decisive move, he turned and strode from the balcony, through his apartment, scattering stewards who had arrived in the wake of the messenger to secure the prince's comfort, leaving the door open as he descended the steps, toward where the captains of the watches took their ease.

To a single elf, almost in unison, they came to their feet as their prince came upon them, and for once, Legolas did not stand them down as ordinarily he might – considering himself to be no more than first among equals, and not above them as no doubt his father did.

"I want the watch doubled," he ordered softly. "This storm provides the perfect cover for an assault, and I will not have our people harmed."

"Yes, my lord," the captains answered, and immediately moved out to gather their patrols, all but one, an elder among the leaders of Greenwood's guard. He remained until the others had moved out of earshot before he paused as he passed Legolas, resting a light touch atop the prince's shoulder.

"You know that this storm is not natural, Prince Legolas," he said, his voice low, confidential even though there was little chance of them being overheard. "A natural storm would blow in from the west, across the mountains, this rises from the south..."

"I know," Legolas agreed, "From the ancient fortress, but my father has forbidden any ingress into those areas of the forest."

"Yes, my lord, I know," the captain said, "but first the Orcs attack the very foundations of our security, and now a fell storm blows out of the south... the warriors are nervous, Legolas. This is no coincidence, and there are rumors upon rumors as to what has brought these things to our door."

"I do not wish to hear talk of rumor, Captain," Legolas snapped. He knew full well the ones of which the captain spoke. Whispers of his father's growing relationship with the Lady Nieniriathlim, a relationship he had – in his own way – warned his father against, and yet... had he? A part of him, a tiny, almost frightened voice of hope, hid somewhere deep inside of him, wanted almost desperately to believe some of those whispers that he had heard.

As if reading his mind, the captain pressed, "I fear you must, my prince. The arrival of Lord Glorfindel from Rivendell; your father taking counsel from the esteemed lord of Gondolin and his subsequent departure with him and the Lady—"

"I said no, Captain Faleron!" he said harshly, silencing that voice inside of himself as much as the captain of his father's guard. "My mother died in the North and awaits my father still in Mandos' Halls. What passes between my father and the Lady Nieniriathlim I do not know and cannot say, nor would I even if I knew. Enough!"

"Be iest lin," the captain said slowly, almost... hesitantly, Legolas fancied, as though he knew something more, but did not speak of it, and the six-year-old boy inside of Legolas cried out for succor.

"You think me wrong," he said, and though he tried to sound strong in his convictions, his own self-doubt set cracks within his tone, revealing his needs, his uncertainty. "Then what of all that my father has told me of my mother? All a lie – why would he lie to me?"