An Ode for Cruelty

Stampeding feet and panicked shouts broke out beneath the elves. Faelwen turned her head, jumping forward almost instantly, leaving Legolas to clench his teeth, wishing for the contact that he feared would never happen. He looked at her, mountain lion on the edge of the building, any trace of every emotion she had shown gone as quickly as they had appeared.
When she spoke her voice matched the worried towns of the thundering soldiers below, “Legolas! Na’celeg!” (Be hasty)
With that she sprang from the roof. Legolas eyes widened, knowing the drop. He rushed forward, reaching the edge in time to see her roll as she hit the ground, immediately collecting herself and bursting into a run. He followed her with his eyes, quickly forgetting her words, watching as she reached Gandalf, The King, a group of soldiers and two badly fatigued children. He looked at the ground, unsure if he could make the same graceful, predatory landing that Faelwen had. He decided instead to go down the way he had come up.

Legolas rushed into the hall, taking in his strange surroundings in one swoop. The King, pacing by his throne, arguing heatedly with Aragorn, seated at a table adjacent to the one the two children sat at. They were being served hot broth and given blankets by the King’s niece, Eowyn, who glanced sadly back at Faelwen who leant against a column near neither table. Faelwen offered no glances toward Eowyn, she was instead concentrating on glaring harshly at the King and Gandalf, who seemed to be taking it in turns cutting her off when she tried to speak.

Legolas moved quietly to stand beside Faelwen, muttering as he reached her, “Man I lu, nibin?” (What’s the occasion, petty[a name for troublesome elflings])
“I neth-ephedyn al’garo pent. I pain taen aeg’an Saruman,” she muttered back, her voice barely audible and her mouth barely moving. (The young-followers[humans] haven’t spoken. The signs point to Saruman.)
Legolas moved slightly closer, aiming to get in a better position for their slight conversation. Eowyn stood quickly, distress on her face as she moved away from the children. He chose to keep silent. He chose to stay close to Faelwen.
“They had no warning; they were unarmed. Now the Wildmen are moving through the Westfold, burning as they go,” Her voice cracked, “Every rick, cot and tree.”
Theoden slumped in his throne, his hand clamped glumly over his face. Gandalf broke the silence that threatened to curse the hall, a type of condescending condolence in his voice, “This is but a taste of the terror that Saruman will unleash. All the more potent for he is driven now by fear of Sauron.”
Faelwen muttered under her breath, a scowl creasing her pale brow, barely audible even to the elf at her side, “So too should fear drive us.”

Gandalf tried his best to convince Theoden, whose face grew ever paler, weariness and worry sinking in, “Ride out and meet him head on. Draw him away from your women and children. You must fight.”
Aragorn interjected, his tone even, calm, “You have 2000 good men riding north as we speak. Eomer is loyal to you. His men will return and fight for their king.”
Theoden stood, frustration playing him like a harp, bringing haste to actions and thoughts, “They will be 300 leagues from here by now,” He slowed, weariness ebbing in yet again, “Eomer cannot help us.”
Faelwen bared her teeth before Theoden even began his sentence, “I know what it is you want of me but I will not bring further death to my people. I will not risk open war.”
Aragorn spoke up, his eyes darting back at Faelwen, as if begging her to hold her tongue, his voice hasty and harsh, “Open war is upon you, whether you would risk it or not.”
“When last I looked, Theoden, not Aragorn, was king of Rohan,” Theoden bit back, his tone matching Aragorn’s.
Gandalf’s eyes too, glinted warily at Faelwen, “Then what is the King’s decision?”
In an instant, Theoden gave a self-satisfied smirk. Raising his head and pushing out his chest, he gave the order of evacuation.
Faelwen forgot the silent pleas of her companions, letting her voice echo in the hall with all the tones of the chilled air before a raging storm, “You are a coward. What makes a king if not the will to defend his people?”
She glowered, Theoden glowered back. After minutes that felt like hours, the stare was broken. Theoden simply continued the evacuation order.

Faelwen didn’t accompany the men as they left with Gandalf for the stable. She instead offered her assistance to Eowyn. The two stood in a small room, sorting through items that were of enough value or use to bring with them.
“For someone so against the idea of leaving, you’re very quick to help,” Eowyn said, a weak smile on her petite features.
Faelwen let loose a slight chuckle, “I’m needed, that’s enough. It bothers me though, why your uncle lacks the will to fight for his people. Perplexes me, even.”
Eowyn folded a dress, only to roughly throw it onto a pile of belongings that weren’t to be brought and repeat the process with another, “And why is that? Women our age aren’t expected to know anything of the world of men. Then again, you’re married to Lord Aragorn’s friend, that elf, so perhaps you know more than I.”
Faelwen burst into laughter, Eowyn looked over at her, shock on her face, “Did I say something wrong?”
Faelwen kept laughing, her voice ringing out like a wind chime caught in a breeze, “Oh, Lady Eowyn, you assume too much. I am an Elf, therefore much older than I look. And just because I’m an Elf does not mean I have wed the other that I travel with,” She finished, a wide, pointed smile still gracing her face.
Eowyn blushed, “Sorry, Lady Faelwen,” she looked contemplative for a second, pausing in her folding of yet another dress, “Are you married, my Lady?”

Legolas froze, Eowyn’s question echoed in his mind. He and Gimli had walked back from the stable and had been asked to pack weapons. As they walked down the hall, heading toward the armory, Legolas had heard it, the unmistakable wind chime-like laughter that belonged to no woman other than Faelwen. Gimli had smirked at him, or tried to, the beard obscured the view, for all Legolas knew, the dwarf might have had a second nose under that thing, and continued on his way. Legolas didn’t know why he listened to the two beauties talking, but their conversation so far made his heart feel as though it was being pounded with a sledgehammer. Faelwen had laughed at the very prospect of marriage. And then that question, still echoing relentlessly in every bare space it could find between his ears.
Finally her voice pierced the fog, only now it was quieter, lower, completely subdued, “Yes. But my heart has never belonged to him.”
Legolas stood frozen solid, his empty stomach churning, unable to decide whether he should smile for there is space in her heart, or cry for the marriage he couldn’t have.
“Where is he now? Your husband?” Eowyn spoke with hope in her voice, “Surely he would help Rohan if he knew his wife were here.”
Legolas could feel the coldness of Faelwen’s words, despite their direction at another, “He was one of many among my kind to turn to Sauron during the last war. He would never turn against his master. For his loyalty, I took his life.”