Faramir Fiction Archive

East of the Moon (PG-13)

Written by IceAngel

14 July 2012 | 6000 words | Work in Progress

Chapter 2 – Legolas

Legolas dropped from the tree in which he had been crouching with the silence of a cat.

Éowyn pressed her hand over her mouth to stop herself crying out in surprise. “Legolas,” she hissed after she had recovered herself, “how long have you been hidden?”

There were tears on her cheeks, and he could see from the tautness of her movements that she was on the very edge of panic.

“Only a moment,” he said quickly, putting his hands down over hers and feeling them tremble. He gently pried them away and bent to examine Éomer’s shaking body.

“He has no wound,” she said, seeing Legolas frown at the blood on her hands. “The blood is from my own small hurts. I fear Éomer’s ailment is the poison.”

Legolas frowned, noting the young man’s tightly shut eyes and clenched jaw. “Perhaps this fever is no bad thing, the poison may be working its way out…”

“I had thought so too,” she admitted, “but did not allow myself to believe it. Even so, what can we do?”

“I can support him.” Legolas spoke with conviction, but Éomer’s build was far heavier than his own, and he doubted his ability to move the man very far. “From the canopy I saw the edge of the forest, it is not so very far. Perhaps we can find help.”

He threaded his arm beneath Éomer’s left shoulder and Éowyn did the same on the right. With great exertion they were able to lift the half-unconscious man upright, and with Éowyn whispering urgent encouragement they set their steps towards the forest border.

A week before

They had come to the Brown Lands without sight or sign of anything but the horse-trail they followed. Legolas was wearied by the barren landscape and longed for trees and wildlife.

They had spoken little that morning, Éowyn visibly drained by concern for her brother, and Faramir anxious beneath a calm exterior.

Legolas rode last in line, the shimmering horizon and shifting white-fletched arrows in Faramir’s quiver ahead of him reminding him disconcertingly of gulls over a quiet sea.

There were no birds here, and no quarry for their bows. He had seen doubt beginning to creep into his friend’s eyes the further they travelled, and increasingly noticed the Steward’s eyes lingering on his wife as she rode ahead.

Legolas was not surprised by the concern, and only wondered that no words had been spoken previously about Éowyn’s fitness for the journey. With little or no experience of travel it had been a somewhat rash decision for them to set off alone, but he would not have been the one to face her quick temper in suggesting otherwise. There was much valour, too, in her care for her brother. He was ready to admit to himself that their eagerness to depart alone in this endeavour was born out of fear for their friend’s safety, but no more sensible plan had come to him since.

It was nearing mid-morning when the hazy red blur ahead formed into shifting sands. He frowned at the sight. It was already some time since they had come across water and their supplies were not what they would have wished.

Their horses’ hooves slipped as they left the marshy lands, accustoming themselves to the new terrain. Legolas and Faramir shared a look, the warmth of the sun suddenly unfriendly on their backs and necks.

They paused to rest mid afternoon, sitting in the shadow of their horses, for no other shade was to be found.

Legolas looked with concern to his companions. Éowyn had thrown a scarf over her head to keep off the worst of the sun, but her cheeks were flushed.

“I cannot abide heat,” she said for the fourth time that day, pulling at the skirts which clung to her legs.

“Let us make no plans of moving here then,” Faramir murmured, eyes closed, and hand questing for his waterskin instead of resting on his sword hilt.

“Oh for the cool rivers of Ithilien!” Éowyn sighed, smiling at some memory. “Have you ever swum bare under the moon, Legolas?”

Faramir choked on the water he had raised to his lips. “Éowyn!”

“Take care, my lady”, Legloas cautioned, amused, “we do not have water to waste on your husband’s incredulity.”

Éowyn had lain back on the hot sand, eyes closed too now, and a small smile at her lips.

“Come friends,” Legolas said suddenly, rousing them. He could see that his companions were slipping into a drowsy stupor.

“A little longer,” Éowyn pleaded, “we shall ride the harder for it.”

“Come, lady, before I resort to telling the tale of Estel and I finding two woodelves in the Entwash – that would make your husband start.”

Éowyn reached her hands up and Legolas pulled her to her feet, laughing.

Faramir glared at them both. “I will say nothing,” he said, “and keep my dignity.”

“It did not take long for you to forget your dignity that night,” Éowyn teased.

He sprang to his feet and made to catch hold of her but she sidestepped him easily, “or your clothes!”

“See what I must endure, Legolas?”

Legolas reached up and secured his belongings to his mare. “You chose your own path, my friend, with eyes open.”

“Hmm.” Faramir swung himself up into the saddle, patting the side of the horse’s head fondly. “Had I known earlier of the Rohirrim’s sense of humour I may have thought twice.” The words were in jest, but all three were reminded of Éomer and the thought was sobering.

Éowyn was truly suffering by the next afternoon, her fair skin quickly reddening in the harsh sun.

The night had been another endurance, the heat giving way to the extreme chill of the night. They had huddled together, horses whining

“We cannot go on much further,” Legolas heard Faramir say quietly as they rode side by side. “Even now I do not know that we can endure the return journey.”

A bright spark on the horizon caught Legolas’ eyes and he lifted a hand to shade his eyes.

“What see you Legolas?” Éowyn asked, desperation tinging her words.

“I am not sure yet. A bright glimmer, like sun on steel.”

Faramir’s hand went immediately to his sword hilt.

As the companions moved slowly on, Legolas also saw trees in the far distance, and make out the shapes to be those of men. They were on foot, but many times outnumbered their small party.

“As we agreed,” Faramir said under his breath.

Éowyn was on edge, Legolas did not need to look closely to see it. She made herself relax at the words, but her lips were still tightly pressed together.

Legolas had encountered the Easterling people before, but only on the battlefield. He quickly took them in now, dark skin, hair and eyes, their clothing wrapped and light fabric, loose enough to brave the desert heat. Every man carried a weapon.

A cry went up as they were sighed, and Legolas saw the party spread defensively as they approached.

“Hail and well met,” Legolas said when they drew close enough to converse, and the three of them bowed in greeting. They had dismounted and sheathed their weapons in a show of peace.

“Strangers are not welcome here.” The man at the head of the Easterling band stepped forwards, curved blade un-sheathed. He was broad-shouldered and dark of hair and eyes. A wheal crossed the side of his set jaw.

“We seek a lost lord, Éomer, King of Rohan. We have come from far to find him.” Legolas took care not to imply in word or look that these men knew anything of the disappearance.

“We do not see many Westerners in these lands. I would advise you to return to your country.” The man shifted and Legolas tensed, unsure whether the words threatened repercussions should they not heed the advice. The man’s clothes did not seem to be battle garb, merely loose-fitting wrapped garments, suitable for braving the desert heat.

“Come Jhov, let us welcome these travelers.” Another man emerged from the group and placed his arm upon the arm of the first, forcing him to lower his blade. This second man’s soft voice was accented, but less so, and there was something aristocratic in his bearing.

He moved to grip Legolas’ forearm in greeting, embroidered silk garments moving softly in the wind as he stepped forwards. The touch of the man’s hand was cold and firm upon his own.

“Forgive me,” the man continued, “You are an Elf are you not?”

Legolas felt the men’s eyes on him, but did not sense their stares were unfriendly, merely curious.

“I am Legolas of nearby Mirkwood,” he said, “and with me rides Féle and Terra, faithful attendants to Rohan’s royal family. Our concern for our King drew us here, but as you see we were not prepared.” He gestured to the near-empty water skins, hoping to convey in these terms that they posed no threat.

“I am Ritan,” the tall man said in reply, seemingly amused at their lack of supplies. He turned his head to say said something to the men in his own language, long dark hair gleaming in the sun. Legolas caught Jhov’s darkening look behind the man’s back.

“The safety of this estate is my charge, Ritan,” Jhov said as the Ritan turned back to them. “Would you trust these three of whom we know nothing? I say we make them a gift of sufficient supplies and send them back on their way.”

“Do not fear,” Ritan said quickly as he saw the three companions sharing looks. “Your lost King is found, and I shall not send you back into the friendless wilds. Follow and you will be fed, watered, and reunited.”

“Thank you,” Éowyn said, her voice showing her relief at finding kindness where they had expected hostility.

“It is nothing.”

Jhov’s eyes darkened further, but he said nothing, sheathing his weapon and turning to lead the way. Legolas determined to keep a sharp eye on the man.

Legolas sensed Faramir tense beside him as Éowyn allowed Ritan to take her arm, but without further question they followed the group of men towards the distant trees.

Legolas staggered again under Éomer’s weight as they came to the edge of the forest. Éowyn halted too, panting.

“There is a house ahead,” Legolas said quietly, still fearing pursuit.

“Where?” Éowyn could not yet see, but followed as he drew them over the small creek.

The house was small and rickety. Legolas wondered at anyone living there.

Sun-bleached walls and a small cobbled together garden of succulents.

Legolas paused with a hand on the stone well as they reached the front door, and took all Éomer’s weight as Éowyn pounded violently upon the door. It was flung open, and a young lady with dark eyes peered out at them. Suspicion flittered across her features, but changed quickly as she saw past Éowyn to where Legolas supported her brother.

“Come… come,” she said quickly, pulling the door wide for them and searching the landscape behind them.

“We thank you.” Éowyn thanked the lady many times as they maneuvered Éomer through the narrow hall into a small dark room with two beds. Éomer groaned loudly as Legolas set him down.

“Mitra,” the lady said, and her accent was far thicker than any they had yet encountered.

“I am Terra,” Éowyn returned, remembering, even in her fear, the name they had chosen for her, “and this is Legolas… and Éomer. We think he has been poisoned.”

Mitra frowned. “Poison…” she repeated and Legolas saw her grasp of their language was not strong.

She said something they did not understand and bustled out of the room.

Éowyn sank down on the bed, a cloud of dust stirring around her, just as Éomer seemed to stir. His eyes flew open and seemed not to see his sister, but some other horror.

“Demon,” he hissed, and Éowyn recoiled. “Give me my sword and I shall show the meaning of deception.”

Days before

Legolas looked into the glass and hesitated. He did not ordinarily wear anything other than his own practical attire, but it seemed ungracious to refuse the hospitality offered.

Sighing, he pulled the elaborately stitched waistcoat over the other strangely wrapped and tied garments, which had taken some time to puzzle out.

He would that they had been taken directly to see Éomer, but instead a servant girl had led them up a staircase to the very top of the house and into these chambers.

From a distance Legolas had believed it to be a house, but as they had drawn nearer, a small palace would have been a better description. The grandeur of it astounded him; carpeted hallways and elaborate stonework lined the rooms and corridors, and the main staircase banners curled upward until they twisted into the carved heads of wolves on the upper balcony.

Éowyn and Faramir had appeared as shocked as himself, none of them having anticipated so much luxury in this barren landscape. He himself had expected some den of rogue bandits, in which Éomer was being held against his will; the eager hospitality was disconcerting.

A soft knock on the door put him on edge, and he reached for his knife, slipping it into his boot before casting a last glance at his bow.

Faramir was outside his door when he opened it, the heavy hinges creaking.

His friend looked as uncomfortable as he himself felt, having matching garments to the Elf, but in blue instead of green.

“This is an odd rescue mission,” the Steward said, and Legolas caught the glint of steel as the other man concealed his own blade amid layers of cloth.

Éowyn appeared behind her husband, and the scarlet dress that had been laid out for her took even Legolas’ breath. Éowyn was tugging at a gold waist tie, frowning. She held her own long blade at her side.

“Éowyn,” Faramir said, after taking in her appearance, “my love, whatever your skill in disguise you shall not succeed in concealing that blade.”

Éowyn frowned further at their amused expressions. “I know it, but I did wish… never mind…”

She slipped the blade into the bedroom and carefully shut the door. “Come then. I will use my bare hands if I must – or perhaps I may purloin a knife from the dinner table!”

At the base of the stairs Jhov met them. He still wore his dusty clothes from their first meeting, and the derision in the man’s eyes made Legolas feel uncomfortably overdressed.

“It is time for me to return to my own home. Enjoy your meal, and I caution you, do not overindulge in drink. The wine is strong and the risk of foolish words stronger still.”

This last was said beneath his breath, and Legolas watched the man as he turned and left by the front door.

Legolas did not know whether it had been threat or warning, but he would stay all the more alert for it.

“Welcome guests from far lands.” A melodious voice, slightly accented echoed through from the further chamber.

Éowyn’s expression darkened, and she clenched her fist at her side.

Faramir placed a hand on her arm. “Let us first see what we are to face.”

Legolas led the way into the sparkling dining hall. Candles of all shapes and sizes spread across the tables and sideboard. A glittering chandelier drooped from the ceiling, shining as though made from mithril. Soft light filled the chamber and Legolas saw Éowyn search the room quickly for Éomer.

There were only two figures at the large table. Apart from their dark hair and eyes, there was a similarity about them that made Legolas suspect they were related.

Legolas quickly recognised Ritan from their meeting outside the palace.

“The lady Kaleri,” the young man said, indicating to his female companion. “My sister.”

“Welcome to our home.”

“Where is King Éomer?” Éowyn asked at the first opportunity. Despite her delicate dress Legolas wondered they did not quail under her gaze.

The lady Kaleri, who wore soft wrapped silken garments, more revealing than those that would be seemly in Gondor, approached the three and took Éowyn’s hands in her own. She was older than Éowyn by some years, and by comparison seemed graceful and languid where Éowyn was impulsive.

There was a reassuring calm about her person, and a strong perfume that reminded Legolas of something familiar.

“Worry not, your King is safe and well. He will join us shortly, and you will see with your own eyes.”

The lady took Faramir and Legolas’ hands in turn, Éowyn’s eyes darkening as she did so, and they told her their names.

“Legolas.” She ran the name over her tongue, her bright red lips seeming to enjoy the sound. Legolas shifted slightly, finding something personal in her look that made him uncomfortable.

Ritan made no move to greet them further, lounging in his chair at the table, and waved a hand for them to join him.

“Come sister, do not make these poor travelers wait longer for the nourishment they have so long missed.”

They took their seats at the table, Éowyn by the side of the lady and Legolas and Faramir opposite. The food was heavily spiced, as was the wine. After their long journey any food was welcome, but the feast was particularly delicious, and although because of the spices Legolas drank more wine than he ordinarily would have, he felt content.

Éowyn barely touched her food or drink, and seemed intent on waiting until Éomer appeared.

“You do not say,” the Lady Kaleri said after the first course was done, “why you have travelled all this way, into such dangerous conditions. I do hope it is not to carry any ill news.”

“Éomer is our lord and our friend,” Faramir said, continuing to choose his words carefully, “and when he left without word…”

“Without word?” The lady looked incredulity to her brother. “Ah I see there has been some mistake. The lord Éomer left word that he would be paying us a short visit. We never dreamed it would cause trouble.”

The long trailing diamonds at Kaleri’s ears shone in the candle light as she laughed.

Legolas felt himself reassured, perhaps this was no more than a mis-understanding. This lord and lady appeared amused by the trouble they had caused. Perhaps there was only vain thoughtlessness and not maliciousness in their actions.

Éowyn still appeared unsatisfied, and dropped her spoon to the table to break the tinkling laughter.

At the same moment a noise from the hall caught their ears and all five looked up.

Framed in the doorway lit by candles was Éomer. Éowyn was immediately on her feet, only Faramir’s quick hold on her skirt preventing her from running to her brother to see for herself he was well.

“My lord,” she managed.

Éomer stepped further into the chamber, his long hair outlined by the shifting candlelight.

“Ah, here is the one you have come far to seek!” Kaleri rose and drew Éomer further into the room.

“Well met,” Éomer said flatly. The lack of recognition in his tone Legolas wondered whether some danger was truly threatening them.

“Did you hear, Éomer? The message of your journey did not reach your subjects,” Ritan said, a twist to his mouth.

Éomer’s face was still in shadow, and his lack of reaction was unnerving. Out of the corner of his eye he could feel Éowyn yearning to be sure, but with the disguises they had assumed it would make more sense for Legolas to first greet their king.

“My King,” he bowed deeply, feeling his companions do likewise. “Forgive your loyal subjects for coming all this way on a futile errand.”

Legolas and his companions are indeed loyal to come all this way,” the lady said.

“Legolas, aye,” Éomer moved to clasp the Elf’s arm in greeting, and at last Legolas could see Éomer’s face. He was slightly reassured. The horselord looked as he ever did, broad-shouldered, hearty, even more so, Legolas thought, than usual. The vest worn by the rider over loose pants revealed muscled upper arms, which shone in the candlelight. Legolas thought the lady Kaleri too had her eyes on their friend.

“Are you well, my lord?” he asked, eager to be sure.

“I am, my friends, though hungry!” Éomer seated himself and quickly reached for what remained of the dish closest to him

Éowyn, for whom he had not spared a glance, glumly took her own seat, but did not touch the dessert they were shortly served.

“This lady,” Éomer said after he had consumed half a glass of the spiced wine and waving his spoon in Kaleri’s direction, “is the finest lady in all this land.”

Ritan was watching his sister with eyes lit up by the candles, smirking at Éomer’s declaration. “She is one of the only ladies.”

Legolas distinctly saw the lady’s hand reach to Éomer beneath the table as she glared at her brother.

“More wine, my lady?” Faramir said quickly, forcing the lady to reach and take the bottle he offered.

Éomer’s eyes seemed slightly glazed, and Legolas wished himself well out of the hall.

Éowyn rose to her feet, apparently feeling the same. “Forgive me my lords, my lady. I am much fatigued by our journey and must retire.”

Faramir and Legolas rose also, half hoping Éomer would accompany them to their rooms and explain himself, but the King of Rohan was contentedly gazing at the lady and did not even notice them leaving.

To be continued…

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