这章实在鬼长哟
CHAPTER 13: CHOICES
The darkness of the night above the Table seemed to redden with the heat of the dark figure as Sarambaq exploded with fury at his minions who had managed to escape the clutches of the elves of Ithilien.
“How could you fail to take him!” the dark figure bellowed, towering threateningly above the men who cowered before him. “It was the right time, the right place! Had he been in the White City, or under the protection of his father, you would not have the ghost of a chance, but in the woods – ! And the elves were fewer then! It was the right time and place! How could you fail?”
No one knew if they were meant to answer that question, but one minion, bolder or perhaps more foolhardy than the rest, replied, “The elves fought strongly, Master. We did not think they would resist so …”
“Yes, fool! You did not think! Was anyone taken?”
“Yes, Master. We think perhaps two, though we cannot be sure.”
“Scum,” the dark figure muttered again. “Worthless scum. If they talk…”
More pacing, more muttering, as the air seemed to grow redder. Watching him warily with eyes that seemed to be playing tricks, some of his silent minions actually thought they saw him growing larger, until, with a shock that sent shivers down their spines, they realized that he reminded them of the Dark Lord Sauron.
How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?
The spear began to burn in the flame of Aragorn’s words. But to his horror, new faces now looked at him with fire in their eyes – the faces of the families of the dead elves. They opened their mouths but no words came, just flames, more flames, and each breath was filled with grief, grief that took shape and swirled and wrapped itself as flame around the spear. The fiery object, pointed at him like an accusing finger, came closer and closer, faster and faster…
“Daro! Daro!” Legolas shouted for it to stop, and sat bolt upright.
The elf woke up in a cold sweat again, just as he had the last few times the nightmare haunted him. He cursed it as he slowed his breathing, looking around him. He was in his talan, alone, in the middle of a woodland night, and no accusing faces were anywhere near him. The letters he had written lay neatly stacked on the small dresser nearby.
A slight rustle of leaves, light footsteps and a fair voice, laced with concern, came from outside the closed door. “Heru nin? My lord?”
With their sharp ears, one or more of the elves must have heard his shout. Perhaps his curses too.
“I am fine,” he hurriedly assured them from where he sat on his bed. “Just a small disturbance.”
He sighed when he heard them descending the tree and lay back down, placing a hand over his eyes.
Will the nightmares ever stop? he asked to no one in particular. Are they all so angry at me? Do they all blame me?
Unbidden, a single tear trailed down the side of his face.
What more could I have done? Ai, what more could I have done? I am but an elf. If I had the foresight of an Istari or the power of the Valar, I could have prevented this. Do you all blame me? My friends, my kin… Estel? Do you all feel I have failed you?
Aragorn’s Ranger face came into view, fresh with the vigour of youth and alive with laughter as he jested, the grim set of his jaw as they walked side by side through the darkness and death of Hollin, Moria, Helms’ Deep, Aragorn throwing himself on orcs threatening to slice through his friend, Aragorn clasping his arm when his own life was saved by the swift arrow of the Woodland elf, his smile radiant with ecstasy as he embraced his elf friend at his wedding, his face soft with gratitude when Legolas returned with elves out of the Greenwood, Aragorn seeking him out to exultantly share the joy of the birth of his son, the face of the king gradually lined with the weight of kingship, the two companions sipping wine quietly, wordlessly, in the moonlit gardens of Minas Tirith, lost in memories and the warm comfort of a friendship that did not question.
We have been through so much together. Our friendship is stronger than this. I know this.
But something at the back of his mind nettled him, telling him this was hard to accept, making him feel guilty as if he was being allowed to take the easy way out. What? What? Why is this not right?
The words. Aragorns’ words. Fail in their trust… Can I trust the safety of my kingdom to no one?
Legolas hissed through his teeth. He could not forget them. They were the reason his heart could find no tranquility. Not yet.
But I will overcome this nightmare. I have to.
As the soft sounds of nocturnal woodland animals and insects, and whispers of a cool scented breeze floated in through the open windows, Legolas allowed them to soothe him.
I will find Aragorn’s enemy. That was his last thought as he drifted back into sleep.
The Wood elf kept himself busy from the moment he woke from the troubled sleep.
Earlier in the day, he had sent off the two elves to the Greenwood, armed with his letters he had written, one of which was to his father. Thranduil had never been very happy with his son’s decision to come south, and Legolas knew this news would only add to his displeasure.
He needed to calm himself, to contemplate. Soon, he found himself sitting in the rain, against the huge oak in which Eldarion’s tree-house was built, the talan in which the child had faced the frightening attack. Legolas listened to the wind sighing through the oak leaves, finding comfort. Like all Wood elves, he was able to commune with trees, not in words, but through a sense of what they were feeling, as if they could indeed speak with him. He could feel the thrum of the old tree immediately as it welcomed the contact with the Wood elf. He smiled at the sense of satisfaction from the oak as its leaves were bathed in the late afternoon shower.
Tthe image of Aragorn flashed in Legolas’ mind. He lifted his face to the rain.
Or should I wait for Aragorn to make a decision? But what can Aragorn do now? He is worried enough over his son, he cannot think about this now.
The enemy has just failed. We cannot wait for him to make new plans. We need to strike before he does it again.
I cannot stay and do nothing. I have already said I would make amends, redress the wrong. This is what I can do.
You worry that I might fail, that I might be seen. I will be killed.
It will not be the first time I ride into uncertainty and danger.
Your elves will die with you.
A distant peal of thunder reached the elf’s ears. No more deaths if he could help it.
Then I will go alone. No one else needs to lose his life.
I may not lose mine. I only wish to scout.
The tree did not lose its note of sorrow and sympathy, but now it throbbed strongly. With… pain? Legolas was puzzled. Not its own pain, the elf thought. Then whose? A sudden gust of wind blew a smatter of rain into his face. The tree pulsed more strongly, and Legolas felt the answer come to him.
Your own pain. You are doing this because you are hurt.
It was not an accusation, it was not a condemnation. It was a simple statement from another living being helping him to come to terms with his own feelings.
Long years of a deep friendship guided Legolas’ response: Yes, but he spoke in anger. It is not what his heart feels…that is my hope.
I believe so.
What, my friend? What do you ask? You ask if this is what Aragorn would want?
Legolas smiled sadly. Perhaps not. Perhaps I am being foolish. I do not know if this is the right decision.
The elf turned around and knelt before the tree, pressing his wet forehead and palms against the equally wet trunk as he made his decision.
But I want to regain his trust. If I die, I die trying.
I will do this for him. This is my choice.
Dusk had descended and the rain had stopped when Legolas heard joyful greetings in the main clearing where the elves usually gathered. Walking over quickly, he saw Hamille, Lishian and the elves who had returned from the White City.
Hamille, with a bright smile, placed Arwen’s large basket on the table before his prince, and sat down beside him.
“A gift from the queen,” he announced cheerfully. “I kept it dry. She gave me express instructions to see you eat the contents.”
Legolas gave a small grin, but his face turned serious as he asked, even before checking the contents of the basket: “How is the young prince?”
“Well awake and recovering well, my lord. King Elessar sends you his respects and thanks.”
He saw Legolas stiffen slightly at the mention of the king, and the smile threatened to fade from the fair face, but he had to convey the entire message he had been entrusted with. “He said he will meet with you as soon as he is able… and that he truly wishes it.”
The smile returned, but now it seemed pensive. Why does friendship with the Edain have to be so complicated, Hamille wondered（哈哈，这个想法很有见地哟）, shaking his head slightly.
“There is a note for you, my lord,” he informed Legolas and handed him the note.
Puzzled, the elf took the paper and noted his name written on it in a graceful Elvish script. It had to be Arwen’s, he thought. Unfolding it, he read the contents.
Stealing a discreet glance, Hamille observed his prince’s eyes glisten. Not wishing to invade his privacy, he quickly engaged the other elves in a narration of an amusing incident with one of the healers in Minas Tirith, shifting the focus from the elf prince.
Legolas folded the paper, tucked it into the side pocket of his shirt, and turned his head to swiftly wipe the wetness from his eyes before facing his friends again with the same pensive smile from before. Hamille did not miss the traces of moisture on his prince’s long lashes, but noted that the fair face framed by soft golden hair seemed a little, just a little, comforted.
The clear sapphire eyes of the elf prince were trained on an elf narrating his experience, but his mind was running over the words he had read in Sindarin:
Estel grieves. He loves you and his regret is deep. Be patient, and trust in what you share.
Determination flashed in the blue eyes.
Even more so now, I will try to find out who hurt his family, he vowed
The little gathering in the clearing was interrupted when one of the elves who had been questioning the prisoner approached them to inform Legolas of the outcome.
“Bridhon nin, we have been given some information,” he said, addressing his prince.
Legolas bade him sit and listened to what he had to say. Quickly, the elf told him that the man’s master was named Sarambaq, and that he had his halls in Adhûn near a river that flowed into the Sea of Rhûn.
“But Sarambaq was not with them that day, my lord. Only his men came.”
Coward, Legolas thought. “What does Sarambaq want with the king’s son? Did he say?”
“No, my lord. He said naught of that, he knows only his master wants the king’s son alive. I believe he truly does not know more. He says the one they took to the White City knows more, he was one of the leaders.”
Legolas waited till Lanwil had left to join his friends in the evening meal. He did not want any of the elves to have knowledge of what he was about to ask and say to the man.
“What is your name?”
The prisoner looked at him with unfriendly eyes. “Brûyn,” he answered curtly.
“Very well, Brûyn. How far is – Adhûn, is it not? – how far is it from here?”
“Two weeks, if we walk fast. Three maybe, if we go slowly.”
“What if we ride?” Legolas pressed.
“I cannot answer that, I have never ridden here.”
“I need you to show me the way to Sarambaq’s place – where he lives.”
The man instantly started and shook his head vehemently. “He will kill me!” he declared in horror.
“You fear him, your master?”
“Yes! His anger will know no bounds.”
“He will kill us both if he sees us, but if you lead me where he cannot see us, he cannot kill us. We will simply approach the place, then turn around and come back here. I cannot release you, you must know that. Lead me so that he does not see.”
“What is your choice?”
To Legolas’ surprise, Brûyn relaxed his stare then and replied, “I will take you.”
“Good,” Legolas whispered and added sternly, “We leave at first light tomorrow. Speak to no one else about this. Do not cross me on this.”
The prisoner swallowed at the power in the elf’s bright eyes and nodded.
It was only after he walked away that Legolas realized what had bothered him about the prisoner: a dark, black shadow seemed to be around him all the time, like a cloak or a second skin. Legolas knew of only one place in Arda that he had actually stepped into, where he had always sensed the same shadow of blackness covering everything. He shuddered at the memory.
At that very moment, Aragorn himself was shuddering, and a chill enveloped him. The fierce storm that flayed the White City with whips of rain and lightning could not match the tumult in his own heart as a dark plan was revealed to him.
