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In the Chains of Honor: Shades of the Past	By : Tanesa Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2758 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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In the Chains of Honor
Author: Tanesa Etaleshya, Email: tanesa_etaleshya@hotmail.com
Rating: NC 17

Summary: Legolas mourns in the elven waking dream world, lamenting the loss of a love that gave him the reason to live and reliving precious memories and nightmares alike as he languishes in the dark thinking over the chances he had had and could have had if not sacrificed for the sake of honor and duty.

Disclaimer: I do not own these lovely characters, although I wish I did. I only play with them, although if it were at all possible, I would love to get Legolas for Christmas, and Glorfindel or Haldir too. I make nothing from this but the joy of someone enjoying my labors as much as I have enjoyed those of others. Hail to Tolkien for his imagination!

Warnings: Rape, incest, NCS, violence, slavery, angst, mpreg later (of course-where would the fun be without all this? So if you object to the abuse of any elf please do not read or do not get angry with me if you do not heed this warning) Dark and violent.

Pairing: Legolas/Glorfindel (eventually), Legolas/Thranduil, Legolas/ Elrohir/Elladan (eventually), Legolas/Aragorn (also eventually), Legolas/others.

Authors Notes: This is my first attempt at writing fan fiction, so please keep this in mind as you continue. Constructive critm wim will be much appreciated. I suppose you could consider this AU, but it begins long before The Hobbit or FoTR chronologically, although the story does not begin there, and once I reach the timeline encompassed in the books, I will follow that general timeline, though I may add in an episode or two, and change a few. The ending I foresee is AU, but not so far apart from �cannon� as some stories I have read. In my story (and I know this is most likely a wide departure from Tolkien) Legolas is born in the year 3435 of the Second Age, the year after the Battle of Dagorlad and the Last Alliance when the One Ring was taken by Isiludur, which makes his age from conception 3,026 at the time of the Council of Elrond, 146 years older than Elrohir and Elladan if, as I consider it, elven pregnancies last at least a year. Enjoy!
By the way- Italics denotes thoughts, *~*~*~*~*~* denotes flashback and the return, and *~*~* represents a shorter time change.
Part 1: In the Dark, two beginnings�
Chapter 1
Fourth Age

He could no longer cry. He no longer had the strength, hardly enough to breathe. He felt dry, windswept, bereft without that one expression he was still allowed when on his own. The darkness pressed in om asm as if palpable and heavy. The air was fetid and dank with old, rank odors ingrained into the stone he could not see, but could feel enclosing him. It had been long since he had been able to produce a tear, and had devolved into dry despair, parched of any method to release the grief ever-blooming and immortally young in his chest. He struggled to a half-seated position against the cold of the wall from where he had lain on the floor. He could not even sing to himself, to bring comfort to his aching, wretched soul, for that had been stolen from him much like the tears he so longed to shed. Too many tears I have already shed in this tiny cell, too many. Enough to fill a stream I should think. But what does that matter? What does any of this matter? He is out there, and is safe and protected, Elrond would see to that. And of the other? How old would the child be now? This is worth the price I pay. I chose this. I chose to wear these chains, to bear the weight of honor, to carry its chains every upon my body, my soul. It was my choice.

He would not know, just like he would not have known how long he had been here in this cold, too many winters left him cold and frozen, too many summers passed and he felt no warmth so far buried beneath the stone mountain. He could remember still; everything was clear as fresh spring water in his mind, every memory enshrined and haloed, precious to him, for memories were all he had left to guide him through the dark days and years he spent with only the darkness as his company, the darkness, the monotonous seeping drip of water, and the cold stone walls surrounding him. He smiled to himself as he started the reel of memories again from the beginning almost, the beginning that mattered most to him, not his true beginning, for those were not sweet memories to ease his dreams and his loneliness.

He thought back to his days spent on the borders of Mirkwood, his home, meaning the borders were his home; the city in which he had been born and raised did not have the distinction of being called �home� in his mind. He much preferred being out amongst the trees, alone most of the time, or with his companions in the Guards. They patrolled the borders, fighting to push back the increasing darkness encroaching on the woods that had once been called Greenwood by all, and now was referred to callously as Mirkwood, Taur e-Ndaedelos, or Forest of Great Fear, for the evil creeping inexorably into the trees and towards the very heart of the forest. He and two others were watching the elven path as it entered the woods, for a Noldor elf scout had been met here this morning, a sight which hinted at more Noldor to come, Noldor who were not so welcome in this wood as once they may have been, at least not since the Last Alliance and its woe-begotten war against Sauron the Deceiver.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Third Age 2163

He was patient, waiting. The three of them did not speak, just sat in a companionable silence and waited, appearing relaxed and at ease, but any who knew them would know they were anything but relaxed, indeed, would rather say they were ready to attack once a target presented itself. The sun was bright here on the edge of the wood and he enjoyed the feel of it caressing his skin as he sat perched in the tree watching the forest and the valley outside between the trees and the pass high above them. His companion on his right spoke suddenly, but softly, �I think they have met with some misfortune, your Highness, or they would have come by now. The scouts should have reached their company and returned by now.�

�Perhaps,� he spoketly,tly, thinking. He heard a rustle amongst the trees, uneasy shifting of leaf and the occasional branch and he stopped moving, even breathing as he listened to the anxiety the trees passed on to him. He pressed his hand against the weathered trunk of the beech in which he perched and felt its warning. He motioned quickly to the other two and dropped from the tree with the infinite grace that spoke of his long association with said behavior, gave out a series of low whistles to alert the others positioned along the border and he darted out of the trees, moving silently and swiftly through the scattered trees and patches of grassy clearings, making his way toward the river without looking back to see if the others had followed him, as he knew they had. He could not hear them, even with his elven hearing, but he knew they were there, could sense them following and he trusted them, and they would follow their Prince to their deaths if need be. He followed the tracks of the elf scouts back to where he had returned surely and quickly. They could not have been far behind. Surely they would not send a scout so far ahead.

The party was supposed to have arrived early this day, a planned visit from Elrond, Lord of Imladris, to Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, though not a visit either party would particularly rush into or find pleasure in, however necessary it was on occasion. It was not long before he found the scout, or what was left of his horse and a few scraps of his clothing and armor. He could smell elf blood amongst the orc bodies left to rot where they lay with arrows protruding from their barrel chests.

He walked around the small scene, looking for signs that the elf might hescaescaped, but found little, until he shifted an orc as he followed a set of tracks too light to have been made by orc boots, though heavier than would seem probable for an elf. He followed the tracks into the trees again, a copse darkly shaded even in the midday sun, the cool of it soothed him without effort, but he remained focused, wary of his surroundings and keeping an arrow notched in his long bow, much like the elves that followed him and were stretched out to either side of him, some kneeling to make sure the orc at his or her feet lay truly dead before continuing on. The tracks he followed for some minutes, until he found a place where the grass was turned down and bent where the elf had fallen or stumbled, the coppery sweet scent of elf blood was light on the grass, but not so old as to have faded away into the forest scents. He started again, the tracks growing heavier and more erratic as he pushed onwards.

He followed across another open space and another, finally crossing into another copse of trees, where he was promptly called to halt by an unsure and tired voice off to his left. He quickly spotted the source, but he did not move, �I am friend to you, elf of Imladris, friend at least that we share a common foe if not for our shared race. I know you are injured, for I have followed your trail. I have with me a healer who can tend to your wounds if you would but allow it.� He called softly into the trees, directing his voice to where he knew the injured elf had probably collapsed.

�Come then in peace.�

He strode forward, nodding for one silver-haired elf to accompany him, and another at his left and the rest took position around the small area as Guards. He found the elf sitting up against an ancient tree, his face pale beyond the overly fair complexion of their kind, and his breathing troubled and erratic. He stood before the wounded elf and nodded to him, �You fought well, friend, seven dead, and two incapacitated. Where is the elf I sent to you?�

�I need no compliments from a whelp of Mirkwood.� The wounded elf shot back, wincing as the silver-haired healer cut the elf�s tunic and shirt open with a long knife and gently prodded at the wound in his side and the arrow protruding from the elf�s pale, heaving chest. �He went on to Lord Elrond to warn them. He is uninjured.�

He felt the anger build up in him at the words of disrespect, but after a moment of fire burning brightly in his eyes, he let it pass, glad to hear Silinds wes well as far as he yet knew. He allowed the anger to burn itself out in his eyes, but never further did it boil than there. He maintained his carefully controlled dignity. He did not move one step, nor had he changed his expression since finding the elf, and continued on in his neutral tone, �I meant no ill will in my words, only admiration for bravery well- earned.�

The elf said nothing; this sylvan elf was not behaving as he had expected the elves of Mirkwood d, ad, arrogant and proud to a fault. This elf seemed different, not apologizing for words said in disrespect, for only truth could be heard in the golden elf�s words as he spoke the second time, yet he did not back down, or introduce himself.

�I and my party of Guards were awaiting the arrival of Lord Elrond and his entourage,� he began again in a neutral tone of voice, steady and true, �Know you how far behind you they are? I have seen evidence of many more orcs than those that attacked you, and I am loath to allow Lord Elrond to fall on the doorstep of Mirkwood.�

Loyalty and concern for Elrond and his duty to the ancient elf won out over distrust between Rivendell and Mirkwood elves and he spoke, �I am Lindir of Imladris. I was only hours ahead of the Lord of Imladris. They had crossed the river two days past when I left them early this morning.�

He stepped forwardlastlast, right hand to his chest in greeting of welcome as he bowed hea head slightly to the Imladrian elf as he spoke, �I am Legolas of Mirkwood, and I and my Guards shall track back to where your party should be, and help if need arises, and if not, then we shall act as escort. Rest here, he will stay with you, and I will leave five more to stand guard you as you are taken to Mirkwood. We will follow with the remainder of your party. You will find rest in the halls of King Thranduil by nightfall I should hope.� With that he left without a sounisapisappearing as fast as smoke in the wind, followed by all but five of his Guards, backtracking the trail left by the elf now grown faint, and increasingly so, as they quickly traversed the ground.

It was not long indeed before the sounds of battle could be heard, and the elves of Mirkwood, led by Legolas, picked up their speed while Las has himself sped forward ahead of them to survey the situation and make quick plans. He whistled low to communicate, then followed with several more short bursts of different pitch. The elves spread out into position and moved quickly forward through the low brush and scant trees, unheard by either the elves or orcs absorbed in battle. With a short shout, Legolas alerted the Imladrian elves of their presence as friends, and with a volley of well-aimed arrows, engaged themselves in the battle.

The parties of elves were easily outnumbered by the fell be, bu, but that did not mean that all was lost. He fought hard, occasionally whistling commands to elves to close ranks or to shift focus to help another elf hard pressed. He noticed only one tall blond elf who stood out easily among the Imladrian elves, but was too occupied to take any more than mere notice of the fluid grace of the undeniably ancient elf. In one short glance he noticed the strong build and flowing lines of the elf�s body and his aquiline face, high cheekbones and flawlessly luminescent skin. He saw the glint of steel and sunlight in the azure eyes that darted his way for a second of time during which the Sindar�s heart stilled then beat at a renewed, frenzied pace. He did not look away until he saw the blond elf move protectively in front of the dark-haired elf he knew to be the Lord of Imladris. Glorfindel, then. They were the focus of the attack at present, and were quickly being outnumbered. Legolas looked around for a retreat, and found none. He whistled and the Mirkwood elves turned and darted through the orcs to close ranks around the Imladrian elves who were tiring from their long fight. The Mirkwood elves held their positions until the others could regroup and the circle held against the odds.

A pang of sadness pierced his heart, as if his heart had been pricked when his second-in-command, and friend, fell from an arrow thick and dark, reeking with the rancid smell of poison so that, even if shotshot had not killed the elf outright, he would not last long. He could do nothing for the fallen elf as yet; the press was still too dire.

They held out, a steadily growing pile of orc carcasses outlined the circle of elves, a few of their own number, of Mirkwood and Rivendell scattered amongst the dying orcs until another elf had the chance to pull the fallen elf into the center of the circle. Legolas bent, finally free enough for a moment, to pull the fallen elf back from where he lay. He had not yet passed to Mandos, and he grasped Legolas� hand for a moment as the Prince�s eyes relayed the silent apology as his words spoke of a quick journey, even then the elf�s eyes lost their luster and faded as the spark of life left them. Legolas once again took up his position in the circle, only to find that the blond haired elf lolorflorfindel was now on his left, a gash bleeding on his side, skimming over his ribs where there was a gap in his light armor. The Lord of Imladris was now to his right and still he fought with the might and strength of one long-accustomed to battle, as were both the elven lords now beside him. He felt honored to stand and fight beside these two legends. Soon, his mind gave no heed to any thoughts but of the orc in front of him, and the elves to either side of him and behind him. He kept his eyes on all at once, and it was with detachment that he heard the elf lord to his left let out a sharp breath of air when he found an orc arrow in his shoulder. Legolas could smell the rancid odor again, and this time he could not just let it happen, not again. He took a moment to break away from the thinner numbers of their attackers.

He shouted to the Mirkwood elf now on his left to close the distance, and he pulled Glorfindel backwards, but the lordlord was fighting him. He had broken off the shaft of the arrow and was shouting at him that he could still fight. It mattered not to the elf that the arrow was poisoned; only that Elrond was still there. The Sindar prince was pushed sharply out of the way and the elf lord stepped over him as if he were nothing, striding back to his lord�s side, but he did not make it before he was pulled around by one shoulder and found a fist in his face. He stepped back unsteadily,ht iht into the arms of the Lord of Imladris. The Lord looked up at him, concern for his blond on his face. Legolas spoke to hide the shame of having just struck another elf, �Poison. Two of my own have already succumbed. The poison they use at Dol Guldur is strong, my Lord, and must be dealt with quickly�. He reached for the small pouch at his waist, taking only the time to kill an orc who broke through the circle behind the elven lords, before handing Lord Elrond the pouch and took position back in the circle. Even as he did, a column of orcs charged the circle, breaking it to his right. Orcs swarmed them, even though their numbers were dwindling.

Lord Elrond looked up just as the Prince turned; he met Legolas� eyes, asking the Mirkwood elf to let him work on his friend. The Prince nodded silently, taking position as guard over the two of them so the legendary healer could work. He stood from his task, holding Glorfindel to his side against a tree.

It was not long before he was pressed hard, Elrond again at his side as Glorfindel was left leaning against the tree, still holding his sword but slightly dazed, his vision clouded from the pain and drive of the poison in his veins. The Prince watched the battle, watched the movements of the orcs, their positions, and whistled orders to counteract their assaults. It was within the careful air of detachment that he stepped to the side in front of Glorfindel as an orc fired another arrow, one that would have killed the blond elf lord had it met its mark. As it was, Legolas felt the stabbing agony in his side when another orc�s well-timed or lucky swing distracted him when he sought to block the arrow, hindering his breathing with the pain of it. He pushed it to the back of my mind, but he slowed and the next orc slashed his arm. Glorfindel had his bow again, pulling arrows from the prince�s quiver and firing in rapid succession, fighting back the pain and poison. The prince could not feel or smell the poison about himself, and thought himself safe for the moment, though dread began to build up in his mind, dread not over the battle, but for two important reasons, the fallen elves would be his responsibility, his failures had led to their deaths, and he was wounded, the Crown Prince of Mirkwood�s defenses had been breached.

He threw himself into renewed attack, the arrow broken off quickly. No one had noticed, not even Glorfindel, that he had missed deflecting the arrow. He hid the evidence of it by shifting his tunic slightly over the shaft protruding from his chest as he pushed himself further into the orcs. It was while he was still in his detached fury that the remaining orcs heard the sound of a horn blown and broke off their attack to retreat. Legolas gave the order for pursuit, and quickly took up the chase, ignoring the pain building inside him, preferring to feel the air move across his cheeks, in his hair, the scent of orc blood filling his senses as he pursued and killed with his bow now.

They returned minutes later. �None yet live, my Lords,� he bowed lightly to Lord Elrond and Glorfindel, who was not sitting, his face pale with a soft sheen of sweat glistening in the afternoon light. He stopped breathing for the briefest of moments as he looked at the elder elf-lord again. He could neither believe what he was seeing, nor what he felt flutter in his chest, like butterflies batting their wings against his empty ribcage, his stomach suddenly became light and he found a smile willing its way to his lips. He strangled the smile as he stepped forward lightly, the wound in his side forgotten. �My Lords, your scout is with some of my men on his way into Greenwood. We should not remain. It is not far to the elven path into the Greenwood.�

�Is he injured?�

�Yes, but I believe he will be well with time.�

�Forgive me, my Lords, I must prepare the wounded,� Legolas broke his entranced eyes from the blond elf-lord and moved away. Elrond led three other dark-haired elves, moving from elf to elf doing what he could for those he could help while the prince readied the horses of the Rivendell elves and started to put the wounded on horseback. They were moving in no time, two elves on most horses, all wounded, one less wounded holding a more seriously wounded elf in the saddle. The prince ran on ahead to the next copse of trees to scout ahead, but took the time instead to secure the arrow shaft protruding from his side before running on, then back a few moments later. *~*~*
To Be Continued...

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In the Chains of Honor: Shades of the Past