| Subject: Mirkwood |
Author:
Legolas
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Date Posted: 21:36:03 06/26/03 Thu
“Walk quietly,” Legolas warned them as they entered the forest, “and stay on the path. There are evil beings in these woods that I would not wish to fight if possible. You must tread carefully.”
Warily, they followed his orders. The elf kept an arrow notched against his bowstring at all times, although his arms were relaxed. Watchful eyes scanned the forest ahead of them and to the side, looking for signs of movement.
It seemed as if they had been walking for hours when an elvish voice cut sharply through the sounds of hoof on earth and wind in leaves, communicating a question the mortal could not understand. Though there was no movement to be seen, Harion was in no doubt that someone, somewhere had an arrow levelled at his chest. He swallowed nervously.
Slightly ahead of him, Legolas murmured “Daro,” and held out his hand for them to halt. “’Tis about time,” he said almost to himself, before addressing their unknown advocate with a flow of elvish. Trees parted and a pale haired elf emerged, unarmed.
A short distance away from their group he stopped and bowed his head with a soft “Tarenamin.*” Legolas smiled and dismounted swiftly, embracing the stranger warmly.
“Tyulusse, it is good to see you.”
“And you also,” the elf replied, but the smile quickly died on his lips and his eyes slid coldly over Aryante and Harion. He voiced a low, angry question in elvish, and Legolas clasped his forearm and drew him away, the two conversing rapidly. Tyulusse looked back over once or twice, faint hostility still in his gaze. When Legolas returned, only a slight tightening of his lips suggested that he might have been anything other than calm.
“They will accompany us to my father’s home,” he informed his companions with an almost undetectable edge of anger. “I apologise for my kinsman’s incivility, but I cannot very well refuse their ‘escort’.”
Understanding, Harion glanced back towards the undergrowth. Legolas noticed his look. “Call them out.”
Tyulusse looked to be about to refuse, but something in his prince’s face made him change his mind and he made a sharp gesture. Several more elves appeared, all carrying notched bows. “Tarenamin, lle yamen’…” one began.
“These people are my guests, and you will please do them the courtesy of speaking in a tongue they can understand,” Legolas cut him off. This elf at least simply bowed his head in acquiescence and continued.
“My prince, your place is at our head. Will you ride at the front?”
There was a long pause whilst the son of Thranduil stared at him, considering. “Nay, I think not,” he said finally. “There are things that my companions and I must discuss.” He sighed. “Very well, let us be onward. I hope to arrive by nightfall.”
*My Prince
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