The Double Sin: the Sins of Legolas | By : squirrelchaser Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 2350 -:- 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. |
Title: Double Sin: the
Sins of Legolas
Author:
Squirrelchaser (Squirrelchaser12@yahoo.com)
Warnings: Slash,
incest, character death, mpreg, rated R
Summary: This story is set BEFORE the events
of Elladan and Elrohir’s bonding in The Double Sin, but
it can stand alone. It begins in the year 3019 of the Third Age, where the
Mirkwood elves have been keep Gollum for Gandalf and Aragorn for the past two
years. Legolas is well past coming of age.
Disclaimer: Tolkien owns characters, and if he knew what I was doing to
his things he’d cry very, very hard.
AN:
In Morgoth’s Ring, Tolkien
states that the Eldar are able to tell when elves are bound (marriage=sex) by
looking into their eyes, and that marriage was celebrated with a feast and a
formal exchange of rings, but was not recognized until bodily union was
achieved. This story follows the time line given in the book. In The Hobbit, Thranduil’s magic protected his people of the wood from danger.The bond that Legolas is mistaken for (after his
marriage) is based on the idea that an individual could swear an oath of
protection and duty to a family, forsake married life (made up for the sake of
the story).
~Thank you to Antoinette and Bambi Rae for
their invaluable beta reading~
The Double Sin: the Sins of Legolas
The
script was elegant, the product of many years of careful honing and skill.
Black ink flowed over stark white paper, telling a story of love, lust, and
sin. The cover was smooth black leather innocent looking enough from its
resting place on the small table, but Enreilan caught up the small, leather
bound volume and strode over to the fireplace. With a feeling of immense
satisfaction the elf bent forward at the waist and threw the journal into the
flames, watching the pages curl and turn black as fire reduced the volume to
ash.
~*~
Night
had fallen, the fire side illuminating the elf that was stretched out in one of
his vast chambers in fortress of Northern Mirkwood. Orange fire light danced over eyes that were lost in elvish
sleep, sleep that had turned into dreams filled with desire. Golden hair pooled
luxuriously on the green embroidered satin as the head of the elf it belonged
to tilted up and back, chin rising to the ceiling as the strong lithe spine
arched slightly. Slightly parted lips whispered softly in sleep, uttering a
name that was forbidden in sexual fantasy.
A
sharp knock on the door made the figure jerk awake.
“Y-yes?”
“He
is waiting.”
“Thank
you.” The golden head shook back and forth slightly, closing his eyes and
breathing deeply as he willed control over his body. Stop. He is not yours to have.
“Must
I Adar [father]…must I?” Agile slender legs folded themselves in half as
Legolas clasped his arms around them and propped his chin on his knees. He
pursed his mouth and looked pleadingly up at his Adar, who lounged opposite
him. “It is not so urgent is it? I am not so far past my majority.”
Thranduil
could not bring himself to meet his son’s open gaze. Instead he peered into the
dregs of his wine chalice, swirling the contents around and around before lifting
the cup to deliver the last of the wine to his mouth. He sighed. “I think it
only appropriate, if not customary. I merely think it is time for you
to…approach the matter at hand. Your Naneth [mother]
was half your age when we were betrothed.” The elven king smiled briefly to
himself.
This
made Legolas protest again. “But you were more than three times Naneth’s age!”
“Those
were troubled times. The battle on the slopes of Mount Orodruin was no small feat Legolas.” As the memories
of those battles Thranduil paused and looked slightly angry but continued in a
regular tone. “Marriage and subsequently children were the last things on my
mind, and the last thing that would have been wise when Sauron threatened the
peace of Middle Earth. The Watchful Peace has lasted quite some time. Long
enough to nearly forget….many things.” His face softened. “Long enough for the
mind to wander to…other things,” Thranduil’s voice trailed off, long fingers
alighting on his lips as if he did not wish the other to hear his fading words.
There
was a brief silence before the elf king shifted slightly and continued in a
regular voice. “I have taken the liberty of discussing the prospect of a
matching with Alindel’s niece, Delumeleth. She arrived from her home in Lorien
this afternoon.”
Legolas’
mouth twitched and his brow furrowed slightly. Courting, the new task his Adar
set before him was not something he was interested in at present. “Alindel’s
niece,” he said softly, at loss for other words as he struggled to swallow his
discontent. “I remember her well from our youth. And I do wish to please you Adar,”
Legolas murmured. “But-“
“Just
tomorrow. Nothing need be pursued if you do not care for her company,” he said
quickly. “I know you my Greenleaf; I think you will find you are compatible at
least as a friend to her now that you are both well of age.” Thranduil
swallowed and looked slightly uncomfortable. “I thought…Well, elves have been
known to pick their mates from an early age, when they played together as
children.”
Inwardly
Legolas winced, feeling something settling around his heart. Intuition was
whispering a foreboding message in his ear.
There
was a clink followed by a soft rustle of robes as Thranduil set down his
chalice beside a slender black volume and rose from seat. The elf king crossed
the short space between himself and Legolas in two strides and knelt before the
lounging chair his son was curled up in. Gently he caressed the fair face with
one hand, smoothing his thumb over Legolas’ cheekbone which was thrown into
sharp relief by the fire light from the hearth. Thranduil’s eyes grew slightly
distant.
“You
look so much like your Naneth,” he said quietly, half
to himself.
Legolas
gave a half smile.
Grief
had nearly crippled Thranduil when his wife’s Feä departed
into shadow shortly after giving birth to his youngest son Enreilan. Legolas
had just come of age and at first the elf king was left wondering how he would
succeed in raising an infant elf on his own. Thranduil recalled with pride how
his eldest son had risen to the occasion, taking to Enreilan with unmatched delight
and caring for his younger brother as any Naneth
would. Now, Thranduil reflected, Enreilan himself had just come of age and
though it had been a long time since he had been dependent on his older
brother, deep affection between the two lingered.
He would not be half so fine without Legolas.
I could not have done it alone. The
elf king withdrew his hand from his eldest son’s face, instead taking one
slender hand in his own and squeezed it gently.
“I
will try, if you think it best.”
“I
do, my Greenleaf.” His face softened. “Of other matters: how fared your watch?”
With
the slightest trace of a grimace Legolas recalled, “The creature Gollum has not
been so troublesome since we have allowed him the freedom to roam the lone tree
that stands in the glen. It makes light his heart even for the briefest of
time, which in turn makes his care an easier burden.”
“I
am glad.”
“It
is late, and so I will take my leave Adar,” Legolas embraced his Adar for several
seconds before bidding him good night.
Thranduil
watched the elf’s retreat, noting the flickering light dancing off the pale
golden cascade of hair that spilled down Legolas’ back. Goodnight, my Greenleaf.
The
wind rustled the canopy of the forest of Mirkwood, complimenting the song that sprung from
the lips of Legolas. The elf leapt from branch to branch as nimbly as any
squirrel, half listening to the whispers of the trees that murmured of the
approach of autumn. Pausing in song Legolas crouched low on a branch and
skimmed the forest floor that stretched beneath the shelter of the trees.
“Mithlilien,”
he called first softly, then louder. “Mithlilien!”
The
wind carried no sound of an answering whinny of a distressed and by now very
lost colt. The frisky animal had broken loose that morning and wandered into
the forest, and Legolas had taken it upon himself to retrieve the baby horse.
“Sing to me forest, and lead me to this little
one,” he murmured to trees which were sharply silhouetted against starlit sky.
“Lead me to him quickly,”
The
sun had long been set but dark was not what troubled the elf. It was the
spiders that he knew would emerge from the gloominess as suddenly and silently
as any phantom, and vanish any prey without a trace.
In
a slightly nervous gesture Legolas brushed his fingertips across the handle of
the long knife that he carried at his side as if to reassure himself of its
presence. Ai! Elbereth, let the little
one come to no harm. Closing his eyes and leaning into the trunk of a tall
beech tree Legolas let his prayer sail heavenward. Reaching behind him he
extracted his bow from the quiver slung across his back and bow in hand
continued his travel through the tree tops.
Intuition
from the trees led him slightly north east from his current track. Legolas had
not missed the clouds that hid the stars to the south. It had been a long time
since starlight had touched the trees of Southern Mirkwood and instinct told him no wholesome animal
would willingly wander into that region.
The
mountain forest of his elven king was far behind him when the first shrill cry
of the lost colt reached his sharp ears.
Notching
one arrow to his bow incase of trouble Legolas bolted silently through the tree
tops, homing in on the sounds of struggle somewhere ahead in the darkness. As
he drew nearer the sounds of at least one Mirkwood spider was added to the
noise of the horse’s struggle, confirming the elf’s fears.
The
gangly grey colt was snarled in a mass of brambly undergrowth and was tangling
himself further in his effort to escape. Not far away a massive spider hissed
and clicked sinisterly in the darkness as it watched the animal’s struggle,
waiting for him to tire to make capture easy.
Like
all Mirkwood elves Legolas had no pity for the spiders that dwelled in the
forest, and at the sight of one threatening a helpless young being his normally
tranquil spirit was infuriated. Giving away his presence and position Legolas
let out a softy angry snarl and the spider looked toward the elf just as
Legolas drew back on his bowstring. The bow let out a twang that pierced the
darkness as an arrow sunk directly through the center of the beast’s head.
The
spider hit the forest floor with dead thunk, falling to its side and twitching.
Lips
pursed in a firm line Legolas sprung from the tree as he let another arrow fly,
drawing his long knife as he drew abreast of the beast.
The
spider finally lay still, clearly dead as Legolas turned it over with a heave
of his foot.
With
yet another arrow set to his bowstring the elf turned in a slow circle, senses
keened for the arrival of more spiders, but the forest remained dark and still.
Satisfied Legolas turned his attention to the colt that had gone silent and motionless,
though he still rolled the whites of his eyes.
“Mithlilien,”
he murmured, kneeling at the animal’s head and stroking the velvety ears. “Lay
still,”
At
the sound of a familiar voice and the feeling of a familiar touch Mithlilien
relaxed slightly, lifting his small head to watch the elf.
Using
a small dagger from his quiver Legolas quickly slashed through the prickly
undergrowth, then gently began to disentangle the colt’s spindly and bleeding
legs. “Quite an adventure for you, young one,” he turned his head slightly and
smiled at the horse, who whickered in reply. “Ai, your poor legs,” Legolas ran
his fingers down the length, checking for signs of swelling. “Though it is
nothing that shall not heal, given time.” Finding no injuries other than the
numerous superficial scratches and a bad fright he patted Mithlilien’s flank, kindly
chiding, “And with time will come wisdom.”
With
the elf’s help the baby horse got to his feet, but looked dubiously at Legolas
when he placed on hand on his withers to start off into the darkness toward
home.
Oh no we don’t, the horse seemed to say as he began to
tremble. You don’t know what lurks out
there, and I remember those spiders.
Legolas
patted the stubbly mane. “Come and walk with me Mithlilien and I shall sing to
you; there is nothing to fear.”
The
first few notes did little to encourage or reassure the horse, but after a
gentle nudge from Legolas Mithlilien reluctantly started off toward home.
The
horse and the elf came to a small clearing lit with the light of Eärendil, and
Legolas stopped his song to look up at the starlit sky. He closed his eyes,
listening to the nocturnal whispers of the trees and was reminded of the coming
of the changing of the leaves. “Delumeleth is to arrive tomorrow,” he murmured,
half to himself and began to walk again.
Mithlilien
whickered, tugging on Legolas’ sleeve as he always did when he was anticipating
a treat.
“Yes,”
the elf smiled. “That probably means apples and carrots for you, but for me it
also means the coming of Alindel’s niece.” He sighed. “I would do much to
please my Adar, but what is too much? I know where my heart lies, and it is not
with...”
The
trees rustled in the cool night air that carried the voice of Legolas off into
the distance, the words and unspoken thought fading off into the darkness.
“Perhaps
I should marry this niece of the advisor, and pass on to the Halls of Mandos where
I could be at rest. Or would that be too selfish of me, and asking too much of
her?”
The
colt glanced at him, apparently asking with liquid dark eyes, Why do you, an elf, ask wisdom out of a
horse?
Wisdom or not you make an ideal confident! Legolas smiled ruefully at himself.
Golden
sunlight illuminated the clearing in the forest that bustled with elves and
elven song. The feasting was over with and Legolas and Enreilan had taken
refuge in the lower limbs of a large oak tree at the edge of the clearing to
watch the throng of dancers.
Well
fed and content, Enreilan leaned against the broad trunk, looking first out
over the merry making and then back at his brother. He had just filled Legolas’
ear with stories and song and had mourned the end of summer when he finally
ceased his one sided conversation to ask the other a question. “Silent, and no
appetite on such a day as this?” Enreilan nudged Legolas, who was squirming
restlessly atop his perch, with his foot. “That would not have anything to do
with the fact that you were directly across from Delumeleth at table?”
“It
has everything to do with the fact that I was sitting across from Delumeleth at
table,” Legolas replied in a quiet and flat voice.
When
he did not continue with an explanation Enreilan nudged him again. “You look as
if you must walk to Mount
Doom with the weight of all Middle Earth on you
shoulders.” The elf looked across the clearing to where Delumeleth was engaged
in conversation with Anwadil, her cousin and Legolas’ friend from childhood. “Her
eyes rest upon you often, brother.”
Legolas
turned to look at his brother with a half smile. “You really do not know why
she is here, do you?”
Enreilan
stared at him blankly.
Looking
back out over the group of dancers Legolas’ half smile turned into a mild
grimace. “Adar is looking to make a match for me. I shall entertain the idea
for my love of him, but in my heart I know it is not my time. Or if it will
ever be my time.”
“Surely
Adar will not compel you to an arrangement that is not agreeable to you!”
“Surely
not. He wants me – both of us – to be happy. I presume he thinks I am of age.
And she is a good friend to me but…”
Raking
a hand through his loose, deep gold hair, Enreilan opened his mouth but was
interrupted by a voice at the foot of a tree.
“I
do not know, Delumeleth…I think,” Anwadil said
loudly, looking up to the branch that held the two elves and grinning, “He is
around here somewhere. Come down, Legolas. I have not seen you since the last
hunt.”
Reluctantly
Legolas descended from his perch, followed by Enreilan.
Anwadil
and Delumeleth led away from the festivities deeper into the forest, giggling
like children as they raced ahead.
Dutifully
following the chestnut heads that bobbed before them Enreilan reached back and
caught Legolas by the wrist. “You are falling behind,” the younger elf
reprimanded. “Pick up you pace! You have been much too tranquil and melancholy
of late.”
Travel
was quick and tireless over the carpet of dead leaves, and at length Anwadil
and Delumeleth stopped in a clearing. The two stood side by side, grinning and
watching as Enreilan and Legolas came after them. “Do you remember, Legolas?” Delumeleth
said eagerly watching Legolas’ face as the fair elf stopped at the edge of the
trees and looked slowly around at the forest clearing.
“Remember
what?” Enreilan interjected, looking at his brother.
A
tiny smile tugged at the corners of Legolas’ slender lipped mouth, his
dejection beginning to fall away as childhood memories came flooding back. “I
have not seen this place in over fifty years. So many memories of the three of
us…our ‘secret’ getaway,” his voice trailed off and his eyes twinkled.
“I
discovered it,” Anwadil turned and shimmied up a large oak tree. “Though of
course we found out much later that our parents knew all long where we were.
Indeed it was no secret. This was my tree,” he recalled, looking up at the
canopy and patting the trunk fondly.
Delumeleth
hitched up her skirts and gingerly made her way to the lowest limb of a
neighboring oak. “And mine. Legolas, you recall do you not?”
Legolas
gave a half smile. “Of course,” he ran lightly to a graceful beech opposite the
twin oaks. Looking up he jumped and easily caught the first branch, swinging
his legs over and sitting on the limb. “This was my tree,” he called to
Enreilan.
“We
would spend all day here,” Anwadil reminisced as he scaled higher into his tree
and vanished into the leaves. “Saelbeth would come with us, before he got too
old. But he is away at present.” There was a slight rustle as Anwadil pranced
out on a limb and poked his head out of the leaves. “Iavas [late summer] is
still upon us…” he let his voice trail off into a childish grin.
“The
black berries,” Delumeleth exclaimed suddenly, alighting from her branch.
“I
remember,” Legolas soundlessly leapt to the ground. “It was this way; my
stomach remembers that very well even if my head has forgotten.” He turned and
ran deeper into the forest, gesturing to Enreilan who took after him with Delumeleth
behind him.
Anwadil
quickly scrambled out of his tree to follow the other three elves, dragging one
careless hand through hair that had long since lost its braids.
“They
are still here, pristine and as ready for harvesting as they were fifty years
ago!” Laughed Legolas, finding the brambly canes laden with the dark seedy
jewels. Kneeling, he plucked a berry and popped it into his mouth. “They are
sweet!” he announced as the others caught up and knelt beside him.
The
black berry thicket was generous in its bounty, and the elves ate and laughed
as merrily as they had fifty years ago. Soft rays of sunlight filtered down
through the canopy, warming the sweet smells of the forest.
“How
beautiful it is, and quiet away from the huts and the houses of Mirkwood,”
Enreilan sighed. He looked across to Legolas who was enticing a dainty blue
bird with a berry, and watched as the little bundle of feathers accepted the
fruit into her beak and flew away. His
eyes are distant, Enreilan thought. But
this is the happiest I have seen him since the last few weeks. His thoughts
were interrupted as Delumeleth’s voice brought him back to the present.
“Many,
many times were we scolded for ruining our appetites when we returned from our
woodland adventures with purple mouths and fingers,” Delumeleth said to
Enreilan, eyes sparkling. “And you,” she poked Legolas in the side, “Would
somehow manage to streak bits of your hair in black berry juice.”
“It
was from this,” Anwadil put in, imitating Legolas’ gesture of flipping his hair
back behind his ears.
“Fortunately
I do not do that anymore.”
Licking
her fingers, Delumeleth leaned forward to see past Legolas. Her eyes narrowed
slightly as she gave her cousin a reproachful look. “Your hair is a wreck,
though that is hardly a deviation from its normal state.”
Anwadil
scowled, but was unable to reply for his full mouth.
Rising
and shaking her skirts in maternal fashion Delumeleth moved to stand behind Anwadil,
who was bending after an elusive black berry.
“Ouch!”
“Was
it a thorn?”
“No!
Ouch! It is worse…a Delumeleth! Spare me dear cousin!”
Delumeleth
had taken on the task of combing through Anwadil’s thick dark hair with her
fingers and was hitting a great deal of snarls.
“Oh,”
cried Anwadil in exasperation as the elf’s fingers encountered a particularly
painful knot, “Just leave it be! I would have it loose
across my shoulders.”
“Why
not up in braids, as it is more practical when you are running through the
woods?” Delumeleth moved to gather his hair in a braid.
“I
will have it as you do, with no braids,” Anwadil squirmed away from Delumeleth’s
grasp who sighed in resignation.
“Come,”
Delumeleth stood and gestured to the others. “We best be getting back anyway.”
Alindel
stood leaning against the great table with a wine flute in one hand, content to
watch the festivities. His eyes fell on Legolas who was taking up more than his
fair share of a bench, one leg propped up and bent at the knee to support his
golden head. As Alindel watched the young elf was seemingly unaware of the
dancing flurry that was taking place around him; his eyes were strangely glazed
and dreamy and a small smile fluttered about his lips. The advisor followed
Legolas’ gaze across the glen where Enreilan and Delumeleth flanked either side
of Thranduil, who was nestled into his great chair.
Perhaps
feeling eyes on him Thranduil looked past Delumeleth who was talking animatedly
in his ear and caught Alindel’s gaze.
Yes, the advisor smiled as he raised his glass in a surreptitious
acknowledgment, nodding his head at Legolas and raising his eyebrows for
Thranduil’s approval. The match was a
good one. Perhaps Thranduil was right in wanting to marry Legolas within the
next year.
Black
pupils set in blue irises dilated as they fixed on their object of affection,
on the other side of the swirling dancers. The tip of a glistening tongue
darted out briefly across pink lips which pursed momentarily before relaxing
into the slightest gasp for breath. The wind fluttered soft strands of golden
hair across the high cheek bones to cling to the moistened lips but the owner
took no notice. One long hand shifted to his chest, as if to hide the pounding
heart beneath it, when a touch on his shoulder took his attention away from the
figure across the clearing.
The
sun had long set as Anwadil and Legolas lounged inside a paddock bathed in
moonlight, the festivities still at large in the background faded to a distant
glow. Anwadil leaned back on the fence railing, only his crown and long, loose
hair spilling over edge visible to any that happened to walk by. Legolas stood
across from his friend but facing Mithlilien, who was beseeching his new found
elf for more treats.
“No,
no, no,” Legolas pushed away the soft nose and the colt flared his nostrils
indignantly. “I have no more for you to eat!”
The
colt looked at him reproachfully.
“You
have consumed them all,” the elf informed the horse as he held out empty hands
as evidence, before turning to look at Anwadil. “You look at me strangely,”
Legolas cocked his head, countenance changing to pensive. “You look at me as
one who knows something I do not, and you are saddened.”
Anwadil
smiled, head still resting against the fence. “Ai, my friend. There is a burden
on your heart of late. Enreilan and your Adar have noticed it as well.”
Legolas
sat down in the fragrant grass directly across from his friend as a miffed
Mithlilen wandered off, disinterested. Leaning forward the elf said earnestly
in a low voice, “Please speak of it not. It shall become worse before it is
better, and presently it shall be gone.”
“There
is no way I can help you bear this burden?”
“There
is not.” Legolas put up his hand to cover Anwadil’s mouth as it opened to
protest. “Hush,” he said gently. “Stop. I am sorry.” The knowledge that his
trouble was known to his brother, father and friend weighed even more on his
already heavy heart. “I do not wish to burden your heart as well.”
“But
that is what I am here for.”
Legolas
did not answer. The friends sat in silence until at length Legolas stood
stretching his long legs and bid goodnight. “Are you not going home?” he
inquired when Anwadil did not move.
“The
whispers of the trees in the night are my favorite, so I shall linger a little
longer,” Anwadil closed his eyes and smiled happily. “You are disinclined to
share it with me?”
No longer do I find joy in the songs of the
trees, Legolas sighed
inwardly to himself but was hesitant to let this fact be known. “Not tonight,
my friend.”
Cool
night air pressed in around him as he pushed open the paddock gate, a small
feeling of loss adding to the knot in his chest. The night lullabies of the
trees had always been his favorite. Legolas and Anwadil, sometimes accompanied
by Enreilan, often spent nights cradled in the branches of the beeches that
sprung up from the mountainside. But now the thought of that was simply
unappealing; Legolas found he would much rather spend his nights alone.
Striding
across the bridge that spanned the river to the great front doors of the
mountain fortress Legolas heard a second pair of foot steps and a voice calling
after him. Turing he saw Alindel running lightly up to him.
“Ai,
Legolas, you must have been walking deep in your own thoughts, for I have been
calling after you since you left the paddock.” Taking him genially by the arm Alindel
led the way through the stone doors into the hall. By nature Alindel was never
one to hint at whatever it was he wanted to say, thus cutting directly to the
topic most prevalent on his mind: “How do you find my niece’s company?”
Slightly
startled out of his thoughts (which did not include Delumeleth) Legolas quickly
regained his composure and replied courteously, “I find her as pleasant and
amiable as she was fifty years ago,”
“You
have been spending a great deal of time with her,” the advisor said, smiled
broadly at the golden haired elf.
“…Yes.”
“It
has been several months since her arrival.”
“…Yes.”
“Delumeleth
has become very taken with you in the past few weeks. Her parents are hoping to
find her a good husband; a kind being. When they brought up the idea of
marriage in passing she immediately thought of you.”
The
knot that was Legolas’ heart tightened painfully. “I did not know that. This
was Delumeleth’s arrangement?”
“In
conjunction with both of your parents.” Alindel patted Legolas on the arm
indulgently. “It is not like my character to push or fly to conclusions but
would it be too soon to assume there is an intimate connection between the two
of you to consider a betrothal? Your Adar is most anxious you know, and to be
frank, Delumeleth nearly has her heart set on it.”
“Is
he?” A heavy weight seemed to settle around his heart but Legolas smiled at Alindel.
“I mean, is she? I mean…yes,” the elf heard himself saying. “Well…I…we are good
friends.”
“Which
is often the very basis of the best matches!” The other elf smiled warmly,
clasping Legolas in a brief hug before pulling back at arms length. “I am very
happy for the both of you.” Alindel turned on his heel and disappeared down a
hall.
Legolas
stood dumbfounded for a moment. Every instinct told him to run after the elf
and ask if this meant that he was betrothed, but suddenly he found he did not
care. Something unknown whispered to his heart, telling him that there was an
underlying need had set him with this niece of his Adar’s
friend.
Slowly,
defeated, Legolas turned to seek the welcome solace of his chamber.
Alindel
made his way down the twisty passages of the mountain, toward Thranduil’s chambers. The advisor and friend of the elven
king were curious as to why he was not enjoying the festivities that were
taking place under the trees of Mirkwood. It
is not like him to miss the Dorwinion. And he is in dire need of it for he has
been very irritable of late, Alindel thought to himself as he drew abreast
of the door to Thranduil’s quarters.
He
had just raised his hand to rap on the wooden panel when there came a soft moan
from within. Pushing open the door Alindel found Thranduil sprawled out in a
lounge before the fireplace, asleep. Gently the elf shook his king’s shoulder.
Thranduil
had been sleeping lightly and started at his advisor’s touch. “Oh, it is you,”
he mumbled, blinking owlishly. “Ai,” he sighed, rubbing his blue eyes as he sat
up slowly.
“There
is much merriment taking place among your people outside,” Alindel sat down
next to his friend. “I was troubled by your absence.”
“Mmm.
You need not be.” Thranduil stood and stretched slowly.
“If
you do not mind my saying so, you have not been yourself of late. Even you son
has noticed.”
Arching
one dark eyebrow Thranduil questioned mildly, “Legolas?”
“Enreilan.”
“Mmm.”
The elven king pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefinger and thumb. “I
have had dark dreams of late and all that lies to the south troubles me greatly.
Trouble stirs. And my Greenleaf…”
Alindel
grinned and poked Thranduil in the ribs. “You have never taken well to change
my friend. Tis a good match; both of them seem more than minimally compatible.
Both have sweet temperaments. Had you been set to match your Enreilan to Delumeleth
we might not be looking at a betrothal feast at all.”
“Mmm.”
Thranduil said again. “You have spoken to him then?”
“I
have. He was talking to Delumeleth rather intimately in the moonlight before I
caught up to him. Had I not seen them together and was it not for the fact that
Legolas is nearly always reserved when showing his emotions I would not have
thought there was a strong enough attraction.”
Face
hidden as he rubbed his hair line with both hands Thranduil murmured, “Then
there is mutual consent to a betrothal then?”
“Yes,
I believe so.”
“Very
well then. We shall have to see to a ceremony then.”
The
leaves of Mirkwood were nearly finished shedding their brilliant autumn colors in
favor for the starkness of winter when Delumeleth decided to return home. Her
departure would be relatively brief as there were plans for her to return in
Euthil [end of spring] or Laer [early summer].
Although
he loved held her close as a dear friend the exit was a relief for Legolas. The
elf wished for nothing more than to forget the impending marriage, and as long
as Delumeleth was present he was unable to do so. But as the party rode down
the path and were obscured by trees, Legolas felt his heart grow lighter than
it had felt in months.
While
Delumeleth had been around Legolas had felt himself begin to fade, though he
took great pains to hide this fact from as many as he could. He made it a point
to avoid his Adar, who knew his eldest son as well as he knew himself and would perceive this alteration right away. Anwadil
and Enreilan, noticing their friend and brother growing listless, pale, and despondent
by the day, confronted him at different times.
Legolas
refused an explanation to both.
Anwadil
stopped his interrogation at once when Legolas began to tremble in agitation
after the second no. He understood that emotions and hearts are fragile things
and cannot be forced into detection.
Enreilan,
however, was not so docile and more persistent.
One
early morning Legolas lay in the sweet smelling grasses, upper half cushioned
against the warmth of Mithlilien’s flank that lay in the dewy grass with him.
Since the rapidly growing colt’s venture into the perils of Mirkwood it had
been established that Mithlilien was an excellent confident, and with his heavy
heart Legolas put this to great use.
“We
are to be married in the spring,” Legolas sighed and the colt whickered. “And I
know you like her for she feeds you more than you should ever eat. Delumeleth
is happy, as is Alindel and Adar. It is enough to make any person happy, but
not me. I am fading, Mithlilien,” Legolas said simply. “I can feel it more and
more since the day of our betrothal. My heart is in two for whom I desire above
all else is not to be had. Now I long for nothing more than to rest in the
Halls of Mandos.”
The
baby horse was silent, simply craning his neck around to nuzzle the hand
resting on his chest in a gesture of comfort. You are so dramatic, but I will miss my elf, the limpid eyes seemed
to say.
“I
will miss you all…” Legolas stroked the nose with his fingertips.
“Will
you not miss me?” Came a soft voice from behind.
Legolas
gave a great start, not knowing what to say as Enreilan wordlessly sank into
the grass beside him and leaning against the side of the horse.
Pressing
his trembling lips together and refusing to lift his head to meet his brother’s
eyes Enreilian stepped out of the shadows.
But
when Enreilan did not immediately demand an explanation Legolas lay back on
Mithlilien once again, eyes set upon the stars. He was surprised. He had
expected Enreilan to cut directly to the heart of the matter but there came
only the deep, even breathing of Mithlilien. To fill the silence he lifted his
face to the sky, and began to sing.
As
the last of the song faded into the night sky and Enreilan reached over to
squeeze his brother’s hand. “You are cold to the touch,” he exclaimed softly,
rolling partially onto his side and looking into Legolas’ face for the first
time. Enreilan’s expression went from surprise to slow recognition to sorrowful
as he looked into his brother’s eyes, in which was written his wish. “You
really are passing to the Halls then,”
“It
is what I want. It is what is best, in these circumstances.” Legolas returned
the hand squeeze, and dropped a gentle kiss on Enreilan’s forehead as he had
done so many times when Enreilan was younger.
“Delumeleth? Like we have said before, surely if Adar
will not force you into a marriage!”
As
if he was tired, Legolas leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “She will
not be altered from the path she desires, nor will Adar. If I were to not wed
her then it would just be someone else for the both of us. I have consented to
this. There is nothing more to that.”
Enreilan
digested this information slowly, and said with a bit of awe, “I knew elves
could die of a broken heart but it has not occurred for many, many years among
the woodland realm.”
“It
is part of life.”
“It
is?”
“Dying,
I mean. It is not the end, truly. You will see me again when you pass on, even
if you remain for millennia more to come. We will meet again in the Halls of Mandos.”
“Who
is it?”
Giving
a start as if coming out of a trance Legolas asked: “What? Who?”
“The
person who so broke your heart.”
“Oh.”
Legolas licked his lips and twiddled the fingers of the hand that lay on his
chest.
“Is
she married to another?” Enreilan persisted when Legolas continued to twiddle
and did not answer. “You do not share your pain…tell me or I shall beat it out
of you with the flat of my blade!”
That is more like the Enreilan I know. Opening his eyes and turning his face toward
his brother Legolas placed one hand on his shoulder and said with great
earnestness, “Can I take you into my confidence?”
“Of
course!” Enreilan exclaimed slightly indignantly and with growing impatience.
“You have always done so!”
Satisfied
Legolas leaned back on Mithlilien. “He…Him…Do you understand?” He closed his
eyes and held his breath, stomach in a knot. You disgust me, Legolas could almost hear Enreilan saying. It is unnatural! It is forbidden!! You are
no brother of mine.
But
the blow never came. Enreilan let out a soft gasp, but to Legolas’ relief did
not recoil or show any signs of revulsion. Legolas opened his eyes slowly. “So
that is why it is best that I do not stay. There is healing in the Halls. While
I was not betrothed there dwelled a foolish false hope, feeding my fantasy and
hunger for a union that cannot be. Now that I am promised to another I know
that it is not true.”
Finally,
after making a series of soft squeaking noises, his brother found his tongue
and out came disbelief. “Surely there is another way! You can change! You can
just…fall out of love with…” Enreilan seemed to be searching desperately for a
word. “With…him.” He finished. “It is not real, real love!”
“Yes
it is.”
Jumping
up Enreilan insisted, “But there cannot be such love between two males! It is
not possible!”
“It
is possible,” Legolas said quietly.
“I
do not comprehend…”
“Nor
do I.”
For
a long moment Enreilan stared at Legolas hard, eyebrows down and eyes narrowed,
expression frozen in skepticism. “I do not believe you,” he said simply,
stalking away.
Legolas
watched him go, feeling slightly sick to his stomach. He lay back against the
grey horse behind him with every intention of allowing his mind to wander to
other, more pleasant things than scorn, when Anwadil roused him.
“I
am to take this Gollum out for his climb, and would not be adverse to company,”
the elf smiled down at him, holding out a hand and heaving the blond elf off
the ground. “Enreilan has apparently fallen into a sullen mood and has
refused,”
Glad
to take his mind off of his own troubles Legolas helped Anwadil lead the
wretched creature from his keep in the dungeons and out to the glen to where he
was allotted his daily climb on the lone tree. Standing at guard at the base of
the tree and watching the gangly, foul being clamber into the branches Legolas
felt a stirring of pity. It is strange to
empathize with such a pathetic thing, but we both know what it is to be in a
cage, gilded mine maybe. He sighed. But
for me there is an escape sadly there is no such reprieve in sight for this
Gollum. A wave of fatigue mixed with sorrow washed over his heart and
without knowing it he whimpered.
With
a questioning look Anwadil paused in the song he sang softly into the wind and
raised his eyebrows, but did not press for an explanation. It was not until
they had returned to the mountain fortress and were leaving the dungeons when Anwadil
asked gently, “Your heart troubles you, and you dare not confide in those
closest to you?”
Legolas
rubbed his forehead, feeling weary and had no desire to delve again into a half
truth account for his lethargy.
It
was then that Enreilan rounded the corner. Catching sight of the two together
his eyes flew to Legolas’ and went wide.
Legolas
gave the slightest shake of his head but Enreilan was already stalking away
quickly.
Beside
him Anwadil cracked, “He must still be out of sorts,”
Excusing
himself and feeling fainter than ever, Legolas took to his chamber for three
days, his spirit shot. Now more than ever he wished to fade, and could not wait
for the day that Mandos called. He passed the time curled up by the fire to
warm his chill body, reading, singing quietly to himself, or staring into space
with his mind wandering in fields of forbidden desire.
Noticing
his brother’s absence straight away Enreilan, still stuck on the belief that the
love his brother felt could be real, invited himself into Legolas’ chambers.
Conversation began on mundane and benign topics, each carefully dancing around
the issue that both knew drove them apart.
“It
has been long since we have had a hunt together, as Adar and I were just
discussing yesterday,” Enreilan eyed the cabinet that stored the quiver and
hunting knives. “The weather is fair and the sun walks often and long. We
should not let an opportunity as such go amiss,”
“Your
words are true.”
Drawing
a cloth wrapped package from his tunic Enreilan handed it to his brother. “I
brought this, as I knew it is your favorite,”
Legolas
unwrapped the object to reveal several slices of fresh sweet bread. “Thank
you,”
“I
noticed you have…not been attending meals. And Delumeleth is even absent,” he
tried to crack.
Tired
of dancing around the subject Legolas leaned back in his seat, looking at his
brother and raising his eyebrows. “Speaking of Delumeleth…a peace offering?” he
gave the food in his hand a slight bounce.
“If
that is what you are so inclined to interpret it as. We miss you. Adar is
concerned; he is ready to send an entire army of healers after you.”
“Is
he?”
“We
all are.” Enreilan’s voice rose a notch with a trace of impatience. “Would you
not just forget about this? You say you will die as time carries on but as when
you are not gone from our company you are not yourself. It is as if are already dead. Perhaps there
is something that can be done for you to fix your…fixation.”
With
a slightly amused look Legolas shook his head. “There is nothing to fix for I
am not broken, save my heart.”
“It
is –“
“Distasteful,
to you,” Legolas cut Enreilan off firmly, reigning in his irritation. “The rage
in your voice betrays your fear of what you do not understand.”
Enreilan
looked angry. “I understand! I understand that you have an unfounded shallow
flow of affection towards…” He trailed off and his mouth twitched.
“That
you can choose to accept and be my brother for as long as I am with you.”
With
mounting anger at a situation that he could not control Enreilan turned and
walked from the room.
Legolas
did not call after him.
On
the fourth day Thranduil was beside himself with worry. Thranduil instantly set
to berating his youngest son as the unusual lack of interaction between the two
brothers had not escaped the woodland king’s notice.
Being
just as stubborn – if not more so – as his father and staying true to his word
Enreilan did little more than shrug and refuse to answer.
Disgusted
Thranduil sought out the next closest thing (Anwadil), only to find that his
son’s friend and companion was in the same state of mind as himself. Between
the two of them there was little subtlety, and so unifying their efforts using
the excuse of a large hunting party as a bribe, Anwadil and Thranduil managed
to coax Legolas’ chamber door open to talk.
“My
Greenleaf,”
The
door unlatched from within.
“We
are going on a hunt and your bow would be-“ at the sight of his son Thranduil
stopped short, sucking his breath in sharply.
Legolas
was paler, slenderer, and with the back glow of the fire looked eerily
unearthly. His eyes did not hold their glow and looked haunted, but at the
sight of his father Legolas smiled.
“My
Greenleaf,” Thranduil said softly, eye brows knitting in concern as he reached
out to cup his face. “What…what trouble is in your heart?” The elf king and Anwadil
exchanged sidelong glances.
Mind
going very fast Legolas weighed his options and decided to alleviate his
father’s evident anxieties, rather than divulge them. “It is nothing that shall
not pass with time,” he said lightly touching the hand on his face with his
fingertips. After a brief retreat into his chamber Legolas returned to the
door, quiver and bow in hand. He smiled at each of them, but the smile did not
touch his eyes which remained sad slightly distant. “Let us go, for the sun
walks long and shines bright today,”
“He
has been like this for much longer than three days,” Anwadil murmured to
Thranduil as Legolas led the way with false energy.
Concern
clouded the eyes of the king and weighed heavily on his heart and mind. Through
out the hunt he kept close by and a close watch on his son, but as the hunt
carried on Legolas seemed to grow into genuinely good spirits. Thranduil also
wondered as to why Enreilan glanced at his brother before reining his horse to the
opposite side of the group.
The
small hunting party scouted a buck quietly through the woods, prey and seeker
dodging in and out the trees as the hunt turned into a contest to see who
really knew the secrets of the forest the best.
Blue
eyes focused on not the deer that the hunt sought after but the elf that
crouched beside him. His pulse began to beat faster as he took in the lithe
slender form that was poised with all his attention staring down the shaft of a
long deadly arrow. As the elf shifted slightly to aim for the kill zone, a streak
of sunlight fell across his figure, and the other felt his breath hitch.
How beautiful he is, he thought, noting the gleam of bright gold
the light revealed in the tumbles of hair that fell about the elf’s shoulders.
The admirer’s thoughts were interrupted when the elf let the arrow fly, turning
to smile at him in triumph when the arrow met its mark.
The
hunt party returned triumphant with two stags and three large hares. By the
river the group worked to skin and clean the animals to be roasted that night.
As
Thranduil set to work on the larger of the two bucks with Saelbeth he watched
Legolas and Enreilan out of the corner of his eye as they worked with Anwadil
to clean the other deer. He observed Enreilan glancing at Legolas every so
often, seeming to want to get his attention but was unsure of how to go about
the matter. Legolas seemed oblivious to his brother’s surreptitious attentions,
throwing fleeting looks at Thranduil. Thranduil would catch his eye, and the two
would share a brief smile.
Some
time had gone by when Enreilan said in a strange voice: “Legolas,”
The
other looked at him, head jerking up from his work quick enough to suggest a
trace of surprise. Legolas raised his dark eyebrows, prompting his brother as
his eyes fleeted momentarily to Anwadil who crouched beside him.
There
seemed to be a furious internal struggle going on inside of Enreilan, struggles
that only seemed to happen when the elf was trying to apologize. (Thranduil
recognized and identified with the difficulty nearly immediately.)
“…This
was an excellent shot,” He said at length, extending the feather tipped arrow
from the kill zone deep in the skull. “Tis undamaged. Perhaps we should hunt
together more often, for as long as…you are so inclined.”
As
Thranduil watched Legolas seemed to be calculating his brother as he extended
his arm to accept the arrow, to be cleaned and reused later. “We should,” he
said, and as their hands brushed and they shared a genuine smile.
The
Mirkwood king shifted his gaze to Anwadil, who shrugged silently before bending
back over his work. He had is eyes narrowed as he started to drift into his
private ponderings when Thranduil realized that Saelbeth was poking him
relentlessly in the ribs. Pushing aside a pang of curiosity he returned his
mind to his task.
Shortly
before the snows had begun to fall in earnest it was determined that Mithlilien
and his peers were old enough to be set to practical uses. A small group of
merry elves set out to the pasture with a short length of rope. After much
coaxing and petting one unfortunate elf eased himself astride the young horse
and murmured the instruction to break into a trot.
Mithlilien
would have none of it. The horse scraped the unfortunate elf under the nearest
branch he could find. After soothing for the elf and a gentle but firm one
sided discussion with Mithlilen the process was repeated with the same results.
Fortunately
Mithlilien’s rebellion did not seem to spread to the rest of the young horses,
and there was little trouble in getting the others to comply.
“Leave
the grey one to his own for the rest of the day,” one of the elves called as
the horses were sent back into the paddock. “We shall try again tomorrow,”
Their
efforts did not pay off. A week passed and Mithlilien remained determinedly unrideable.
“He
is friendly enough,” one of the elves complained to Thranduil one night. “It
would break my heart to see him traded, lest his spirit be broken by the hands
of men who do not understand such animals,”
Thranduil
nodded, half paying attention.
Legolas,
by his father’s elbow, had heard the entire conversation. He slipped out of the
flickering fire light and made his way to the paddock. Leaping nimbly over the
fence he whistled sharply, and the naught grey gelding whickered in reply and
canter happily over, expecting a treat. “You horribly stubborn little animal,”
Legolas chided. “You had best be careful. Do you want to be of use or not?”
With
sudden pensiveness the horse looked the elf in the eye. I would let you on my back,
Legolas
raised his eyebrows. “For how long?”
Mithlilien
looked away, toward the woods, then back at the elf and nudged him with his
nose.
Briefly
Legolas considered his options, and deciding that he would rather have a close
encounter with a tree then return home to feign amiability, threw one leg over
the gelding’s back. He had barely found his seat when Mithlilien took off into
a graceful rocking canter through the dark trees.
The
night ride for Legolas turned into an escape from his heavy heart that came all
too rare for the elf. Out into the darkness of Mirkwood they traveled, toward
the Misty Mountains. The elf had no idea that Mithlilien could
cover ground so quickly; undoubtedly this horse was one of the fastest that had
been bred in Mirkwood yet. In no time the two were well out of the realm of
protection that hovered around Northern
Mirkwood, but the
gelding continued to press on.
Leaning
forward over the withers Legolas murmured into the wind, “You are aware, my
fleet one, that I have not my quiver or knife?”
The
horse’s pace slowed as he deliberated. He was as reluctant to return home as
his rider but Mithlilien still feared the spider’s hunt. With a disdainful
snort and toss of his head he turned in a wide semi circle and galloped reluctantly
home.
It
was established then that Mithlilien would have no other for a rider.
Candle
light gleamed off golden hair that formed a bright curtain around the fair face
that looked intently down at the task at hand. A long slender hand danced over
the parchment of the small black journal:
Want
makes me ill. It distracts me, it consumes me. It is his smile, it his eyes, it
is in his walk, it is in his voice. I know not what it is that I want but I
know that I cannot have what I desire for it is forbidden.
“Spring
fast approaches,” Enreilan reminded his brother needlessly as the two walked
side by side to the cavern that lay in the heart of the mountain.
Legolas
felt the familiar tug at his heart as he nodded in agreement. He knew when
Enreilan spoke of the coming of spring he really referred to the impending
marriage.
“I
am to lose my brother?”
“I
will only be shared now,” Legolas returned trying to keep his tone light and
failing. “It must be within.” Pausing in the door way Legolas surveyed the vast
treasure room lined with shelves weighed down with hoards of silver and jewels.
He rubbed his forehead distractedly with the heel of his hand. Suddenly this
room seemed very large. “I am unsure now even of what it looks like. I think
any crown will do. Delumeleth is only returning and the celebration is to be
brief.”
A
large broad sword caught his eye. Legolas took it up and swung it
experimentally, the heavy blade that countered a thick handle a sharp contrast
to his slender knife.
“What
about this one?” Enreilan held up a weighty silver crown wrought like a vine
with jade leaves and tiny diamond flowers. “It is beautiful.”
Legolas
took it and hefted it slightly, testing its weight as he had done with the
sword. “It is too ornate. I find beauty in simplicity. Besides I prefer the
real leaves of Mirkwood.” The elf sighed and looked longingly toward the door
then up at the ceiling, as if looking for patience to sustain him through the
search through the treasure. “I am not looking to strike Delumeleth blind. Nor
anyone else.” The elf sighed heavily again and rubbed his forehead, eyes blurring
slightly.
Enreilan
reached to the back of the shelf, retrieving an object stowed in a sheet of deep
green velvet. “This is simpler,” he unwrapped the soft
folds to reveal a small willowy crown wrought from polished silver. “Very
simple yet it is elegant enough for the occasion.”
“It
shall do,” Legolas replied without looking up as he rubbed his temple.
Echoing
through the open door Thranduil’s voice resonated: “Did you find it?”
“Not
his own but we found something,” for effect Enreilan stepped forward, placing
the slender diadem on his brother’s forehead and stepping back as his father
turned the corner into the room.
Legolas
lifted his head wearily.
With
an inward yelp Thranduil stopped short in the doorway. He blinked. With a
nostalgic smile he said wistfully, “It is fitting you should use that crown, my
Greenleaf,” was all he said before turning abruptly and making to leave.
Suddenly
Legolas felt a heave of nausea in the pit of his stomach and he blanched, knees
buckling and he lurched as he took a tiny step to catch himself.
In
a distracted tone Thranduil asked, “Are you feeling yourself today, Legolas?”
There
was no reply as Legolas seemed to be concentrating on standing up.
Still
shaken and appearing to lost in thought for a reply Thranduil wordlessly turned
on his heel and made his way rapidly back down the hall.
After
rewrapping the circlet and setting it aside Enreilan put one gentle hand on the
small of Legolas’ back. “You are pale and cold.” When his brother did not reply
Enreilan guided him out of the room, down the twisty passages to his chambers
where Legolas sank onto a reclining couch without a sound. “Do you want me to
get you anything? Anyone?” He whispered, kneeling down at the other’s head.
“No.”
Eyes closed Legolas murmured, as if to himself, “My little brother. You have
grown so; so much like Adar.” He smiled faintly. “You can go on without me,”
Concerned
Enreilan retrieved an enormous blanket from a chest in the corner of the room
and tucked it about Legolas. Under heavy lids the piercing blue eyes were
distant with a touch of disorientation. His body felt stiff, heavy, and chill,
the way quarry begins to feels after it has been slain in the hunt.
The
room was silent and the elf looked into blue eyes that were not yet closed, and
saw only darkness in them.
He really is dying, Enreilan realized and a weight of heavy
guilt made it impossible for him to breathe. “You do love him,” he whispered,
laying his head on Legolas’ chest. “You love him enough to pass from this
world, and I did not believe your words. Forgive me, brother,”
For
a terrifying moment Enreilan feared that he was gone and was now in the care of
Mandos, but the faintest flutter of a wayward lock of hair on his cheek
reassured the elf that, indeed, his brother still lived. Rising slowly Enreilan
crept from the room, heart heavy in his chest with dread.
For
so long he wanted to not believe his brother’s premonition of death, believing
in vain that somehow Legolas would awake from this desire and fascination with
passing and come to realize that he did not love this unnamed he elf. Enreilan
ached for everything to be as it was, before this heartsickness, before Delumeleth.
Blindly
he wandered the halls, debating at whether or not he should alert a healer of
his brother’s state. Eyes unseeing and mind meandering in thought he staggered
into Thranduil, who was also roaming the halls with wistful and longing eyes. “Adar,”
Enreilan stepped forward into Thranduil’s ready embrace and buried his head in
his neck in an uncharacteristic show of distress. “I am afraid. He is dying. He
told me. He told me he had no wish to remain here. He told me he wanted only to
go to Mandos where his heart could be at rest. He told me I was not to tell
anyone, that it was for the best.”
“What?”
“Legolas.
His heart. It is broken. He is dying.” Enreilan’s voice faded off.
Thranduil
knitted his brow, slowly shaking his head in silent disbelief as he struggled
to absorb this information. The elf did not want to believe this news, yet
Legolas’ silence and isolation all suddenly began to make sense. But what of Delumeleth? Yet somewhere back in his subconscious
a tiny voice chided,
You knew his heart was otherwise engaged, or
at the very least that this marriage was based on sole mutual consent.
I did not, Thranduil tried to appease guilt that was
bubbling fast into his throat. It was
foolish for me to think that he loved…My vision and perception on the matter
was biased, clouded. I could not have foreseen!
You made yourself blind!
The
night that followed was the longest that Thranduil, king of the woodland elves,
had ever faced. He alternated sitting at Legolas’ side and calling his son by
his names to pacing furiously in the hall outside the door.
Anwadil
sat opposite the king with his back to the fire, singing softly of cheerful
times that betrayed his distress.
It
was the darkest hour of night, long after the sun has sunk below the mountains
in the distance and long before dawn when Thranduil paced the short width of
the hall just outside of his son’s bedchamber. He stopped, one shoulder flush
to the stone wall when the door opened slowly as Anwadil emerged.
The
elf looked tired and grieved, and could not bring himself to meet the other’s eyes.
“He
is gone.”
Anwadil
nodded, closing his eyes in pain, letting fall the single tear that clung to
his lashes.
Letting
out a breath that he did not know he had been holding Thranduil shuddered as he
struggled to retain the anger that was welling inside his chest. Feeling his
face heat up he pushed through the door into his son’s chambers and closed it
hard behind him.
The
room was dark save the fire light that danced from the large hearth, casting
eerie flickering orange shadows over the furniture. Thranduil stood in the
center, quivering, fighting the urge to rage and wail and blame as he had done
years ago when his wife had fallen. Breathing hard he stared at the back wall
illuminated by the silhouette of the long sofa that sat in front of the fire place.
What happened? This is not real. It cannot
be real. Childishly the elf
king closed his eyes and bit his lip, willing it to be another day, another
year from a time gone past when life seemed much simpler and less grievous, yet
he knew it was not so. My Greenleaf…he is
young. I did not see this.
Yes you did.
I did
not see him fade, yet he has.
You did not read the signs.
This cannot be real. It does not seem real.
This is a dream. When I open my eyes I will find it was a dream…
Thranduil
opened his eyes.
The
chamber still flickered in firelight, the room silent, as if waiting for him to
move and finally accept that his son is dead.
My son is dead.
No he is not,
Thranduil
turned to face the fire and took a tiny step toward the couch.
He is dead.
It cannot be!
Slowly
he crossed the distance between himself and where Legolas lay. Anwadil had
pulled the deep green blanket up so that it covered the fair face, and with
reluctant fingers the elf king reached forward and pulled back the cover.
His
stubborn disbelief slowly fell away when he took in the face, strangely ethereal,
with eyes closed, pale lips slightly parted.
It is.
Lowering
his head to chest Thranduil murmured an admittance he never would have uttered
had his son’s feä still been in the living. “I am sorry I ever asked you to
marry Delumeleth. I am sorry I could not live with myself any longer, and that
I thought you had to marry another in order for me to forget. I would have
taken my own life before yours. I am sorry, my Greenleaf.” His own admittance
into the quiet of the room cemented the reality and his grief as rage at his
predicament melted. Slowly, gently, Thranduil moved the slender frame to cradle
against his chest, pressing his own warmth infused cheek to the cold lifeless
face.
“I am sorry,” his lips began to tremble and a
hot tear alighted on the pale blond hair that flowed over one arm. How I loved him! How I loved him, not as a
father should! A hurt burst inside his chest and Thranduil moaned softly,
pulling away, and dropping a kiss on the pale forehead. Thranduil remained
forehead to forehead, closed, weeping eyes to eyes closed in death, mouth to
mouth with one hand cradling the back of Legolas’ head as firelight danced over
their figures and morning approached.
Out
in the hall Anwadil sat silently weeping while Enreilan, having emerged from
his chamber on his friend’s summons, paced in fury mingled with sorrow.
“How
fares Legolas?” Alindel’s voice preceded his footsteps.
“Adar,”
Anwadil lifted his head, “He is gone.”
Bowing
his head Alindel closed his eyes in sorrow and reflection. “Ai, Elbereth, were
it not so. Thranduil is with him?”
“He
has been since last night,” Anwadil replied, as Alindel knelt by his son and
put an arm about his shoulders.
“If
you would, Alindel, please see to the necessary preparations?” Enreilan said
suddenly from where he stood in a shadow. “Adar, I know, will be unfit to do so
in the days to follow.”
Alindel
nodded. He was only too familiar as to what to expect following Thranduil’s
loss.
Dawn
was breaking and the song birds were beginning to stir in a direct
juxtaposition to the grief that rampaged through the mountain fortress.
Unaware
or caring of the time that had passed Thranduil remained motionless, tears and
anger spent, with his son still cradled to him. “I love you,” he whispered,
dropping another kiss on one cheek, then the other. “I love you, and that,”
another kiss on each eye, “is why I pushed you away.”
Mouth
lowered to stop a breadth away from the other’s lips.
“I
loved you too much. I am sorry.”
The softest kiss on the mouth.
At
this contact the elf gave a sob, kissing the other again, eyes closing as tears
sprung and fell anew. At length Thranduil pulled away, giving a shaky sigh.
Legolas’
eyelids fluttered. The golden head he cradled to his own gave the smallest turn
and a soft, fluttering breath that glanced across his own lips before the mouth
under them showed life in the gentlest of butterfly kisses.
Letting
out a cry Thranduil pulled back slightly and distinctly felt the light, fragile
feeling ribcage give the slightest spasm beneath his hands, as a gentle pulsing
rhythm began to ebb in the pale slender neck. Not caring why or whether or not
he was dreaming, Thranduil began to drop kisses on the slightly parted mouth
between breathy flutters. “My Greenleaf?” he murmured, lips barely touching,
hardly daring to hope.
The
chest under him gave a heave, the mouth twitched then let out a moan, and
Thranduil pressed his own lips to the others.
Legolas
let out a mew.
In
amazement and joy Thranduil let out a cry, stifled as he bent his head to kiss
the other again. “Legolas,” he whispered repeatedly in disbelief, gentle kisses
punctuating his exclamation. “You are…?”
“Ai!”
Legolas let out a breathless cry, eye lids still fluttering until they were
half open.
Thranduil
paused his ministrations to take in the pulsing of life in his son, not caring
or questioning this miraculous return. He stroked the familiar face and neck
with his fingers as if in awe, and Legolas smiled. Unable to speak Thranduil simply
shook his head.
“I
am cold,” the other murmured.
Gently
he drew Legolas’ long body to him as they lay side by side under the blanket,
cradling the head and stroking the hair that leaned in toward him. “I love you,”
Thranduil whispered, unable to keep his lips from trailing over the rewarming flesh. “I love you, not as a son,” the admittance
came in a hot breathless whisper against a pulsing artery in his neck and the
body below him gave a tremor.
“I
know. Love you too, not as a father,” Legolas murmured brokenly. “That is why I
thought I must go,”
“I
am sorry. Would you still pass if you could?”
“I
cannot. Would you deny me, Adar?”
Thranduil
gave a quiver. All he wanted, dreamed of, lay here and now after it had been so
nearly snatched away from him. “You do not need to marry,” he said slowly.
“I
could not,” Legolas’ voice was growing thick and sleepy. “Not now. That-“ he
yawned. “I know. But…what of Delumeleth?”
“Shh,” Thranduil kissed him again. “Think of her not. I will
deal with it. Rest, my Greenleaf.” As the elf in his arms went limp in sleep
Thranduil stroked the light blond hair, the slender body, treasuring the simple
rise and fall of his chest. As dawn blossomed over the mountain the king held
this new gift in his arms, uncaring of the consequences of the sins that lay
ahead.
Anwadil
nearly swallowed his tongue at the sight of his friend when Thranduil had
called him into the bedchamber the day following Legolas’ death. Again he was
given a shock when his yelp of surprise woke up the elf and Legolas cracked his
eyelids to give him the smallest of smiles. In the days that followed the two
friends spent much time together with few words exchanged, content enough to be
in the other’s silent company.
Legolas
quickly fell back into the rhythm of living in content, though the world seemed
a little more vivid to his bright eyes, the bird song seemed sweeter, and
everything became a wonder. When he was not seeing to duties he carried in
trade he spent much time with those dear to him, Enreilan, Anwadil, and
Thranduil, in that order. Enreilan seemed determined to never leave his side,
filling his ear with a constant narration of everything that was going on
around them. Anwadil was usually content to follow the pair around though he
occasionally had Legolas to himself for stretches of time. Thranduil and
Legolas spent most evenings together, reading, riding or talking together in
the quiet private of one of their chambers.
Legolas
was not sure what to make of this time spent with his Adar. He looked forward
to it throughout the day and dreaded when it ended. Things were different
between them; he could feel it in the glancing of a hand across a cheek or even
in simple eye contact. Legolas loved and hated this at the same time, knowing
the mutual feelings that were harbored would doom both of them to exile, or
worse. Yet at the same time he could not believe that what they were doing was
wrong; they were not doing anything
at all save passing time together, and what harm could there be in that?
Discontent
with the long knife that currently complimented his quiver Legolas decided to
forge a new, lighter weapon. After carefully choosing material suitable for the
blade Anwadil helped his friend heat and pound an edge to a pale white, iridescent
metal, light but immensely strong. The full tang handle was bone, heated and
polished until it shone hard and pure, inlaid with the same metal that formed
the blade and finished with a large white opal, a gift from Thranduil.
Winter
was fading away when Legolas finished his project, new green leaves peaking out
from bare branches. Legolas was sitting with Anwadil under the trees, happily
testing the balance of his creation before using a whet stone to put the
finishing edge on the long white knife.
“You
are aware,” Anwadil said gently as he looked down the shaft of an arrow he was filing,
“That Delumeleth is arriving the day after tomorrow.”
This
reminder caused Legolas to pause his strokes down the blade. “That fact had
escaped my memory.”
“You
feel no joys in the return of one you are to be bond to,” Anwadil stated,
tilting his head and looking into his friend’s eyes. “Legolas, I do not
understand. You return from the dead for what? I thought for her, though I do
not pretend to know what transpired that night. Do you not love her?”
Resuming
use of his whet stone Legolas murmured, “Mandos would not let me pass into his
halls, though I begged to pass. He said that I had not fulfilled what must be
done, though he would not tell me what. I love her, Anwadil, as a friend and
nothing more. I marry her,” Legolas sighed, “On my Adar’s request, for love of
him. But it is not yet known what will come of our intended union. Please,
speak of it not.”
“As
you wish,” Anwadil relented, somewhat reluctantly.
The
wind mingled with the songs of the trees as they sat in renewed silence for a
length of time, until Enreilan’s energetic call came resonating through the
glen.
“Legolas!
Anwadil!”
Looking
up Legolas spied Enreilan come bounding to his side, and Thranduil coming into
view at a much more modest pace than his youngest son.
Bending
over his brother’s work Enreilan smiled. “It is finished! Lovely too. I thought
a ride or hunt would be in order but perhaps you would rather put to use your
new weapon? First one to disarm the other is declared champion?” He put one
hand to the hilt of his sword looking hopeful.
Glancing
up at his father Legolas’ eyes twinkled. If
something is not done he will tear apart the forest with his boundless energy, he
thought, handing his stone to Anwadil and rising. “Very well then, but you know
I will be victorious,”
Anwadil
rose to join Thranduil at the edge of the glen, both elves wearing identical
smirks for a friendly face off between the two often proved entertaining.
Legolas’ strength was in his bow whereas Enreilan’s lay in the sword, but as
Legolas was slightly longer limbed and more experienced the two brothers were
nearly evenly matched in sparring.
Enreilan’s
movements were quick and sure but within a few strokes it became apparent that
Legolas had his brother beat. His long white knife, though unused until this
moment, proved to be the best fit of a weapon the elf had wielded yet. Barely
thirty seconds into their contest Enreilan’s sword hit the forest floor with a
thud, leaving its owner with a slightly stung wrist.
“Again,”
Enreilan demanded though he knew he was beat, and he stooped to retrieve his
weapon. “What magic did you work into that knife of yours, Legolas?”
“It,”
Legolas blocked a downward stroke, “Feels a part of me, which the old one did
not.”
“Sadly
I cannot say the same for my own choice,” Enreilan gave the slightest frown.
“You
are young,” Thranduil called from the sidelines. “You will yet find a weapon
that suits you.” The words had hardly left his lips when Enreilan gave a soft
exclamation and jumped as Legolas gave his grip a twist and forced him to let
go.
Enreilan
looked to his Adar. “I hope it is soon!”
Walking
over to the sword and hefting it Thranduil looked at it critically,
occasionally glance over to his son. “It is one of the swords that your
grandfather wielded, and he was much broader though not so tall as you,
Enreilan. I think you would do better with a slender, longer foil.” The elven
king shifted his grip and looked across to his oldest son, eyebrows raised.
“Legolas? Care to demonstrate your proficiency?”
Legolas
smirked and lunged, making an attempt to pirouette around his father in an
attempt to attack from behind, and to show off. Unfortunately for him it had
been Thranduil that had taught him that move, and the woodland king knew exactly
how to forestall it. As a slender foot hooked his ankle and pulled his leg out
from under him Legolas gasped, expecting to fall flat on his back.
At
the edge of the clearing to the sparring elves’ left Enreilan smirked good
naturedly, his brother’s quick downfall tempering his own defeat.
With
his free left arm Thranduil broke the other’s fall, wrapping under an
outstretched arm to cradle his open hand on the chest. Legolas’ mass of pale
braids and loose hair mingled with Thranduil’s own darker golden strands as the
younger elf’s head fell over his left shoulder. Feeling the heart pulsing under
his palm Thranduil had to shift a very little to whisper into the shell of
Legolas’ right ear, “Careful,” before letting his tongue dart out to glance up
the pointed tip. He then released his prisoner, throwing him forward and giving
him the momentum to do a half turn to face him.
Regaining
his balance Legolas stopped for a moment in shock, staring at his father,
trembling at the heat that raced down his spine. Do it again! He wanted to say but of course could not, and at a
prompt from Enreilan, lunged forward in a new attack.
It
had been a long time since Thranduil had had need to wield a blade, but with
many millennia of training behind him he did not forget easily. Returning his
son’s blows with an equally aggressive attack the two danced across the forest
floor, each sure of their own movements.
Thranduil’s
swipe held more power and were more calculated but Legolas was quick on his
feet and skilled in his movements, lasting longer in combat with his father
than Enreilan had with Legolas. The sound of the foils rasping against each
other was mesmerizing to him, the song of battle that made his heart quicken
and his eyes brighter. It was not often, though, that Legolas found himself in
one on one combat. In defending the forest he loved he nearly always found
himself fighting at least two at once and had grown accustomed to larger
numbers of opponents, and gradually Thranduil’s experience won out as both began
to tire.
Legolas
allowed himself several steps backward, coming flush with a large oak. His eyes
locked to his father’s before delivering a swing that swept Thranduil’s weapon
to one side, allowing the other to re gather himself for a lunge.
As
the silver white knife blade came at him Thranduil ducked and swept up to block
the attack, forcing Legolas’ arm over his head and causing him to reel back a
step from sheer force. Thranduil pounced, sword clashing against knife as he
pinned the weapon against the tree, throwing his weight against the other and
expected Legolas to drop the weapon.
Face
inches from Thranduil’s as he was pressed against the trunk Legolas glanced up
at his trapped hand and back into the eyes. Suddenly he was lost in the dilated,
dark pupils, the skin flushed from exertion and was suddenly aware of the
heaving chest pressed to his own. Letting out a gasp he let his weapon fall,
unmindful of the fact that it nearly caught their heads on the way down to the
carpet of dead leaves.
Thranduil
remained in position, mouth slightly open and panting. “Do you surrender, my
Greenleaf?” His question came in hushed breathless whisper.
There
was a moment in which Legolas gulped. “Yes,” he replied in an equally quiet
voice, holding eye contact, the other pausing another moment before stepping
back and away from the tree. Legolas felt something at the base of his stomach
trembling, leaving him unable to speak and wide eyed.
Returning
his gaze with a slightly open mouth Thranduil blinked, caught himself and put a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “Come,” he
murmured, leading his son with a hand on the small of his back to where
Enreilan and Anwadil stood. “It is your turn,” he called to Enreilan, tossing
him the sword. “Let us see you and Anwadil and give your brother and myself a
rest.”
Shrugging
and grinning Enreilan caught the weapon and bounded out into the center of the
clearing. Anwadil paused slightly, eyes lingering on
the two golden haired elves that stood beside him, before with a quick smile
and nod went out to join Enreilan.
Over
the dry sounds of metal on metal and playful banter between the two dueling
elves came the call of Alindel through the trees. Leaning toward Legolas
Thranduil apologized, “Duties call. I will see you this evening?”
Legolas
gave the slightest nod, sighing inwardly at the absence of the warm hand on his
back as Thranduil disappeared through the trees. He found himself looking
forward to their evening liaison more so than usual, having a difficult time
focusing on the task at hand which was seeing to the prisoner Gollum (after Anwadil
beat Enreilan).
The
evening meal had ended and the usual song covered the forest like a blanket
when Legolas searched the crowd of faces carefully for Thranduil. Once he was
sure he was not in the crowd the elf slipped through the great stone doors into
the mountain fortress, making his way down the softly lit twisty passages to
the door to Thranduil’s chambers. He knocked gently then without waiting for an
invitation entered.
The
woodland elf king looked up from a book, smiled, and moved over to make room on
the lounge.
With
a sigh the other elf sank into the cushions, leaning into the warmth of the
body next to him. Feeling Thranduil dropped a kiss on the top of head he lifted
his face in request for a kiss on the lips, which he was granted. “Do not
stop,” he murmured as Thranduil pulled away. “This afternoon,”
The
elf king smiled.
Legolas
gave an involuntary shiver, closing his eyes as a long hand cupped his face,
lips skimming his jaw line to his ear where they lingered, adoring. He raised
his own hand hesitantly opening his fingers on Thranduil’s neck, in awe of the
pulse he found there, by the soft skin which was all too soon obscured by the
soft green collar with a cool silver clasp at the hollow of the throat. There
was solid warm chest further down, feeling similar yet so different from his
own under his fingertips, all of this registering in his memory as a hot mouth
gently worked over his neck. Legolas moaned, bringing up both of his hands to the
chest where a rapid heart beat thudded against one palm. The warm mouth broke
contact, and Legolas whimpered and reeled forward slightly.
Thranduil
cupped the other’s face in his hands, eyes wide at the vision of Legolas: eyes
closed, cheeks brushed a gentle pink, lips slightly parted and glistening,
chest rising and falling rapidly. He ran his thumbs gently over his eyelids and
Legolas opened his eyes. “You tremble,” Thranduil murmured.
“That
I do,” Legolas’ voice quavered. Untouched he was but Legolas was not ignorant,
recognizing the burn of desire that was glowing hot within him. “That…is a
small part of…what it is to achieve…bodily union...” He leaned his forehead
against the others.
“A
small part, yes,” Thranduil whispered. “A very small part,” he whispered again,
nearly inaudible. He sat back hands still holding the fair face before him as
he looked deep into the other’s thoughts which were as plain as if Legolas had
spoken them aloud. “Do you know what you ask?”
“Yes.”
Legolas replied firmly. “I would be complete with you, and that is what I need.
You do not ask it of me for fear of persuasion, but I know you desire it as
well.”
I do, Thranduil admitted and Legolas nodded.
“But
I know what we both desire is impossible for fear of penalty upon discovery.”
Legolas snuggled his head into Thranduil’s chest. “I have pondered the thought
and it is very selfish of me and unfair to my spouse…but…if I bonded to Delumeleth…would
anyone be the wiser if there was a union between the two of us?”
Resting
his cheek on top of the other’s head Thranduil said, “I know not. I have never
heard of a bond between more than one spouse, save Muriel and Feanor. Would you
not be content to live with my kisses and my heart alone?”
“I
love you, and ask for you not out of lust for it does
not rule my mind. In boding we would share so much more than pleasure; it would
also assure us that we would be together even after death. Would you be content
to live with my kisses and heart?”
“It
does not assure all of that, Legolas,” Thranduil sighed, the thought of wraiths
slipping through his mind. He half expecting a pang of melancholy but there
came none. “You have pondered this and are sure?”
With
a resolute tilt to his chin Legolas replied, “I have, ever since Mandos sent me
back and if I must face judgment before Valar and wander Middle Earth lost
until the ending of the world, I will.”
“Your
words are bold my Greenleaf and you mind is set.” Thranduil kissed him again.
“If that is the path you would choose it is a path that I would travel with you,
even if it should lead to the ultimate consequence. Delumeleth arrives tomorrow
though she knows not what she is doomed for. A wedding date shall be set.”
Legolas
felt a terrible wrench at his conscience when Delumeleth arrived in Mirkwood,
greeting him with a small flower and a kiss on the cheek. He sat through the
celebration and song that was a formality in welcoming his betrothed and her
kin to Mirkwood, stealing glances at his father from time to time and reminding
himself of the larger plan that was in motion.
Yet
his heart would not allow him to follow through with the entire ordeal without
the slightest warning to the enthused female elf that sat beside him.
When
the eating was finished and the gathering of elves was heading for the clearing
Legolas put one hand to her shoulder. “Might I request a private audience,
perhaps in the glen from our youth?”
Looking
to the minstrels longingly Delumeleth said, “You do not wish to dance?”
“I
really must speak with you privately,”
She
sighed, and followed the elf off into the trees.
“Your
pace is swift; you do not wish to be followed,” Delumeleth hitched up her
skirts as they broke into the small clearing and followed Legolas into his
beech.
Seating
himself with his back leaned against the trunk Legolas waited until the other
had made herself comfortable in the boughs. He reached up and tugged of the
simple silver circlet that he had selected seemingly so long ago and rubbed the
indentation in his forehead, tired of the uncomfortable decoration.
“Put
it back on,”
Legolas
blinked and turned to look at her. “What?”
“It
looks nice on you; put it back on,” Delumeleth repeated, her tone amiable
enough but her command clear. When he hedged she reached over and pressed the
diadem back on Legolas’ head, smoothing the pale strands of hair around it
until she was satisfied, then sat back on her branch and smiled.
Ignoring
the discomfort Legolas cut to the matter at hand. “What do you want out of this
marriage?”
Delumeleth
looked confused. “I do not understand what you are asking,”
“Why
did you choose to marry me?” Legolas pressed. “I am sure that you are well
loved by the elves of you home-“
“This
is my home,” Delumeleth interrupted. “I was born here, in Mirkwood, and raised
here beside you.” She eyed him shrewdly. “Do you wish to break off the
betrothal?”
Making
an effort to hide his hopefulness mixed with dread Legolas said, “Is that what
you wish for?”
“Not
at all. I sought you out first, Legolas, for I have known you the longest, save
Anwadil. You are kind, intelligent, and gentle. All I could hope for in a
match.”
“Do
you love me, then? As a spouse?”
“I
love you as a friend, and I hope to grow to love you as a wife.” Delumeleth
looked at him earnestly. “I know as a match we are based on mutual consent not
romantic, passionate love. But, Legolas, I will be a faithful” - Legolas winced
- “spouse who wants nothing more but the happiness of our children.”
At
the thought of children Legolas nearly lost his balance and toppled from his
perch.
“And,”
Delumeleth continued, “I can ask no more of you than to grow with me and be my
husband. We have all of time to grow to love each other. Please, I want nothing
more than to be wed, and children. Would you think it wrong of me to ask that
of you?”
“No,”
Legolas said slowly. It seemed to him all Delumeleth wanted was to be matched
and have a husband, and who she was to be matched to seemed
secondary.
That
evening Legolas sat across from Thranduil in the seclusion of his chambers,
both with a chalice in their hand. “Delumeleth is determined to be bound and it
makes me feel ill at heart,” Legolas took a sip. “And I am determined to follow
through, for what lies after.”
Thranduil
licked his lips slowly. “You are convinced, my Greenleaf, that you would not be
satisfied to live with no more than my kisses and my heart?”
“If
you allow it, I would have all of you.”
The
young bride to be had been keen on spending as much time with her betrothed as
possible, hoping to take their friendship into the next step before the
wedding. That had gone over smoothly enough with Legolas for the first few
days; after all, if things were to be the way he planned he knew that there had
to be some way he must come to love and respect her.
Then
she had started leaning on his arm at the most inopportune moments (such as
when he needed his bow arm), or tucking flowers in every place she could reach.
The final straw came when, one starlit night after a long ride through the
forest, they had been crossing the bridge to the great stone doors leading into
the main hall of the mountain.
Delumeleth
had stopped Legolas in the middle of the bridge, embraced him, and began to
sing into his ear of Nimrodel. Legolas had put forth his best effort to return
her ardor, but in truth the amorous feelings between himself and Delumeleth
(who was no more than a dear friend to him yet) made him feel extremely out of
place. Then came gentle kisses on his cheek, nearing
his mouth and startling the poor elf so much he nearly lost his balance and
plunged into the river below.
“You
do not love me!” Delumeleth had cried sounding slightly hysterical, stepping
back as Legolas teetered on the edge of the bridge.
“Delumeleth!” Legolas said trying in vain to push aside
the memory of every single kiss Thranduil had ever bestowed on him and regain
his balance at the same time. “You caught me off guard! That is all! And we
have all the time in Arda to cement a relationship…after the wedding.” He took one look at her eyes which shone with
hurt and rejection, sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “We are both tired. Come,
let us go to bed and forget this,”
But
in the days that followed Legolas fled her company as often as he was able.
After
a slight tearful confrontation on Delumeleth’s part they reached a compromise,
part of which involved Legolas spending his evenings with Delumeleth. He did
not find her company adverse, as when she was not touching him it was like old
times of pure and innocent friendship; it was the excess of her company and the
absence of Thranduil’s that altogether he found smothering. Gradually the
thought of a life time of ducking and weaving to see Thranduil and avoiding Delumeleth
became unbearable.
And
so Legolas passed the remainder of his betrothal feeling slightly miserable,
living only for the time he was able to steal away with Thranduil. “She uses me
for the illusion of blissful married life and I use her for…” he sighed, and
Mithlilien whickered as Thranduil and Legolas rode through the depths of
Mirkwood the afternoon before the wedding. “So I suppose we are on equally
deceitful footing,”
“I
think you are-“
“-Trying
to appease a guilty conscience?” Legolas interrupted. “Perhaps. But she will be
getting what she desires as will I. Still, I wish there was another way; a way
in which we do not risk breaking the heart of one so hopeful.”
“As
do I,” Thranduil pushed a side a slender branch to clear a path as they rode
through the woods. “But love makes fools of us all.” In a gentle voice Thranduil
asked, “You would not content yourself to live with my kisses and my heart alone?”
Legolas lowered his head. “You ask me three
times now,”
“Do you doubt my affections?”
“I question your motive behind them, yes,
but I have but to look into your eyes and any doubt I harbor is gone.”
“My Greenleaf,” he murmured. “I love you
more than I have any before, but if you were content to keep your body for
yourself and not marry Delumeleth, then you may simply live a life of
bachelorhood.”
“But I want all of you. Should that that be
my choice I would leave your presence forever to seek what Mandos sent me back
for and…No, I would rather live a doomed existence in secret than a pure one in
the light.”
“As I have said before it is a path I would
follow you on.”
On
the first of Laer [June 1] Legolas and Delumeleth were wed under the trees of
Mirkwood.
Legolas
had anticipated the day with mixed feelings, part of him wanting nothing more
for it to be over so he could carry out his plan, and part of him wishing that
the day would never come to avoid the troubles his plan may bring. He tolerated
the fussing and the traditions with outward placidity and inward resentment,
socializing with Delumeleth’s parents as he was required.
Before
the exchange of the rings Thranduil embraced his son. “Come to me when you are
ready,” he whispered, head turned in the crook of his arm to hide the gentle
fleeting kiss he bestowed on the listening ear.
Fighting
the urge to go limp with want and melt on the spot Legolas gave a slight nod
and Thranduil released him.
The
remainder of the wedding feast was long for Legolas. To his right sat Delumeleth
and his left was Enreilan; both were absorbed in conversation with the others
around him. He sat placidly, poking at his food idly as Anwadil gave him
curious glances from across him at table, glancing often to the head of the table
to where his Adar sat with Alindel and Delumeleth’s parents.
Thranduil
frequently held his gaze for as long as he dared, willing him silently to be
patient in promise of what was to come.
The
exchange of bands had been tense and emptily painful for both of them. Setting
down his sliver fork Legolas twisted the gold band fitfully, half convinced
that his façade of marriage would bring fire and wrath of the Valar upon his
head and half convinced that if he should get through the remainder of this day
the reward for his falsehood would be worth all that he suffered through now.
At
long last the sun began to sink slowly below the tree line and Legolas was able
to escape from the mass of merriment. As Delumeleth led him away through the
trees toward the mountain Legolas threw a long glance over his shoulder.
From
the head of the table Thranduil caught his eyes, a strange light in them.
Relieved
as he was to be away from the joyful celebration Legolas found himself
confronted with a new problem as he was led to his room and Delumeleth shut the
door behind them. She looked at him.
He
stared back, the notion of the completion of their marriage registering
somewhere in the back of his mind.
Delumeleth
crossed the room to the bed, sat on it, and fixed her gaze on him again.
Legolas
had the strangest feeling that this is what it would feel like to be staring
down the shaft of an arrow pointed between his eyes. He swallowed, making an
effort to picture another elf – a golden haired elf – waiting for him. This is what I must do. This is the way that
it must be. His mental tirade continued for long moments as his heart began
to throb painfully in his chest, unable to move forward and unable to turn and
flee.
As
he stood rooted to the spot Delumeleth, looking both nervous and exasperated,
unlaced her dress.
The
chiffon hit the floor and suddenly the realization of sharing his body so
intimately while caught up in a lie made Legolas flinch, and he took an
involuntary step backward, closing his eyes.
Hurt
registered strongly across Delumeleth’s features and she blanched, drawing her
knees to her chin and wrapping her arms about her self protectively.
There
was no need for words.
Legolas
turned, opening the door quickly and fleeing down the hall.
As
many times as he had made the trek from his own chambers to his father’s
Legolas felt as if this was the longest he had ever taken. Not pausing to knock
when he reached the great oaken door he turned the handle and threw it wide, to
reveal a shocked looking Thranduil and Alindel, sitting across from each other,
a flagon in between them.
“Legolas,”
Thranduil said quietly.
“I
must speak to you alone,” Legolas burst out, looked wildly over to the advisor
then back at Thranduil.
Eyes
still on his son Thranduil said gently to Alindel, “Wait for me outside, my
friend.”
Looking
confused and slightly worried Alindel complied nonetheless, rising slowly and
exiting the room silently, latching the door shut behind him.
Pressing
his shaking knees together Legolas dropped onto a nearby chair. “I could not do
it,” he revealed as Thranduil came and perched on the arm of the chair, one arm
in a half caress around the other. “I know not what to do now but I know I
cannot follow through with Delumeleth.”
Thranduil
nodded.
Bringing
one hand up to curl around a fold of Thranduil’s soft grey leggings, Legolas
leaned into the other’s warm body. “And I feel I need all of you more than
ever. I know not what to do.”
Again
the woodland king was silent, stroking Legolas’ soft blond hair with his
fingertips, turning over options in his mind.
“I
care not anymore. I need to be complete,” Legolas whispered again, closing his
eyes and giving a slight quiver.
“You
would refuse to remain unwed and single for the remainder of you time on Middle
Earth?”
“Yes.
But -”
“Hush,”
Thranduil placed his hand over his mouth. “Very well, my Greenleaf. Then you
shall be completed tonight,” he murmured, leaned down and dropped a gentle kiss
on Legolas’ mouth. “Though I know not what morning shall bring when it is know
that it was not Delumeleth who completed you.” There was a long moment in which
neither elf spoke. “But first, someone must speak to her, for I am sure the
state of heart and mind you left her in was less than serene.”
Legolas
nodded, eyes closed, arms wrapped around his Adar’s.
Giving
the other a final caress Thranduil rose, firmly but lovingly removed his
clinging son, and opened the door, ushering Legolas through.
Seeing
the other two emerge Alindel rose from his sitting position, watching Legolas
go solemnly by, the younger elf unable to meet his eyes. The advisor looked
back to his friend and king, and Thranduil shook his head back and forth ever
so slightly.
The
door to Legolas’ chambers stood slightly ajar. Stopping the other two outside
the door Legolas turned to Thranduil and said quietly, “Let me speak to her,”
He
found Delumeleth exactly where he left her only now she was wrapped in a
dressing gown, sitting on the bed with her knees drawn to her chin, staring at
the candelabra on the wall. She did not turn her head to look at him when he
shut the door behind him and leaned against it. Legolas swallowed hard, a long
awkward silence turning into increasingly uncomfortable minutes. “Delumeleth,
I…” he swallowed again. “I let things go too far. I am sorry.” There was a long
silence. Legolas found Delumeleth’s lack of emotion worse than if she had gone
into hysterics. “I…I do not deserve to ask for your forgiveness.”
She
gave what sounded like a harsh laugh and shook her head. “You are a great
friend, Legolas Greenleaf, but…” Delumeleth let her voice trail off and she
shook her head again. “I came to Mirkwood to be married…” Her countenance
changed. In a voice unassuming, wrought only with disappointment, Delumeleth
asked, “All I wanted was to be married and have children. You could not have
seen that through, and come to love your children even if you never come to
love me?”
“It
is not what I want,” Legolas said. “I feel my path is something different. Very
different. Stay here for as long as you see fit,” Legolas continued quietly. “I
feel terrible…but I could not be the husband or the father you seek.”
“Perhaps
it is for the best, then, you are telling me.”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps
you are right…No, I know you are right.”
There
was another pregnant pause.
“Sleep
here. I have disrupted your life for far too long,” Legolas turned to go. His
hand was on the doorknob when Delumeleth finally turned and called after him,
“Legolas,”
He
turned.
Delumeleth
looked as if she were struggling with herself. “I bear no ill will on my part.”
Legolas
closed the bedroom door, stepping into the dim hall where Alindel and Thranduil
waited. “She and I are at peace,” he said, looking from one to the other.
“What
will you do with your life now, Legolas?” Alindel inquired kindly. “For your
plans have changed greatly,”
With
the slightest of smirks that was detected only by Thranduil Legolas replied, “I
know not what the next morning brings, and that is what the Valar intend.”
“If
you would be so good as to wait for me in my chamber,” Thranduil murmured to Legolas,
“We have many things to discuss.”
Ducking
his head to avoid having to look Alindel in the eye Legolas padded off down the
hall.
“Are
you upset?” Alindel said, preparing himself for a rant.
“In
my heart, my friend,” Thranduil sighed. “I know this is for the best.”
As
the two stood there the door opened and, clutching her robe about her Delumeleth
emerged. She looked taken aback to see the elves standing before her but she smiled
faintly and said, “You know.” With a slight bow to Thranduil she thanked him
for his hospitality and, like Legolas had done, the Mirkwood king requested her
to stay for as long as she wished.
“Thank
you,” she had replied, and hastened away to seek comfort in the ear of a friend
before informing her parents.
“Legolas
will have much to contend with in the morning,” Alindel murmured as Delumeleth
rounded a turn and vanished from sight. “As will you.”
That shall be the least of his worries, and
oh! The irony in that statement! Thranduil thought grimly to himself, but all
he did was nod.
The
forest was growing quiet again as the stars came out, the festivities finished,
and Alindel bid his friend goodnight. “Would you need my council tomorrow at
first light to tie up the ends of this mess?”
“Perhaps,”
Thranduil rubbed his forehead. He did not want to think already of the events
that the next day would bring. “There really is no rush in such matters.”
“Go
to your son,” Alindel bid him. “I will attend to matters at hand,”
As
he made his way to his rooms Thranduil pushed aside all trepidation that would
follow in the morning due to what was to come that night. He stopped in front
of the great door, sighed, and let himself in. He shut the door firmly behind
him, locked it, and turned.
Wrapped
in a loose, silky robe Legolas sat propped up against the pillows, knees bent
supporting the book he was reading. He turned to look at Thranduil, eyes wide
both patient and eager at the same time, loose hair tumbling over his shoulder
as he shut the book and set it aside. Sitting up, he pursed trembling lips,
bringing his fingertips up to the collar to undo the first clasp.
“Patience,”
Thranduil murmured, crossing the room and sitting on the edge of the bed. He
cupped the face as he so often did in his hands, kissing his lips as he had
done before. Yet it was all different this time; Legolas was glowing with
anticipation mixed with a slight fear of the unknown, and awash with
unconditional love. “Lay back, my Greenleaf,”
Legolas
complied, eyes never leaving the other.
After
shedding his tunic Thranduil ran one hand from caressing a high cheek bone to
the opening of the robe, slowly unhooking the meticulously wrought clasps.
Closing
his eyes and leaning back into downy softness Legolas slipped into the
completion he had longed for. The gentlest of kisses, hands dancing over his
skin, the strong body that fit into his arms only, the wonderful sensations
blurring his mind until coherent thoughts were impossible. The new wonder that
was Thranduil’s body, the touching, the reward of the other’s gasp of pleasure,
the new wonder that was his own body that was coming alive like he had never
known before.
“Ai!”
A
cry of delight, permeating the rustle of the sheets as their bodies shifted to
bring mouths close, exhaling hot soft breaths over slightly parted lips. There
was only rhythm now, the scent of their mingling bodies, and the tickling
whisper of long hair flowing over bare skin.
Thranduil
heard the gasps of the other become quicker, shallower, felt muscles tensing
beneath his own, saw the head slowly falling back and emitting an urgent cry as
the elf under him came to orgasm. He kissed Legolas gently, who was trembling
in his aftermath. “Sweet one,”
That
night neither elf slept, unsure of anything except that dawn would come whether
they wanted it to or not. The two lay in an entangled heap of bare limbs and
bed sheets, Legolas’ head resting in the niche of Thranduil’s neck as the Mirkwood
king absent mindedly stroke his hair. Reaching out with his thoughts to his
newly bonded partner for the first time Legolas questioned, What will become of us?
I know not.
Legolas did not reply. Instead he rose,
stretching his long limbs slowly and dressing. “I am restless…I can conceal the
truth no longer!”
With
an amused smirk that hid his dread Thranduil inquired, “You would do what; step
out into the hall and call out our liaison at the top of your voice?”
“I
will attend breakfast as usual and wait and see what will happen when someone
notices. You would come with me?”
Being
an informal affair breakfast was already well under way when the two golden
haired elves joined the rest of their kin, pointedly sitting side by side.
Legolas
expected trepidation and apprehension to knot his stomach so tight he would be
unable to swallow as he reached for a piece of fresh bread. Instead he found a
rush of adrenalin thrilling though his body at the thought of what may come if
his union with the one who sat beside him was ever brought to light, which it
certainly would to the first who looked him in the eye. Boldly he tilted his
chin up to stare at the elf seated across from him, daring him to proclaim to
all of Mirkwood of the sins between their leader and his son.
Seated
directly across from Legolas was Anwadil but his friend merely smiled at him
and said, “Your life has changed greatly,” before turning the topic of
conversation to an explanation of Delumeleth’s absence at the breakfast table.
Next
to Anwadil was Alindel, who had finished his meal of fresh berries and was
talking in a quiet voice to Thranduil, who had his eyebrows raised with an
expression of surprise on his face. The advisor turned his head, looked into
Legolas’ eyes, and smiled. Then he turned back to Anwadil, whispered something
in his ear, and Anwadil turned to look Legolas in the face and he nodded and smiled
too.
My Greenleaf, Thranduil’s thoughts whispered in his mind, Are you trying to attract lightening?
I feign and abhor this waiting for the blow
to fall! Why do they speak of it not? Worse, why do they smile?
Anwadil
reached across the table, lightly touching his friend’s long hand. “Legolas,”
The
elf gave a slight nod.
“Delumeleth
and her family hold no grudge against you for your decision,” Anwadil stroked
the hand warmly, before pulling back and surveying his face with thought. “Yes,
Adar was right,”
“About
what,” Legolas said flatly.
“About
your eyes. Adar told me of last night, concerning you and your Adar. Your new
endeavor would prove to be the wiser. Oh, Legolas, to your own flesh and
blood…it is unheard of but such a credit to your Adar!” Anwadil smiled again.
Your Adar told you about last night?! Legolas nearly fell from his seat at the
thought of Alindel being held privy to the events of the previous night. “Yes,”
he finally said, ready to shout the news to the sky above, taking hold of a
table knife, “I bonded to my own flesh and blood last-“ his tirade was broken
off when Thranduil took him by the wrist and led him nearly forcefully from the
table.
“What-“
Shh. I will explain this unexpected boon. Thranduil let him to a small private room
and shut the door, locking it magically* behind him. He took the other’s face
in his hands, eyes shining. “Legolas,” he whispered, “They misunderstand!”
Confused
Legolas replied, “As do I! Adar, they see a bonding in my eyes and yours yet
know that no such marriage has taken place…Alindel knows of last night! How…?”
he sputtered, hands gesturing. “I expected them to come at us with table knives
and animosity instead of happiness and smiles to drive us sinners from
Mirkwood!”
“No,
no,” Thranduil shook his head violently, barely able to conceal his joy. “Legolas,
do you know what Alindel said to me at table?” Without waiting for an answer he
pressed on, “He said how rare it was that a bond of servitude was so evident in
your eyes; that your ties to your household must be strong indeed. Do you not
see?”
The
pieces of the puzzle began to fall together. “He thinks,” Legolas said slowly,
“That I have sworn oath to serve my household? That that is why I forsake
marriage**?” He let out the breath he had been holding, suddenly feeling weak
in the knees. “Truly, I was certain that you and I would not live to see
another dawn in retribution for our crime!”
“Does
this turn of events make you happy, my Greenleaf?” Thranduil was suddenly
pensive, his eyes soft with care as he looked at his son. “You went to
breakfast with the light of battle in your eyes, ready to proclaim your bond
before all without apology.”
In
amazement Legolas shook his head giving a short, rueful laugh. “I-I had
determined myself to be content with twelve hours of bonding only…It would seem
fate has smiled upon us. I had not even given thought as to life after our bond
for I assumed there would be none.”
The
journal began to hold more secrets. The black ink shone brightly before drying
to two dimensional tale that fell deeper and deeper into sin:
He
was beautiful. He still is. So much to teach him, so much for me to learn as
well as we explore our bodies, each others bodies. His body is mine and mine is
his when we are in union. It is the same every time he peaks though…he starts
to tremble, his hands come up to grip my shoulders or cup my face while crying
out softly, and his soul becomes one with my own. I can feel every heartbeat,
every breath, every aspect of his body. After only a few nights I know him as I
know myself.
In
time, Thranduil and Legolas grew proficient at slipping through the halls at
night to see the other, none seeming to notice an empty bed the next morning.
True to their façade, Legolas fell into duties that were fit to his position
though they were hardly a variation from his previous obligations.
“Really,
day to day life remains relatively unchanged,” Legolas commented as he and Anwadil
stood guard at the base of the tree that Gollum had become accustomed to
climbing.
“Your
decision surprised me greatly,” Anwadil raised his eyes to the gangly creature.
“Ai, he reeks.”
Far
up in the branches Gollum, hearing his complaint, narrowed his eyes at the
elves and hissed.
Turning
back to his friend Anwadil continued, “But I am glad, for you seem happier than
I have seen you in a very long time.”
The
day wore on, wind carrying the songs of nature and the elves far off into the
distance. But through the song there was the scent of danger that did not go unnoticed
by the two elves that continued to stand guard. Legolas narrowed his eyes in
apprehension at the gangly creature high in the branches above them, watching
carefully as the repugnant face blinked his lamp like eyes owlishly in the
bright sun toward the Misty
Mountains. The elf did not like this change in
countenance; instead of his usual stream of moaning he seemed cunning and
strangely content. “Sméagol,” he called. “The shadows grow long and night
approaches. It is time to return,”
Sméagol sneered and spat.
Legolas
glanced sideways at Anwadil who in turn called for him to come down.
The
creature refused, and at a loss the elves had nothing to do except wait as
neither were of a mind to climb up and haul him down bodily.
Night
began to blanket the forest, and despite the safety of his Adar’s spells Legolas
was glad for the quiver on his back and the knife at his side. “The moon hides
her face this night,” he said sadly, for there were no moon or stars to cast
silvery filters down through the trees.
“Yet
it is still lovely a night,” came a voice from behind him.
Legolas
and Anwadil rose and turned to see Sildor, Saelbeth’s brother, standing at the
edge of the clearing with five other elves.
“We
were sent to relieve you of your watch,” said Sildor. “And your Adar asked me
to send you to him when your watch is finished.”
Catching
the other’s arm in a firm squeeze as he passed Legolas said in a low warning:
“Take care; something stirs in the night that does not bode well.” He frowned
and looked to the sky, then up to where Sméagol clung to the uppermost branches,
head still turned to the Misty Mountains.
“I
can feel it,” Sildor agreed solemnly, and led his procession to the base of the
tree.
Without
a doubt, there was trouble stirring in Mirkwood.
Quiver
still slung on is back and knife still at his side Legolas pushed open the door
to Thranduil’s chamber.
Hearing
him enter Thranduil rose quickly, crossing the room and embracing the other.
Slightly
surprised Legolas returned the caress, turning his face into the length of the
dark golden hair that cascade down other’s back. He inhaled the fragrance,
feeling a heartbeat pressed to his own as he probed gently with his thoughts
inquiringly into the soul of the woodland king, finding fear. “What is it?” he
murmured, as Thranduil released him and reached up to cup his face as he was
accustomed to doing.
Thranduil
gave a small smile. “Perhaps you would think it foolish,” he said. “But…I was waiting
here and something whispered to my heart that you were in danger. You and Anwadil
had not returned from you duties; strange as night had fallen. Naturally I
wanted to call you to me as soon as possible.”
Eye
narrowing Legolas agreed. “I shall be glad when we are rid of the creature we
keep only for our friendship of Mithrandir. Something stirs in the dark that
does not bode well; the spies of the Enemy are many and everywhere.”
For
a moment a shadow crossed Thranduil’s face but he shook his head and smiled,
feeling Legolas lean into his caress.
The
oaken door was thrown wide to reveal Enreilan on the other side. “Adar, Legolas,”
he said tersely, “Yrch [orc]! Out in the clearing!” With that he was gone.
Thranduil
paced in the great entrance hall, irritated. Occasionally he would stop, clear
the anger from his mind, and reach out with his heart. Yes, he sensed, Legolas was
still alive though he was much occupied at the moment with his bow. The
woodland king had prepared for battle and had just reached the great stone
doors a footstep behind his sons, sword in hand, when Alindel had caught up to
him.
The
advisor had not thought it wise for both Thranduil and his sons to go off into
battle, and had begged, then insisted that his friend stayed.
Thranduil
had protested and this caused a brief row, in which Thranduil knew in his heart
the other was right but through his stubbornness would never bring himself to
admit it aloud. And though he had no doubt in either of his sons’ skills in
combat the thought of especially Legolas…the elf shook his head violently to
himself and willed his thoughts toward other things.
It
was midnight when the warriors started to return. Four
of the three guards had been slain in the first surprise attack and two were
missing, as was Gollum.
“It
was a planned attack not on our people of the wood but for the escape of the
creature,” Legolas had said grimly to as he made his way slowly through the
door, an injured elf on his arm. He handed the other off to be assisted and
turned to Thranduil and Alindel who waited tersely for an account. “Enreilan is
leading a tracking party as we speak; they left as soon as the last of the yrch
had been slain. Though the trail is an hour old for they took the elves and
Gollum and fled while more yrch arrived to prohibit us from following or even
realizing they were gone.” He sighed and rubbed his forehead, looking
distressed.
All the guards that stood there that night
were taken or slain? Thranduil
asked grimly, and Legolas gave him a slight nod. The elf king let out a great
exhale, hedged, then reached out to touch Legolas’ face, with pursed lips. He
never worried about the safety of his sons. He had never had to, but neither
had he come close to losing either of him in battle.
“I
would think it best,” Legolas said quietly, “If I left tomorrow to follow and
help Enreilan.”
At
sunrise the next morning Legolas left the mountain fortress with a parting kiss
on the forehead from Thranduil to join his brother and friends in their hunt.
As
time passed Legolas his heart was growing heavier with apprehension for every
step took them deeper into Southern
Mirkwood, where
darkness and fear hung heavy in the still air between the trees. Trepidation
was growing among the group of elves; their trek had so far proved fruitless
and long, stretching into Iavas [the beginning of October]. The
trail had been lost and found multiple times until they were beginning to doubt
even their superior tracking skills, and they were drawing nearer and nearer to
Dol Guldur.
The
party of elves stopped briefly to hold conference at high noon, debating
whether or not to continue on the chase or return home. Saelbeth was
emotionally tied to their mission as his brother had been taken, and he was
embittered at the thought of giving up pursuit. But the rest of the party felt
that their search had become futile and at length, with great personal pain,
Saelbeth agreed to return to Northern
Mirkwood.
Upon
arriving home it was decided swiftly that Mithrandir and Aragorn should be
informed of the escape of their prisoner. In his façade of family service
Legolas left for Imladris in hopes of finding Aragorn there and taking others
with him, among them Saelbeth in hopes of distracting the grieving elf.
“But
take care of his heart,” Thranduil had whispered to him in a surreptitious
good-bye kiss.
And
so, as the summer green leaves turned into a collage of yellows, oranges, and
reds, the Mirkwood King waited patiently for the return of his beloved and news
from Imladris.
At
the end of Firith [in the middle of November] Legolas and his party of Mirkwood
elves returned briefly, in hopes of finding newer tidings of Gollum’s
whereabouts. Yet there was a change in Legolas’ countenance he was more pensive
during their greeting upon their arrival and requested urgently to meet with
the elven king alone.
Enreilan
walked with his brother and Adar to the bedchamber door, conversing warmly with
Legolas, whom he had missed. He paused when they reached their destination,
embraced Legolas, and said again how he had missed him and how glad he was that
Legolas was back.
At
the last comment Legolas’ mouth twitched into a half smile that was not un-noticed
by Thranduil.
“Your
stay will be brief,” he said immediately, once they were alone. He ran one
finger down the other’s jaw line. “When will you leave again, and how long?”
“I
know not. Tell no one what I am about to tell you,” Legolas took the exploring
hand into both of his own and held Thranduil’s eyes in his own gravely. He
hesitated slightly. “Of this it is certain: the One Ring has been found, in the
possession of a Halfling for many, many years.”
Thranduil
shuddered and fear crossed his features. He would not soon forget the strife or
the battles at the end of the Second Age, the battle of the Last Alliance that
had seen the slaughter of his people and the death of his own Adar. “What is to
be done with it?” He asked hoarsely.
Without
looking up at the woodland king, Legolas said simply, “Mandos sent me back to
fulfill a purpose, which until now was unknown to me. This is what I must do,
what I was sent back to do: leave from the House of Elrond, and accompany this
Halfling, with the ring, on whatever may follow.”
Fear
of the safety of one he loved above all else made the Mirkwood king fall
silent.
Sensing
the apprehension Legolas drew the other into his arms, gentle reassuring kisses
turning into returned kisses of ardor, then of desire. Kisses of desire turned
into bare skin, skillful hands working over heated flesh in trails they already
knew so well.
Thranduil
leaned into the slender body beneath him that writhed deliriously in pleasure,
sensing the pulse of Legolas’ soul melting into his own as he reached out with
his own heart. Before Legolas’ departure he had watched the other unconsciously
smooth his hands over his abdomen, he knew the other’s soul and body as well as
his own and had been attentive to the subtle physical changes that had been
taking place in the last few months.
At
first the elf king had thought himself mad. Males did not bear children, he
told himself. It is unheard of!
Yet
as time passed there was no mistaking the growing signs. He doubted it until
when, with their bodies and souls joined in the intimate union, Thranduil could
sense the pulse of a third soul deep within the core of his beloved Legolas’. Realization
washed over him as climax came for the both of them, Thranduil’s hands alighting
on the other’s abdomen and crying out, “Ai, Legolas! A child!”
Legolas
went slack in the repercussions, head falling back, eyes closed. “Yes,” he
admitted after several pounding heartbeats. “…I-I thought myself mistaken for a
long time, and did some secret reading in Lord Elrond’s library. There is no
record of child bearing in males, but the physical manifestations of early
pregnancy that are normally seen in females are upon me; of this I am certain.
And,” he put his hands over Thranduil’s, which still rested on his belly. “Once
I suspected it I could then feel it…oh…feel her.” Legolas smiled and Thranduil
shook his head in disbelief. “I came to realize and be glad of it during my
absence.”
“Your
absence,” Thranduil was then silent, lips trailing along the high forehead to
linger on the silky hairline in a gesture of affection, and Legolas could feel
his sadness.
“It
is what Mandos called me back to do; to go with this Halfling,” Legolas said.
“I cannot believe that the Valar has blessed us so to not see this child
through.”
“A
blessing or curse?” The Mirkwood king’s face fell. Blessed? Sweet one, it is a blessing that shall mean discovery and the
death for the three of us. You do not think that you shall stay flat and
slender in the year to come do you? Ai, what shall we do?
Legolas
snuggled his face into Thranduil’s neck. “I have thought long on the subject…I
am not afraid of discovery,” he said resolutely. “When the day comes when I am
round enough to accuse, when someone puts together the pieces and makes ready
to bring me to judgment before you, I shall take was is to come without
complaint. But there is something you must do.”
Thranduil
was silent.
“You
must not take the fall with me. Remain king and banish me instead of execution
or the like and the child could be born. If it were the both of us to share the
blame we might not see mercy or birth.”
“You
truly think that whoever should take the crown in my stead – Enreilan most
likely – would not be merciful? You think so ill of your brother?”
“Enreilan
flies to anger easily and may make rash decisions in his anger, though he may
regret them after.” Legolas raised his eyebrows at Thranduil with look of mild
amusement. “You and Enreilan are not so different.”
“But
where would you go?”
Legolas
looked troubled. “The Lord of Imladris is both kind and fair, and an excellent
healer,” he said slowly. “I will be hard pressed to forget that place…I would
think he would not be so cruel as to turn away a babe, even though he would
seek to punish the sinner that sired her.”
“If
he knew.” Thranduil did not care much for this plan but he had not pondered the
subject at hand. For now, let us dwell on
the joy that is at hand. He kissed Legolas again, and the elves smiled.
The
night before Legolas’ return to Imladris, Thranduil slipped from his shared bed
into the secret of the dark night and made his way to the paddock where
Mithlilien and his companions rested.
The
grey gelding eyed the elf warily as he approached.
Thranduil
made his way across the dewy grass and stroked the animal’s nose. “Can I trust
you, swift one? Will you let me on your back as you do my Legolas, and help me
in this mission?”
Mithlilien
seemed to consider this proposition.
With
care, the elf eased himself onto the grey back, and Mithlilien made a soft
noise of consent through his nose. “To the Misty Mountains,” Thranduil whispered into the pricked ears,
“And with all haste if we are to be back by sunrise.”
His
secret excursion into the deep of the night deprived him of all rest, but the
Mirkwood king was able to bid a normal good bye to Legolas as he left for
Imladris the following morning.
Mithlilien
was testier than usual but held his own part of the secret well, especially
when he received a pat and a parting apple from Thranduil who whispered,
“Forget not that path through the forest…And take care of the elf that you
bear.”
Beside
him Legolas, Enreilan, and Anwadil exchanged friendly banter, oblivious to the
exchanged between elven king and horse. But as Legolas nudged Mithlilien
forward he let his hand linger on Thranduil’s shoulder and held his gaze for a
few lingering heart beats before Mithlilien broke into a canter and they sped
off.
May Elbereth guide you, my Greenleaf.
And
so, under the trees of Mirkwood, the king of the Silvan elves waited, trusting
only the call and answer of his heart to ensure him of the safety of his
beloved. He ventured alone out into the Misty Mountains on his secret mission twice more, but
without the exceptional speed of Mithlilien his trips were slower which drew
more attention to them than Thranduil would have cared for.
Winter
came and passed slowly, and early spring brought evil to the elves of Mirkwood
and Lorien. The battle was long, the destruction was great, but as spring
blossomed into full strength elves found themselves victorious.
More
than once, even through the plight, Thranduil felt a whisper in his soul and
smiled to himself as Legolas reached out to touch him over the distance, and
the elven king was at peace knowing he was alive. The quiet evenings were when
Thranduil felt Legolas’ absence the keenest. He had taken to confiding in the
small black volume, his journal, which held the evolving story of sin:
I
worry. My Legolas in the thick of the battle that determines the fate of Middle
Earth…and he carries a child!
The
journal held all in silence, opening willingly to the troubled elf’s emotions
but the pages held no discretion when it came to disclosing the secrets of the
Mirkwood king.
Early
fall of the following year brought Legolas’ return.
Thranduil
had been exchanging pensive words with the captain of the guards when the
fortress doors were swung wide and Mithlilien, bearing Legolas, came trotting
through the doors.
Legolas
could have been said to dismount a little less lithely than he had in the past,
but this went unnoticed as Thranduil broke off his conversation to greet his
return.
“My
sweet one,” he said in a low voice, indiscernible to the others present. “You
are safe?”
“We
are,” Legolas whispered, taking the other in long, warm embrace.
With
joy mingling with dread Thranduil noted the insistent round stomach that was
pressed to his own. Pulling back he eyed the elf carefully. Yes, Legolas had a
belly.
It will not be long now, Legolas broke into his thoughts, and
Thranduil nodded slightly in agreement.
“I
know not what shall happen,” Legolas whispered that night, their long slender
bodies pressed together in the secret confines of Legolas’ chambers. “My first
thought was to go to Imladris, for Lord Elrond’s
skills in the art of healing would be most useful. Or I could perhaps seek out
the refuge of Gimli.”
Thranduil
licked his lips. His opinion of dwarves would not change over night, but
Legolas many and long tales involving his newest and greatest friend had hushed
his malcontent. “We can only wait.”
As
fall progressed Legolas’ swelling increased at a rapid pace, and it could no
longer be concealed though nothing was said at length. One afternoon in Firith
(end of November) Legolas and Anwadil sat in the great hall, picking at a
generous spread of cheese, bread, and dried fruit. Legolas was smoothing his
long hands over his round belly which protruded obstinately from his otherwise
slender body.
Puzzlement
had been growing among the elves of Mirkwood for quite sometime, and in the
quiet of this afternoon, Anwadil’s peaked. “Legolas,”
he said in a strange voice, reaching over and taking Legolas’ long hand in his
own. “Oh!” he cried, temporarily distracted. “It...you…are
so hard!” Anwadil withdrew his hand slightly, then curiosity prompted him to open his hand and cup the
round stomach.
This
was the moment of confrontation and truth Legolas had anticipated for quite
some time. He let his breath out slowly. “Yes. It is hard.”
Brows
knitting Anwadil asked, “Are you ill? What is it?”
“My
friend,” Legolas exclaimed, suddenly passionate. “…You are my friend, are you
not?”
Anwadil was confused, and knit his eyebrows. “Of
course. What would make you ask such a thing?”
Eyes
growing wide Legolas gripped his Anwadil’s arm. “What
do you think it is?” He said urgently, chin ducked, eyes earnest. “What do you
think it is?”
Anwadil made an exasperated noise. “I…” his voice trailed off,
shrugging.
Legolas,
squeaked, swallowed, and said, “Do you believe in punishment of the Valar?”
“What
kind of a question is that?”
“Do
you believe that…do you know males could bear children?”
The
secret was out. Legolas felt the beginning of the end as the truth came to
light.
“…”
With a look of disbelief Anwadil slouched against the
wall. “You…are punished? Pregnant?”
“Pregnant…Do
you…?”
“I…do
not understand.” Anwadil closed his eyes tightly,
hands clenching around Legolas’, shaking his head back and forth very fast.
“I…I…understand…No...You…how?” His voice died down,
his eyes opened, and he looked into Legolas’ face and murmured, “Who?”
“One
I love. Do you hate me?” Legolas said softly. “Do you think me…evil?”
“No!”
Anwadil said immediately.
Legolas
smiled. “I am glad. I know not what will happen. I was…still am…afraid of the
ramifications of my actions. I am afraid…the Day of Begetting is but a few days
from now. It will not be long at all, Anwadil, and I
am afraid.”
“I’ll
take care of you,” Anwadil laughed softly and nervously as he put his arms
around his friend. “I care not who. You are not evil, no matter who you…” He
broke off, shook his head, and turned Legolas’ face toward him. “I know not
what happened during your excursions of this year. I will not ask any
information.” He leaned is head into Legolas’ shoulder, and rubbed the round
hard stomach. “I will make everything
all right.”
At
the other end of the great hall Enreilan leaned in a door way, eyes narrowed.
He saw his brother, fair hair mingling with the chestnut lengths of his friend
as Anwadil held the troubled elf, stroking his round hard belly, the two
rocking back and forth in their caress slightly.
Enreilan
had held his tongue as he watched Legolas grow rounder and rounder. He had
wondered why for the longest time, having only seen such roundness in pregnant
females only, and growing suspicion mingled with logical doubt. But he had not
forgotten the secret Legolas had confided to him not so long ago, and something
in him snapped as he watched the exchange between Legolas and Anwadil. Turning
on his heel Enreilan left the great hall and made his way to find his father.
He
found Thranduil in deep conversation with Alindel in Thranduil’s
chambers. He waited just outside the door until the advisor made his exit, and
found Thranduil laughing softly to himself, alone in the room, a chalice of
wine in one hand. “Adar,”
Thranduil
turned. “Enreilan,” he said warmly. His smile faded changed as he saw the
expression on his son’s face. “What is it?”
“Adar. Legolas has a male lover, does he not?”
Mouth
forming a thin line Thranduil set his cup down and braced himself. “How do you
know this?”
“He
told me, long ago, of a forbidden desire. It is obvious is it not? That was why
he was fading, and came back. He came back for…him.” Enreilan hissed, anger lighting is face.
Back
in the great hall Legolas leaned into Anwadil’s offered comfort. “Will you come
with me to Imladris, to Lord Elrond, or perhaps else
where? I should not stay here.”
“Of
course I shall go with you. I will follow where ever you lead. But why can you
not stay?”
“I
would disgrace him.”
“Oh.
Does your Adar know that you will leave?”
Legolas
shrugged.
“Will
he be angry?”
“I
know not.”
“We’ll
tell him now, then.” Anwadil grabbed Legolas by the wrist and lead him from the
hall, down the twisty passages. The two elves burst through the chamber doors
to find Enreilan standing in the middle of the room, Thranduil standing by a
small corner table, leaning against the wall.
Enreilan’s
eyes flew to Legolas, growing hard and cold, then
searched Anwadil’s. “There is no sign in your eyes Anwadil,”
he stated coolly. “Yet maybe because there cannot be such a bond?”
Anwadil
threw Enreilan a puzzled glance but was undeterred from his mission. “May we
speak to you?” Anwadil said to Thranduil. “About Legolas?” He put one hand on
Legolas’ stomach and Enreilan bristled.
Thranduil’s
expression grew unreadable. Without turning his gaze away from Legolas and
Enreilan he said quietly, “Enreilan, would you mind waiting in my bedroom, and
we can finish our conversation later?”
Enreilan
opened his mouth to protest, but Thranduil fixed on him with a look of
ferocity. He did as he was bidden, biting his tongue as hard as he dared as he
went into the bedchamber and shut the door. The elf was restless, angry, indignant,
and repulsed at this friend and his brother.
It is unnatural! It is wrong! It is
forbidden! He thought again
and again as he paced the room, picking up random objects, fidgeting with them
in irritation, and setting them back down again. At length the elf threw
himself down on a lounge. Beside him was a small end table with a candle stand
and a small black volume sitting on it.
“I
am not angry,” Thranduil embraced Anwadil. “Go with him to Imladris with my
blessing, but tell your Adar before you leave.”
The
trio of elves was interrupted when the bedroom door banged open to reveal a
livid Enreilan, a small black volume in one hand and a hunting knife in the
other.
Thranduil
went white.
“It
was you!” Enreilan all but shouted across the room at Thranduil. “It was you!”
Anwadil
looked slowly from Legolas, to an ashen Thranduil, then slowly back at Legolas.
“Is it true?” He asked, voice cracking.
For
a moment neither Thranduil or Legolas said anything. Then Legolas stepped
forward, touched Thranduil’s shoulder, and said softly, “We knew this day would
come.”
“It
was you!” Enreilan said again, leaping across the room and pinning Thranduil to
the wall with the dagger to his throat in a blind rage as Anwadil shouted, “Do
not do anything rash!” and Legolas warned, “Keep your head!”
“How
could you?” Enreilan yelled into his Adar’s face. “He
is your son! How could you?”
Thranduil
remained unshaken. In a soft voice he replied, “There are some questions that
have no answers.”
“You
should be killed for this!”
“By
your hand?”
“You
would not slay your own Adar!” Legolas shouted, starting to leap forward at his
brother but Anwadil had a firm grip around both his arms.
“He
is not my Adar! And you are not my brother!”
Alindel
burst through the door. “What…?” His eyes took in Thranduil being held at bay
by Enreilan with a dagger to his throat and Legolas looking barely contained.
“Tell
him,” growled Enreilan to Thranduil. “Tell you friend and advisor how you love
your son,”
In
a soft voice, eyes holding Alindel’s, Thranduil confessed his tale, interrupted
occasionally by a loud interjection from Legolas when he felt the elven king
was taking too much of the blame. “You know the law,” Thranduil said softly as
he finished, still looking at Alindel. “As do I. I am no longer ruler here. But,
my friend, spare the child. Spare Legolas.”
Alindel sank onto a lounge, shocked and grieved beyond measure as he
contemplated the situation at hand for long minutes.
“Adar,”
Anwadil said softly. “Be merciful.”
But
Alindel’s station demanded that he maintain regulations, and as second in
command to Thranduil the fate of the two golden elves was in his hands. “My
friend…I will spare Legolas and the child but they must leave Mirkwood. My
king…cannot be spared.”
Legolas
snarled and wrenched at Anwadil’s grip angrily but his friend held his grasp.
“That
is not your decision to make!” Enreilan cried to Alindel. “I am next in command
now!”
“Not
yet,” Thranduil said sharply to Enreilan. “Not yet. There are procedures-“ he
was cut off by the flat of the blade pressed harder against his neck.
“Take
him away,” Enreilan snapped to Alindel, indicating Legolas. “Send him away,”
“Go,
Legolas,” Thranduil said quickly, before Legolas could object. “Go now. Anwadil,
take him to Mithlilien and tell them to flee. The horse will know where to go.”
“Shh…do as he bids for he loves you,” Anwadil
whispered to Legolas as the pregnant elf let out a long string of protests as Anwadil wrestled him from the room.
“Do
as he bids you without question if you love him!”
Legolas
stared earnestly into the deep blue eyes of the former Mirkwood king as he was ushered
through the door at a loss for words.
Thranduil
remained pinned under Enreilan’s grip. Go
sweet one. Go to safety.
Legolas
wept inwardly as Anwadil quickly retrieved his knife, quiver, and bow, strapped
them on, and was silent until he was astride Mithlilien. “Anwadil, do not come
with me, as I asked before.” He touched the other’s shoulder. “You are good at
heart. Stay here, for your good heart will be needed to temper my brother’s.
Please, see if he cannot be spared.”
“I
will stay for now but find you later in Imladris, if
I can,” Enreilan promised after a brief hesitation. “Now go! Mithlilien,
Thranduil bids you to flee!”
As
he was bid the gelding took off through the trees, bearing Legolas, who felt
sick at heart.
Mithlilien
knew the way from the night he had allotted Thranduil on his back, had shared
the elven king’s secret, and now made haste to the haven that Thranduil had
established for Legolas in the Misty Mountains. But the going was slower for the horse and
rider; the gelding took care of his rider who was emotionally distressed and
physically burdened, as well as slightly off balance from the weight that was
now at its peak. Instead of a tireless few hours of horseback through the
forest the going took nearly a full day.
As
night fell the two reached the Misty Mountains, Mithlilien slowing down to a
walk as they broke into a clearing of trees, approaching the great oak that
held two talans, high in the branches.
Legolas’
weary head perked. There was elven magic - Thranduil’s magic - at work in this
clearing, promising safety and protection to the area around the tree. Gratefully
he slid heavily from Mithlilien’s back and collapsed to the leaf strewn floor,
exhausted. Closing his eyes Legolas cleared his mind, reaching out with his
heart, picturing Thranduil and willing his soul to reach across the distance.
Yes,
the connection was still there. Thranduil was still alive, and this knowledge
brought a smile to Legolas’ lips. Satisfied, he fell asleep.
Dawn
was creeping over the mountains when he awoke with a sharp pain in his side.
Legolas waited slowly, half awake, moaning as the pain tightened, crested, and
died away. It is time, he whispered
to Mirkwood.
It is time for me as well. My Feä will be with you soon, my Greenleaf. Are you in the
talan yet?
Legolas
lifted his head as a silvery grey rope ladder tumbled from the lower talan. He
let his head drop back to the forest floor with a groan of anticipation.
Mithlilien
wandered over and nudged his elf with his nose as if to say, Get up, and do what you are bid. It is time,
and you must not lie in the dirt!
The
elf hefted himself up the rope ladder begrudgingly. Once on the platform he
steadied himself, rubbing his belly, unfamiliar with this rest station hidden
deep in the forest.
The
talan was bare, but the trunk of the tree was a storage cupboard, holding
blankets, food rations…everything Thranduil had seen fit to support his
Greenleaf through his ordeal until he was able to hunt and provide for himself.
On top of these supplies was a slender ring bearing a tiny white leaf and a
tiny green leaf, and a brief note of explanation and words of love. At this
discovery Legolas nearly bent his head and wept, but another pain flashed
through his abdomen, and that demanded his attention.
Evening
of that first day of isolation fell, and it had begun to rain, thunder rumbling
in the distance.
The
canopy of the oak kept the elf dry, and Legolas leaned against the trunk with
his hands protectively over his belly, a blanket draped over his shoulders,
staring out at the forest. He sighed, waiting.
The
pains had begun to increase in duration and intensity in the last few hours.
All he could do now was wait and wonder if the Valar saw fit to see him alive
through this ordeal, or if the Valar had even decided that he was worth their
thought.
It
would seem that there were only the whispers of the trees muffled by the storm
to soothe the elf through his pains. Yet, he knew his thoughts toward Thranduil
transcended the distance, and so Legolas continued to sit, watching the fury of
the storm through thought glazed eyes as he willed his mind away from his rare
situation.
Closing
blue eyes he reached out with his heart…yes, the bond was still there. He knew
of the Mirkwood king’s doom that was now taking place far on the other side of
the forest. Legolas thought not of the slaying, the blood shed, instead
concentrating on the emotions radiating across the distance. He sensed no fear
on the other’s part. Instead…The elf squinted to himself
as both pain and concentration on his bond battled for his attention.
The
next moment the bond seemed cut and he ceased to feel the other. In a panic
Legolas’ eyes snapped open, and his cry of despair changing to a cry of pain
when sudden burst of labor pain caught him unaware. The hurt built steadily,
the elf closing his eyes and throwing his head back against the tree trunk as
all seemed lost.
My Greenleaf,
A
soft voice came on the breeze that stirred a long pale lock to fall across his
face.
Legolas
moaned, cracking his eyelids. “It is finished for you?”
It is finished. I am here now.
“It
hurts.”
Droplets
of water were shaken from the leaves as a breath of gentle wind kissed the
elf’s forehead.
Patience, sweet one.
The
storm grew fiercer, yellow oak leaves drooping low with incessant pounding as
water coursed off the blunt tips. Mesmerized by the continuous stream the elf
lay awkwardly on his side, pulling the blanket tighter around himself taking a
deep breath as another wave of pain began to crest. At least he knew he was not
alone, but it would be a long night.
~*~
Understanding
welled within him at the sight of the two lover-twin brothers, but he wondered
why the sons of Elrond ventured out so far into the Misty Mountains. Legolas leaned out from his branch,
peering down at the two dark haired elves who stood
with their knives unsheathed and gleaming in the sunlight. As they clasped
hands and brought the blades to the soft, vulnerable skin of their throats,
Legolas understood.
“That
is unnecessary, messy, and something I do not care to watch,” Legolas mumbled
to himself as set an arrow to his bow and drew back.
Anwadil: true friend, Quenyan
Seregiell: blood daughter, Sindarin
Delumeleth: deadly love, Sindarin
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