Sent to Middle-earth – Part 2(3): The Elvenking's Palace

As you already knew, King Thranduil's palace was delved underground, but it was a lot larger than you had thought. You went over a bridge and through tall, ornate gates, coming into a vast hall. Smooth pillars held up the ceiling far above, and the floor consisted of pinkish stone tiles. The air smelled fresh; not at all cellar-like as one might think.

A grand staircase took you down deeper into the hill, and in all directions extended corridors with many doors. The central corridor was wide and almost resembled a street. Wax candles in niches along the wall spread a cosy light.

The corridor ended in front of another set of double doors, which were finer than those that had taken you into the hill. They looked to be made of copper, perhaps even gold – in this light it was hard to tell – and were decorated with a pattern of ivy leaves. Two guards bowed for Legolas and politely opened the doors.

You realized he had taken you directly to the throne room, and felt both honored and nervous. The Elvenking seemed like a scary elf!

The spacious hall inside was full of elvish courtiers, speaking to one another in subdued voices. In the centre of the room, a high throne with a pair of enormous antlers drew your attention, and even more so the elf seated there. He looked majestic and proud – and exceedingly handsome, with silver blonde hair reaching well below his shoulders and a crown of autumn leaves and berries on his head. His ageless face had a somewhat bored expression, but when Legolas and you entered, his dark eyebrows shot up in surprise.

You hobbled forward on your crude crutches, feeling very conscious about your simple garb and messy hair, still with some remaining tendrils of spider silk attached. When you stopped below the throne, you bowed awkwardly, the best you could do with your damaged hip.

"Greetings, My Lord." Legolas bowed a lot more eloquently. It surprised you that he would speak and act so formally in front of his own father, but perhaps this was the norm for royalty.

"Legolas." The king acknowledged him with a nod. "Your mission was successful?"

"It was. We destroyed three nearby nests, and killed all spiders in the area. However, the southern outskirts are a lost case – they are too infested by now."

The king sighed. "I fear you are right."

"Anything new happened in my absence? How is the prisoner?"

He frowned. "Still complaining and wailing incessantly, to the extent where his guards had to take him outside. At least up in a tree they only have to listen to him at a distance. How typical of that meddlesome wizard to place him in our care."

The Elvenking still had not even looked at you, and you were beginning to feel like the third wheel.

"My company and I can relieve them," said Legolas. "If you have time later, may I have a private word?"

"I have time now."

Thranduil rose. You had to stretch your neck to look at his face, and not only because of the height of the throne – he was absurdly tall. Gracefully descending the stairs, he left through a smaller door on the other side of the throne with Legolas and you in tow. You noticed the king wore a silver coat sparkling with a scatter of tiny diamonds, and an assortment of expensive looking rings gleamed on his long fingers in the candlelight. His appearance very much contrasted with his son's unadorned tunic and hose in forest green colors.

The king led you to what you assumed were his private quarters, an elegant apartment which reminded you of an old-fashioned living room. The furniture was stylish, and on the wall hung tapestries and oil paintings with various forest-related motives; flowers and trees, mostly.

When the door closed behind him, part of the stateliness left the king's wide shoulders. After removing his crown and coat, he poured himself a goblet of ruby wine from a decanter on a side table and sunk down in a comfortable looking chair. Legolas and you remained standing.

"What is this then," Thranduil asked, indicating you with a glance.

"Someone I saved from a spider." Legolas told him your name, and explained how you had fallen down from the web and broken your hip. He asked his father to allow you to stay here until you were fully healed. "Since it was my fault, I feel responsible." For some reason, he did not mention that you had come from the future. Perhaps he too found that unnecessarily complicated.

Thranduil shook his head tiredly. "You never change, do you? First it was that sick hare, and then the abandoned elk calf, and now a human with a broken leg. What will it be next, Legolas? A dwarf?" He sipped his wine.

"Don't be ridiculous. I don't associate with dwarves."

You kept your mouth shut about a certain Gimli, son of Glóin, whom Legolas apparently had still not met. What time were you in? Before or after The Hobbit?

"That's a relief, at least." The king's gaze moved to you for the first time, and you wondered what he thought of what he saw. "Alright then," he said at last. "You can stay. But only until your leg is better."

After that, Legolas and you rather hurriedly left. "As you can probably tell, my father and I are very different. We don't get along very well," he explained.

You agreed; apart from an attractive physical appearance, they did not have much in common.

Legolas took you to a guest room, after showing you the way to the healer's quarters where you would go each morning to be examined. Your room was small but cosy, with a comfortable looking bed, and a wooden tub behind a panel.

"I assume you want a bath? I shall summon the maids."

"Yes please. Thank you." You greatly looked forward to finally getting rid of the remaining web.

Bathing in a time where plumbing was not invented involved much work. A score of elf maids carried steaming hot buckets into your room until your tub was full, and afterwards they emptied it in the same time-consuming way.

One of the maids took your undershirt to be washed and mended where the spider stinger had pierced it. When she tried to take the tunic, you stopped her. "Not that. It's clean." You did not want Legolas' scent to be washed off from the garment.

After you had bathed, and brushed your hair and put on clean clothes (Legolas tunic again, of course), you felt a lot better. Your stomach wound was almost completely gone, and your hip felt stronger too.

There was a silver mirror in your room, and for the first time since you came to Middle-earth, you could see yourself in detail. The family you had stayed with the past year had been simple folk; the parents hunters, and their adult daughter a weaver. They had had a copper mirror, which only had shown you in a vague, discolored form.

Scrutinizing your appearance now, you discovered slight changes from your old self – nothing extraordinary, it was still the familiar you – but everywhere you looked, you found minor improvements. Small flaws which had annoyed you had been corrected.

Chuckling, you proudly turned this way and that before the mirror. Perhaps coming here had not been so bad after all!

A knock took you out of your self-admiration, and you hobbled over to open. It was Legolas, inviting you out. He had still not tired of hearing about the future, and since his company would do some prison guard duty outside the palace, he thought your presence would make the tedious job more bearable.

Glad he enjoyed your company, you followed him and the other guards into the forest.

A group of elves sat under a large, solitary beech tree, clad in the same forest green garb as the newcomers. Upon your arrival, they happily gave up their seats, stretching their legs and arms as after a long vigil.

"Where is he?" Legolas asked, peering through the greenery.

"Somewhere far up. We are tired of chasing after him, so we just let him stay there." The elf shrugged. "We will be leaving now then. See you tomorrow."

You stretched your neck, but could not see the prisoner either; he had climbed into the uppermost branches and the foliage covered him well, but his voice drifted down to you. He was grumbling and mumbling to himself, and every once in a while letting out a series of nasty coughs. It made you think of an old man with asthma, and you wondered what he had done to make the elves imprison him.

Legolas and his company had brought cold supper and a wine skin. Resting your backs against the smooth trunk, you passed the food and drink between you, while talking amiably about nothing in particular.

From the movies, you had thought elves arrogant and disdainful towards other races, but this was not true of these people. They were fun and cheerful, and included you in their conversation like you had known each other for a long time.

Thus the evening passed very pleasantly, and you remained there well into the night. It was summer and mild, even after the stars came out, and the wine had made you not a little tipsy. The elves seemed affected as well, and their light laughter filled the air.

Two of the guards began to sing, and you decided to move closer to Legolas while they weren't watching. Just a bit. And perhaps try some innocent flirting? Yes. Great idea. It could be no harm in that – drunk people were often flirty, so it was a good excuse if he would prove not interested.

"Do those mean anything?" you asked, reaching out to lightly touch the thin braids which held his hair back from his temples. "You all have a similar style."

"It's to show our Silvan ancestry. I am Silvan on my mother's side, and Sinda on my father's."

"Interesting. The people I live with plait their hair in another pattern – that must mean they are Sindar then." You had not removed your hand, and he seemed not to mind as your fingers felt his soft strands. You wanted to continue to his face, but that was probably too much, and too soon. Reluctantly you let your hand drop into your lap.

"Probably," he agreed, meeting your gaze. His eyes were large and blue, shaded by long, dark lashes, and you felt drawn into them, mesmerized – like a hare before car lights. You wanted him to run over you. Crash into you.

"Can you make one on me?" you murmured. Your hair was longer than it had been. Since coming here, you had not cut it, because in Mirkwood nobody did.

"You are not Silvan." His lips quirked up slightly. You loved his smile.

"Make a human pattern then," you suggested.

He glanced at his companions, as if making sure they were still busy singing, and edged closer to you. "Turn around."

You happily obeyed. When you felt his fingers on your temples, a pleasant shiver ran down your spine. He worked fast with the braids, but when he had finished, his fingertips lingered. He traced the round shape of your ear. "Curious," he mumbled. He was so close behind you that his breath tickled against your cheek.

"What's curious?" Your heart pounded in your chest. You wanted him to keep touching you. Everywhere.

"You heal like an elf... but have round ears." His finger had reached your sensitive earlobe, creating a tingling sensation which spread throughout your body. "I like round ears," he added, barely audibly. "Exotic."

You turned around, and found his face very close to yours. His cheeks were flushed, which was easy to spot on such pale skin as his. You did not think it was because of the alcohol.

Tentatively you touched the pointy tip of his ear. "Hm. I'm quite the opposite..." you murmured.

Nobody could say where you would have gone from there, had you not been interrupted just then by the cracking of a branch in the nearby underbrush. Swiftly Legolas turned towards the sound, and around you, the other guards stood to attention. Something was approaching.

With a loud growl, a gang of dirty, rough creatures broke through the thicket, with their curved swords raised and sharp fangs bared. Orcs!

The guards and Legolas did not waste any time, and the wine they had consumed apparently had no effect on their archery skill. The charging orcs were met with a score of arrows, instantly felling the first line. Unfortunately new ones came after them, quickly taking their fallen comrades' places. There were too many, and it did not take long until some were too close for bows. The elves then drew long daggers, and switched to close combat.

The metallic clash of weapons rang in the air, mingling with the angry growls and shouts from the orcs. You had been so shocked by their coming that you had remained frozen where you sat, but now you tried to crawl out of the way on all fours.

An orc caught your boot, and you desperately kicked up with your other foot, ignoring the piercing ache in your hip. His lip broke in a flood of blood and he backed away. Then Legolas jumped between you, and embedded his white dagger deep into the orcs chest. The creature sunk down in a heap, blood oozing out in a pool beneath him.

As quickly as the melee had begun, it was over. The last of the orcs fell, and the night became calm and still again, with only the occasional owl hooting nearby.

"Well done, comrades," said one of the guards, wiping his dagger clean on the soft grass.

"Anyone hurt?" asked Legolas.

Nobody was, except for lesser nicks and cuts, and all the orcs were dead. Their corpses lay scattered in the grass, filling the area with their hideous stench.

You covered your mouth, desperately trying to hold down your supper.

"How are you?" Legolas gave you a worried look.

"A bit queasy. And I may have kicked a little too hard with my bad leg." You gingerly prodded your hip. A spear of pain shot up and you whimpered. "Yes. I probably did..."

Legolas said a word you had not heard before.

"Was that a curse? And if so, can you teach it to me? Right now I feel like swearing."

He obediently said it again, and you repeated after him. "It does feel better now. Teach me more of those, will you?"

One of the guards jumped down from the beech. "The prisoner's gone.".

Legolas said the ugly word again. "It must have been planned. The orc attack and his escape... too convenient."

"It seems so, aye," the guard agreed.

"You and the others try tracking him down. I have to tell my father." He winced slightly when he said the last part, clearly not looking forward to that.

The guard bowed, and soon all of them were gone on silent feet.

It felt strange that only a moment ago the guards had been singing and drinking wine, enjoying the night, and you had flirted with Legolas. How unfortunate the prisoner would choose this night for his escape!

Another thought struck you, and you suddenly felt incredibly stupid. "It was Sméagol."

"The prisoner? Aye."

"I should have known this," you mused. "The guards won't catch him. Instead your father will send you to Imladris where you tell it in Elrond's council, and from there you leave with the Fellowship..."

You felt Legolas' surprised gaze at you, and realized you had said that loud.

"You knew?" Then his eyes widened. "It's written. Of course. You're from the future, this is your history. Am I right?"

You nodded. It was a simpler explanation than trying to explain about Tolkien and his books. "I didn't know I was in this time, or I would have told you sooner."

"And my father will send me to Imladris? It sounds unlike him, though. He does not particularly like Elrond."

"Yet, he will."

"Let us test this." He took your hand. "Come with me."

"Wait. My crutches." You picked them up from where you had dropped them in the excitement, and could not hold back a low moan when you bent your leg.

"Oh, your hip. Sorry. I forgot..." He looked worried. "Let me check it."

You rolled down your hose and exposed the area. It was swelling again, but less than before.

"Damn orc." He frowned, gently touching your sore skin. His concern was heart-warming, and you felt a glow in your chest at his tender expression.

"It will get better. I heal quickly nowadays," you assured him, pulling your hose back up. "Let's go to your father now."

His face fell. "Aye. He will not be happy."

A/N:

In the final chapter Legolas indeed must travel to Rivendell and tell Elrond about Gollum's escape. Will he take you with him? 

Find out tomorrow. :)