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Double Sin: the Sins of the King of Mirkwood	By : squirrelchaser Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2946 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Title: Double Sin:
The Sins of the King of Mirkwood
Author:
Squirrelchaser (squirrelchaser12@yahoo.com)
Warnings: Slash
(Legolas/Thranduil), incest, mpreg, character death
Summary: Summary Thranduil�s
journal and the after the events of The Sins of Legolas, which you need to read
understand this. �I had taken him in my arms now that all was over and kissed
him, not as a father kisses a son, but as a lover kisses a lover.�
Disclaimer: Ha.
Tolkien is rightfully crying very hard.

~Thank you to Antoinette and Bambi Rae for
their betaing goodness~

Double Sin: The Sins of the King of Mirkwood
I
loved her. I honestly did. I loved her as much as I was able to then, as a
wife, a lover, a mother of our children. I loved her as much as my ignorant
soul could and she died in my arms, the light of joy that glowed within her
fading to obscurity in death.
I
had known darkness had begun to seep into the southern borders of Mirkwood. It
was a nameless darkness that we had never seen before, headed by black riders
with terrible shrieks. It was not worth the blood of our kin to drive it out
completely, but it was kept at bay in the south.
She
had been restless shortly after giving birth to Enreilan, our youngest son. �I
am weary of walking placidly under the trees, near the mountain,� she had said.
�I must fly once again under the beeches awash with moonlight, as far and as
fast as I desire!�
For
fear of her health I had protested, pleading with her to stay and rest for just
a day longer. �Who will look after the baby?� I had implored her.
�I
will only be amiss for a few short hours,� she had objected.
�Go,�
Legolas had bid her as he cradled his infant brother. �I will see to Enreilan
for awhile, Naneth.�
Legolas
was so much like his Naneth. They both shared gentle temperaments, a sharp
juxtaposition to those of Enreilan and myself. Legolas possessed his mother�s
silvery blond hair, both moved with cat like grace that was superior to even
our elf kind, and both were exceptionally fine archers. Yes, and like her he
knew the need to run beneath the trees and feel the wind blowing through his hair.
And
so I gave in on the condition that I went with her.
It
must have been the magic of the moonlight, or perhaps it was simply the fact
that she had not been out for so long, but we ended up reaching the edges of
safety sooner than I thought possible. The shadows began to creep. Starlight
was blocked, and dread made my heart heavy in my chest.
I
am still not sure how it happened. We were alone one minute and in peril the
next with scarcely a breath in between. Something - a wraith (it?) - came upon
us, a cloud of coldness, darkness, reeking of evil with a rendering unearthly
shriek and a long, cold blade. I lost sight of her as it came between us and
there was an elven scream! I was afraid but that was overcome by rage which
blurred my memory, and suddenly I was holding the knife that is usually kept by
my side.
There
is nothing in the wraiths to stab; they have no heart or such, but whatever I
did it drove the creature off, back into the darkness. But it was too late to
save her.
�I
am lost,� were the first words from her lips as I knelt beside her, cradling
her fair head to my chest.
There
was a wound to her back, just the base of her neck, already radiating black
poison through white skin. I was afraid to see how deep it was, but she bled
profusely on the ground. �You are not lost,� I whispered but I did not believe
my words, and sorrow took over my heart. �Come, let us go back to our sons,� I
tried to gather her up but she begged me to stop.
�I
cannot even lift my hand to wipe away your tears,� her voice faltered and she
struggled to breathe.
�I
love you,� I whispered.
She
was silent for a minute, and her eyes were clouded with pain. �How much?�
I
was stunned, and for a moment looked at her incredulously.
�I
am fading from this plane of existence.� The soft skin of her slender neck
dipped slightly as she swallowed, then drew another shaky breath and the pain
in her eyes gave way to panic. �The poison runs rapidly. Thranduil, please! Do
not let me become a wraith, a wraith like them and a servant to the dark lord!�
Her blue eyes pled with me, in them were also written fear and despair.
�W-what?
What do you ask of me?�
But
even as I asked, her eyes fall on the knife.
�Please!
You love me�send me to Mandos.�
But
I love her; how could I? But I love her; how could I not? She loves me, and she
asks this of me?
I
could not do it, in the end. Maybe it was because I did not love her enough
that I could not send her to Mandos� care, or perhaps I loved her too much to
force my hand to spill her blood to send her home. Instead the poison of the
Dark Lord leeched her fea from her body and she faded into darkness before my
very eyes. There would be no union in the Halls of Mandos when I pass from this
world.
The
months that followed were dark for my family.
After
the passing of Her Fe�, of course we all mourned. Before my sons I was careful
to only weep, but I also raged and cursed, though none but my dear friend Alindel
saw my fits born of sorrow.
�It
is best,� Alindel had said many times. �You have done the right thing,� he had
said quietly over and over as he sat beside the lounge that he knew I would
eventually throw myself into.
Sometimes
I believed him, when I no longer had the energy to storm about my chambers, and
my body and mind were limp from exhaustion and grief.
Enreilan
was of course too young to even begin to grasp the gravity of the situation,
but Legolas, who had just come of age, felt and remembered all. He dealt with
his grief by withdrawing into himself. His eyes became guarded and I could not
read into them, and I never saw him shed tear.
I
still remember his reaction when he bid farewell to her body. He knelt, one
knee touching the stone floor, one long hand clasped over his mouth and his
eyes tightly shut. Legolas bent his head to her chest, hand clasped around hers
at her side like he did when he was young and frightened. He was shaking.
Enreilan
grew up with parentage unlike any other. He had an older brother who was more
like a mother to him at times - scolding or nurturing at need - but Legolas could
still romp and beat him at archery with the victorious glee of any sibling. Of
course he had me as a father, in every sense of the word.
I
loved my Greenleaf more than my youngest son or my wife. Or perhaps just
differently. I am not sure; love is a strange and confusing thing that changes
like diamonds in the sunlight. Legolas was my son. He was�a lover. My lover. We
shared a different sort of love, something that went beyond parental and that
between a kinsman and a husband and wife. It was something that was uncharted,
which both frightened and enraptured me. It was the first and only time I have
felt love that went so deeply it burned in my chest, and became something I
could not draw breath without.
I
am not sure how it changed. I looked up one day, and my breath caught in my
throat at the sight of a beautiful being seemingly made of spun light, but in
the next heartbeat I realize it is my own son and I felt foolish. It began to
happen more often and I found that I was enraptured by Legolas.
He
became the sunlight that carries me through the day, the starlight that filled
the night, yet he was the bane that plagued my wretched, sinful existence. He
was the sweetness on my lips that I had yet to taste and the one I called for
in the night. I loved him in so many ways. Yet Legolas is my son, my firstborn,
the young tiny thing that was my first joy who grew and flourished into my
fascination and my undoing.
He
is my son! I firmly reminded myself. He is not so perverse as to harbor the
same sentiments! Yes, I snapped at myself. That�s what it is: it is perverse. But
I realized that I do not care what it is. I wanted him.
I
knew something must be done when one day, after returning from a boar hunt, I
watched Legolas undo the long braid he wore, shake out his tresses and bind
them up again. He was laughing and singing about something; I remember the joy
in his face. Without even knowing what I was doing, I crossed the grass to
where he stood, and put both hands about his waist, staring into his eyes.
�Adar,�
he said, holding my gaze.
I
said nothing for several seconds.
�Adar?�
he repeated, and suddenly I realized what I was doing.
�Forgive
me,� I said hastily, pulling my hands away. �I�forgive me, my Greenleaf�I have
forgotten�what it was I had to tell you.�
Legolas
had smiled, gave a small nod, and walked away.
I
then stooped to the grass where there were a few strands of long hair, gleaming
pale gold in the sunlight, in relief against the deep green grass. I caught
them up, running my finger and thumb down the length. I was mesmerized, lost in
thought, lost in want.
It
took me a few hours to realize my foolishness. As I struggled with my own self
revulsion at these sentiments my desire wins over and I ceased to see him as a
son. I argued with myself as I lay in bed as to whether or not he returns my
feelings, reading into every glance, every word until I must give up or run
mad.
Something
must be done, I had told myself. Something � anything � to put an end to this
madness!
In
desperation I urged him to marry. My heart broke as I watched what I know now
was his misery�but at the time I was unsure if it is his misery or mine that I
saw in his eyes when we discussed the prospect. Again, I had forced myself to
deny the possibility that feelings could ever flow between us, save the deepest
of family ties.
Love
is something of madness or an obsession, and my amorous feelings for that of my
own kin were a double madness. There were times that I would try to weave
reason into this insanity, seeking the answer to the question: why have I
fallen in love with my son? Is it because he is so much like his mother?
In
searching for a circlet in the treasury (for he had lost his own) he
unknowingly selected his own Naneth�s diadem, the one she wore on her wedding
day, nonetheless.
It
was the simplest band of wrought silver, neither definitively feminine nor
masculine. He put it on his pale hair he looked at me nearly exactly the same
as she had: eyes wide, lips slightly parted. I had to catch myself and remember
all over again that it was not she that had come back, but it was my son, my
Legolas, who stood before me in the very same decoration, to be married in the
very same circlet.
Sometimes
I wonder if my wife had been present if such feelings would have ever stemmed.
I loved her. But in retrospect, I came to love Legolas as I have none other,
and though he was similar to her, I felt I loved him so much more�sometimes we
would not even need to speak we knew the other so well.
He
was angular, tactile yet ethereal at the same time, touching and exploring,
wide eyed, innocent, and curious as a kitten. He left me slightly breathless at
every encounter. He�d laugh, and I�d shiver in joy at the sound. I loved his
facial expression as he drew back on the bow string and took aim, mouth in a
firm line of concentration. I loved how he would whisper to Mithlilien and the
gelding would listen, understand, and obey. He was kind.
It
was not that she was not any of these things�but I can�t remember being
fascinated at every breath she took or ever yearning for her touch or the sound
of her laugh or the scent of her hair. She was just always there, ever present.
I married her because she was just there at a time in my life when marriage was
expected.
I
thought perhaps the Fe� I was meant to be with was mistakenly breathed in to my
son. Do the Valar make mistakes?
In
the months that followed his betrothal to Delumeleth, I foolishly pushed him
away to distance myself from him as much as possible. But after this promise of
union there was a change in him, and he began to fade. Yet I thought it was
merely my nearly broken heart playing foolish tricks on me to convince my soul
that Legolas, my son, returned my unspoken amorous feelings, and so I ignored
it.
I
did not realize the truth until it was too late.
�He
is dying,� Enreilan had said.
�He
is gone,� Anwadil had said.
My
heart stopped and I felt cold all over. I did not want to believe him, but
Enreilan�s eyes held nothing but truth and sorrow. I wanted to fall to the
floor and never rise for the light that was my son and my love had faded and
would never return. I hated myself then for ignoring the signs of fading. Only
in retrospect did I realize his heartbreak of being forced into marriage�or at
least I thought that to be his heartbreak.
He
was dead. I thought he was dead. We all thought he was dead and he was, yet not
so.
I
had taken him in my arms now that all was over and kissed him, not as a father
kisses a son, but as a lover kisses a lover, for then everything ceased to
matter.
What
was to follow was the greatest gift and the greatest curse I was ever granted.
He came back from the Halls of Mandos to complete at task that lay before him, to
play a part in the destruction of the One Ring.
Consumed
in grief, I cradled him and lo, his breath began to stir, his heart began to
beat, and his lips grew warm on mine. I said I was sorry and kissed him over
and over, unsure but uncaring of what these kisses could mean.
He
returned them.
I
confessed my sin.
He
confessed his.
And
as life returned, I held him, neither of us knowing or caring of what was to
come.
Legolas
returned to the living, singing and happier than any had seen in months, and
joy and love filled my life like I had never had before.
I
was content to watch him simply live, watch
and awe at his movements, his laughter, his speech, the very elements that were
my Legolas. Yet is was strange to love him as such for when one is as love
infused as I one has the urge to sing it to the sky before all, and to do so
would most certainly be our demise. And so we dwelled in the beauty of love,
secret it may be, with Legolas catching my gaze at table or the like and he
would smile ever so slightly. We spent the evenings together alone, reading,
talking, playing games, our company innocent and pure, and affection expressed
in long caresses and chaste kisses.
It
was not that I did not desire him physically, oh no. I knew what pleasures the
body held, and thought often of what was still unknown to Legolas. Yet I
thought it best for him to broach the subject first � it would come eventually
� and take up the matter with him then, for to push my physical desires on him
seemed�overly aggressive. I also knew that to give into the desires that I harbored
would mean discovery for our bond would be in our eyes for all to see, and the
thought frightened me.
It
would be foolish to assume that Legolas did not have stirrings of desire in him
as well. He was curious and eager, initiating contact and touch, stroking my
face and hair with the smallest smile on his lips and his eyes glowing in
content. But sometimes our bodies were too close for too long, and his eyes
would change, becoming hungry and pleading. Then he would start, pull away, and
speak of it not. And so for a long time, I did my best to keep my kisses brief
and my hands in pre-calculated places, and in his innocence Legolas did not
venture any further than I did.
Then
one day I slipped.
The
tongue is a treacherous thing, as words cannot be taken back once they are
uttered, but it is a treacherous thing in other matters as well.
Long
had I fought the desire to have him fully and damn the consequences, and during
a sparring match he was close; too close. And Enreilan and Anwadil could not
see. It was only the briefest second in which I had the soft, tender tip of
Legolas� ear under my tongue in a sensual caress, but that was all it took.
His
body gave a lurch and his mouth let forth a gasp, a gasp lighted by desire that
he did not understand, but I heard and understood it fully. For the first time
my mind wandered to what more gasps would mean, wandering to wonder about gasps
giving way to moans, then urgent cries�All this ran through my mind in the
second he stopped and stared for several heartbeats, before Enreilan�s shout
started him back into reality.
Caught
too deep in my own folly I manipulated him against a tree. Our long bodies were
pressed together against the trunk; I could feel his heart, his breath, his
want. It was the beginning of the end.
Legolas
came to me that night, seeking answers to the questions that desire had awoken
in him. He told me he wanted to be complete, to bond with me after marrying Delumeleth
so none would know of our illicit union. He asked all of this so earnestly, head
slightly tilted, lips wet, eyes determined.
I
hedged. I worried for the consequences, wishing that what we shared was enough
for the both of us but knowing that it would never be sufficient.
And
so we waited for the wedding, for Legolas to bond in what truthfully would only
be a selfish fa�ade to support our illicit liaison. He would come to me in the
evenings as usual. I remember not what we did, but I remember him. I remember
how his eyes scrunch slightly when he laughed, head falling back throwing his jaw
line into relief. Or his close lipped smile that was almost a smirk while his
eyes shone at me. Or the way he would pull his lips into his mouth to form a
thin line, his eyes would grow round before reaching out hesitantly to touch my
face and I would accommodate his impending kiss.
I
dreaded the day of his wedding yet longed for it. Selfishly, I could not bear
the thought of him being with Delumeleth, discovering his body�s passion with
anyone but myself, even though he would come to me after. I knew he loved me as
he did not love Delumeleth, and that was more than I could ask of him. But I
was still selfish.
Alindel
nudged me under the table, raising his eyebrows surreptitiously throughout the
wedding feast.
I
might have been sullen, or maybe I was foolishly happy as a front�in truth I
remember nothing, except that I made myself stay away from the wine. Looking
back I think Legolas made me forget much, save every breath and heartbeat we
shared.
Night
had fallen when Delumeleth lead my Legolas away from the table by the wrist and
suddenly I felt ill; the table was suddenly too big, the laughter and song too
loud, and the colors too bright. I wanted to be alone in darkness until Legolas
came to me, so we could share our black double sin, become one in the crime that
would exclude us from Mandos� Halls.
Sensing
my bad mood, Alindel tailed me to my room. He offered wine and made soothing
noises about children growing up and learning to let go for quite some time. At
last, when I did not respond, he sat in silence and drank.
The
silence was broken when the door burst open. To my utter surprise, it was none
other than my Legolas standing in the doorway, eyes round, trembling, and
looking almost frightened.
Alindel
was ushered out, and alone in the room he clung to me. He could not follow
through, so desperate, emotional, near tears, and carrying an ache of emptiness
and unfufillment deep in his soul, aching as much as I ached. �I care not
anymore,� he whispered into my hair as I held him close. �I need to be complete
with you and only you.�
His
words, his hot breath on my skin was nearly all I could stand, but I asked if
he was certain.
He
said he was.
I
looked into his eyes and knew there could be no other way. I looked into his
eyes and saw no fear of the consequences though he knew as well as I that
discovery was death. I agreed. I felt partially foolish and rash but a majority
of me decided that all ceased to matter except Legolas.
We
left together and he spoke to Delumeleth, but I know not to this day what transpired.
That
night when I pushed open my chamber door he waited, reading on the bed.
I
will never forget that night. I had never been so complete. He lay trembling in
my arms and my body became his, his became mine, every breath, every heartbeat
was accounted for. I remember how at first his breath had been choppy and
shallow as pleasure caught him unaware, then grew to a deep rhythmic inhaling
and exhaling with every thrust of his hips, then as he neared his end his lips
parted as his breathing grew shallow and frantic. Legolas clung to me, head
back, crying out �N�n anor! Ai! N�n anor!� as he reached his first climax.
I
had laughed softly at his exclamation, kissing his face gently as he panted and
trembled in his aftermath. ��My sun?�� I quoted, smiled, and kissed him again.
�N�n
anor,� he repeated breathlessly. �You are my sun.� He reached out and ran his
fingers through my hair, which mingled with his own on the pillow. �So golden,�
he murmured, almost to himself. �Just like the sun.�
I
smiled. �My Greenleaf,� I kissed his forehead. �N�n Legolas,� I cupped his
cheek with one hand and stroked his hair with the other. �Your hair�white
gold�or mithril. More valuable than anything hidden within this mountain.� I
kissed him again, as the golden sun kisses the green leaves of the forest. �My
treasure,�
And
I was his, and his alone.
The
first time I woke with him beside me, I knew I could have no other as I watched
light from a single candle that had burned bravely all night illuminate the
perfection that slept beside me.
His
skin was as white and luminescent as a pearl, his body so flawless it seemed to
me that he could not be real or living. Instead, if I reached out to touch him,
he would be hard, cold perfection, like a white gem, or intangibly ethereal, misty
and ghostlike.
I
decided I had to find out if he were real or phantom precision. Risking waking
him, I reached out my hand and ran my fingertips over the curve of his cheek
bone, down the jaw line, over his neck and down his chest to where the blanket
obscured the rest of him.
But
Legolas was none of these things; only smooth, cat-like silky skin rippling
over sleek, lean muscle, very much alive and very warm. A fringe of lashes
stood out in dark relief against his cheekbones, a contrast to the length hair
that spanned over the pillow, as glowing and silver as moonlight. His mouth,
slightly open and slack in sleep, formed almost a pout with lips tinged a pale
pink against the fair cream of his face. Legolas� head turned slightly toward
me, one of his long, slender hands resting upon the pillow nearly touching his
face, palm turned up, fingers gently curled.
I
watched the dim light play over his face, noting where the shadows fell from
the curve of his cheekbone or the dip just below nose. My Legolas�my sweet,
sweet Legolas.
Legolas�
eyelids fluttered, his head stirred slightly, the fingers on the hand flexed
and the hand swept downward, away from his face and under the blankets. He
exhaled in a soft gush of air in a breathy sigh, opened his eyes, and saw
me. He smiled. �N�n Thranduil,� Legolas
whispered. �N�n Anor.�
It
was the first time in centuries that I had been someone�s �Thranduil,� instead
of �my king� or �my Adar.� He never called me Adar again�I was his Thranduil,
his sun, his sin.
When
our bodies joined it was a window to his soul and all my emotions became
vulnerable and raw to him; I came to know his fears and loves without a word
spoken between us. I knew his body better than I knew my own, and that was how
I knew he carried a child.
The
night he returned from his first trip to Imladris I could hear his breath quick
and desperate as he neared his finish, his heartbeat was in my ear pulsing
through my body as if it were my own. Yet something had seemed different in the
rhythm, as if there was an echo. Legolas peaked, and in that blissful,
indescribable moment I can see every aspect of his soul, more than even he can
see of himself, I think. Yes, there was something different, another pulse, another
soul, another breath of life nestled within the being I loved so much.
At
first I thought I had to be wrong, and said nothing. Was this a curse or a
blessing from the Valar? To be blessed with a child is the greatest thing a
couple can be granted, yet our union - let alone a child - was unheard of. It
would mean discovery. I had to be wrong!
I
watched him carefully the next day. It hadn�t registered in his conscious yet
but his body knew of the precious gift he carried. Subconsciously his hand
would linger over his stomach, or as a reflex action in a moment of danger both
hands would clasp around his waist.
He
told me of his pregnancy during his brief return to Mirkwood, in between his
trips to Imladris. As his body sang under my ministrations, his back arched,
his muscles tensed and relaxed with every thrust, I sought out some sign, some
signal that my suspicions were correct. Slow, gentle, we had all the time we
needed when our souls and our bodies were one to ourselves and each other. It
was! It was a child, a daughter, Legolas told me.
The
thought of my Greenleaf riding out all over Middle Earth while carrying a child
did not sit well with me, but Legolas was convinced that Mandos had sent him
back to do precisely that. The pressing matter of discovery troubled me more,
for now it became more than just two of us. What kind of a life would this new
daughter face? One of ridicule? Rejection? Hatred?
Legolas
remained undisturbed, in a fit of what could have been omnipotence or willful
ignorance�something of those matters. He said he was content to live for the
day, for the happiness of being beside me and feeling the baby flutter inside
him. He said he went to bed every night knowing that the next day could bring
death, and that he was unafraid.
I was not content. I wanted him safe. I wanted
my daughter safe. I knew of Legolas� plans to travel to Imladris should
discovery drive him from Mirkwood, but something deep in my heart knew that
that was not to be. Legolas knew of my doubts but he did not push the matter.
Instead
my thoughts fell on a talan that was hidden deep in the tree covered Misty Mountains. It was used long ago by the Silvan elves
during long treks, but for the last thousand years it had gone unused. I
doubted if there were any who still remembered it, besides myself. It would be
a crude, rural hideout, but once I remembered its presence I could not forget
about it, and so I knew that that was where my answer lay.
Mithlilien
participated in my secret, helping me smuggle supplies out to the Misty Mountains in the dead of the night. That smart horse!
Intelligent and unnaturally swift�I bid him earnestly to remember the route to
that place, to bear my Legolas away when the need arose.
We
went undiscovered. I remember the last visit, all the preparations finished. I
stood beneath the oak tree, casting spells of protection around the area, and
felt sad. Something deep in my heart told me that fate would make the hideouts
use necessary.
I
returned to the mountain right before the sun rose, and everyone woke. I crept
back into my chambers where Legolas lay sleeping.
He
was on his back, head turned to one side, blankets to his chin, chest rising
and falling in the rhythm of life, peaceful, still� Undressing quickly I slid
into bed next to him and ran the back of my fingers lightly across his face,
hoping not to wake him but unable to contain my need to touch him. I don�t know
how long I stared at him, but presently Legolas stirred slightly and opened his
eyes.
He
smiled sleepily as I nestled up to him. �You smell of the outside�of trees and
grass.�
�I
woke early, but wanted to be here when you awoke.�
Taking
my wandering hand in his own, he kissed it. �Your eyes are sad,�
�You
are leaving today and�� I trailed off. I would worry, as much as he tried to
reassure me.
�N�n
Anor,� Legolas said gently. �You are with me always,� he kissed my neck. �You
are the sunlight that filters through the trees or spreads out golden over the
plains. I can feel you on my face when I lift my head to the sky at high noon,
where ever I am on Middle Earth. I am never without you.�
Would
that I could have him by my side, safe, warm�and fully pregnant! Would that I
could run my hands over the round hard stomach and kiss him without fear of
discovery. Would that we knew what to expect, what birth will bring. Would that
I could hold him, soothe him through is pains, take the child in my arms as
Legolas rests. Would that I could take her as my daughter and not fear for the
ramifications�
I
did not speak my thoughts�with child he may be, but Legolas was still a warrior
at heart; he had not lost the spark in his eyes that in battle became a deadly
blaze. I knew he was skilled, well trained, one of the best in Mirkwood, and so
I did my best to quell my concerns.
The
leaves of Mirkwood turned golden and scarlet and snows buried the forest. I
waited as patiently as I could; distraction would be a fatal error as evil
began to stir and invade Northern
Mirkwood, and I
had duties that took precedence over my private worries. The New Year [April 6]
saw the end of destruction and battle and the healing of Mirkwood, but no news
of Legolas, and again I waited in outer peace but with growing inward anxiety.
Spring passed and at the end of the following summer I saw my Greenleaf again.
Without
warning one afternoon, Legolas came through the door of the hall with little
ceremony, returning and greeting those around him as if his excursion had been
short and casual.
When
I had finally recovered my wits and began to move toward them, Enreilan was
gripping him by both arms, talking animatedly and beaming at his brother.
Legolas
turned to look at me, with bright eyes that seemed to have aged, grown wiser,
and seen much sorrow in the past but now reveled in the joys of the present.
I
crushed him to me, weak with joy and relief, feeling a round belly replacing
his lithe body. Pulling back, I eyed him critically. His pregnancy was not so
obvious yet, but that would not remain so in the months to come.
Despite
my fears, the months that preceded his exile and my death were blissful.
One
night as the first snow began to fall we lay in bed, drifting slowly off to
sleep when suddenly he cried out and his hands flew to his stomach. �Feel
this!� He exclaimed, grabbing my hands and guiding them to his body.
It
was the first time I felt the child within him moving, in the dark secret of
the night. It was moments like that brought me the greatest joy I have ever
felt.
Legolas
was the first thing on my mind, followed closely by the daughter nestled within
him.
As
time passed he grew larger and heavier, and though he never would admit it
aloud he bore his burden with great physical pain. His hips were not curved and
round like that of a woman; he was slender and narrow and lean which made the
baby difficult to bear. I wondered what the Valar meant by this pregnancy, and
when I saw him moving about in pain felt sure it was meant as a curse and a
punishment, rather than recognition of our union.
I
did all I could to soothe his discomfort. During the day I attended to him at
all times though he would protest often. At night I massaged his legs and hips,
trying to ease the muscles that protested to the stretching and distortion of
his frame. I kneaded his lower back, feeling the knots, the strain of his
burden evident in the painful protests of his body. Legolas or I would sing quietly
while I worked, and sometimes I would pause when he felt the baby move so I
could feel it too.
�What
shall we name her?� Legolas said one night. He lay on his side, curled up next
to me in the grass in the cool of the night, our faces leisurely tilted toward
the starry heavens. �Adariell � �father daughter� � for obvious reasons, is
what first came to my mind.�
�That
is beautiful. Or perhaps Anwariell,� I suggested, my hands resting over his
belly. ��Awe daughter,� for she is a miracle, breathed into you by the grace of
the Valar,� I kissed his temple.
�I
like that too�� He closed his eyes and leaned his head into my shoulder. �We
can decide on a name when she is born.�
I
was silent, for the thought of birth brought fear into my mind and heart. I feared
the justice that would be brought to Legolas when his pregnancy became known. I
feared what would happen to my beautiful Greenleaf when the need came to bring
forth this child�would his body be able to withstand the trial?
�Your
heart grows heavy, troubled,� Legolas murmured, taking my hand in his own and
kissing it. �Fear not for what is to come.�
My
Legolas�I remember him the night before Enreilan revealed all and we met our
fates. I opened the door to find him sitting on the edge of the lounge, his back
to the candle on the table so he appeared to glow. His gaze was down toward the
floor, his beautiful hair loose and tumbling around his naked shoulders, hands
laced together and supporting the underside of his huge round stomach, bare and
glowing in the flickering orange light. He was perfect, sitting alone in the
room. He looked up and saw me in the doorway.
�Why
do you stare?� Legolas had asked, a soft smile playing on his lips, and he held
out his arms. �Come to me.�
I
could not touch him enough, have him close enough. There was simply not enough
time in the world to have him in my arms, feeling his heart beat, smelling his
skin, running my hands over the round belly and massaging the places it felt
tightest.
I
try not to think about what happened the day after. Would that I could forget
how my youngest son�well�I knew Legolas and the baby were safe, so I felt no
fear. In my last hours in Mirkwood I let my mind wander to Legolas, to where he
was tucked away in the safety of the mountains.
He
went in to labor that night, and was calling to me with his soul�he was in
pain, he was afraid, he was alone.
When
I knew that I wanted nothing more than to die, to part from my body so I could
wander Middle Earth to where my Legolas was, to be with him even if not in
body.
I
received my wish soon enough. I know not who dealt the deadly strike, nor do I
wish to know�all I know is that I felt my Fe� depart and I was free.
It
was told that spirits who do not find rest in Mandos� Halls would wander the
earth, lost and wandering until the end of time. For me it was not so; I knew
exactly where I needed to be. I had to be with Legolas, and for as long as I
was with him I would not be lost. I was on the wind, skimming over tree tops,
the Misty Mountains growing larger and larger as I neared them,
through the trees, over the bare rocks. At last I reached the talan. It had
started to rain � though that was of little consequence to me � and thunder
echoed in the distance.
The
first thing I noticed was that he had found the token I had left for him: a
slender gold ring with a tiny gem in the shape of a green leaf and a tiny opal
in the shape of a white leaf inlaid in the band. Legolas wore it on is right
hand, on his first finger � the finger that would have held a wedding band had
there been a formal ceremony. The decorated hand clutched the blanket he was
wrapped in, back to the tree trunk, groping desperately with his heart for me in
a panic as he fought for control over another contraction.
My Greenleaf, I ached to reach out and smooth his hair
from his forehead, to cup his face in my hands as I used to, but now it was not
to be.
�Is
it finished for you?� He murmured, relaxing slightly.
It is finished; I am here now,
�It
hurts.�
Patience, sweet one, I wished for fingertips to soothe over his
body, stroke away his pains and hold him as night brought forth our child. All
I could do was whisper to his heart as he moaned in pain.
It
was a long ordeal. A long, bloody, pain filled ordeal. Children were to be a
blessing to a couple, but it seemed this blessing had turned into a curse.
It
was a long, long time before he held the baby in his arms. She was tiny,
beautiful, lively from the moment of birth, as perfectly formed as the tender
new leaves of spring.
There
were these two wonderful beings I watched over now. How I longed to take the
both in my arms and hold them safe and warm until all else passed away and
ceased to matter!
The
sun had long since risen when Legolas awoke from his deep, healing sleep. He
moved slightly, wincing, but determinedly scooted along the talan until his
face rested in a beam of sunlight that fell through the leaves.
N�n anor, he thought. I have
thought of a name for her: Seregiell, �blood daughter,� for though I love her
more than life, she comes with great pain. Your blood, my blood�
You name her well, sweet one. Rest now;
listen to the song of the wind in the trees.
Legolas,
exhausted, lay on his side with Seregiell cradled to him, a large, soft blanket
over the both of them as the storm waned to a soft grumble in the distance.
I love you, both, I whispered on the wind, hovering over the
two elves I love above all else.
Eyes
closed, Legolas smiled. I love you too.
- 1
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Double Sin: the Sins of the King of Mirkwood