Princes Three: Any Shelter | By : nuwing Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 10324 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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. |
Chapter 9
~Imladris 2151 III~
Thranduil wandered aimlessly through the lush greenery of a well-ordered garden, his thoughts restless and disturbing. For nigh a moon the woodland king had tarried in Imladris, enjoying Elrond’s hospitality as well as the more intimate comforts offered by Glorfindel and Erestor. The day of his return to Mirkwood rapidly approached, and the imminent parting form his friends-turned-lovers preyed on his mind.
Though he longed to see his family and home once more, Thranduil was loath to surrender the warmth and comfort he had found in Imladris – and his guilt at being so torn became more pronounced with each passing day. ‘Have I betrayed her, after all?’ he mused, his heart heavy with doubt. ‘Should I not be eager to return to our children, our realm? Instead I dread the emptiness of my own bed. I do not wish to face again the loneliness of these last years.’
“What troubles you so, Thranduil?” a soft voice queried. “There is oft relief to be had in the telling of fears.”
Startled, the woodland king turned to find Celebrían studying him kindly. “Hirilen,” Thranduil replied, inclining his head in greeting. “I did not hear your approach.”
“’Tis no wonder,” the Lady of Imladris answered, a slight smile curving her lips. “You were deep in your thoughts. Will you not share them?”
The woodland king was silent for a long moment, his desire to voice his concerns warring with his fear of impropriety.
This morn Celebrían appeared less a ruler’s wife than a wood nymph, fragile and elusive. She was dressed in a simple white gown, her shimmering silver hair braided in the manner preferred by her sons, the single heavy plait falling nearly to her knees. The daughter of Galadriel might have been a young maiden were it not for the wisdom and compassion that lit her warm grey eyes.
“I am not sure ‘twould be appropriate, though I thank you...”
Celebrían shook her head, laying one delicate hand on her companion’s arm. “I am rarely shocked, híren, and even less often offended.” Her smile widening, she added, “And I am my Naneth’s daughter. ‘Twill be easiest if you simply concede now.”
Chuckling in spite of himself, Thranduil offered his arm to his hostess. “Indeed. I long ago acknowledged the futility of refusing Galadriel anything she sought.”
“Then I insist that you extend me the same courtesy, mellonen,” Celebrían said firmly. “I would not have you leave us guilt-ridden, nor filled with doubt. Tell me what troubles you.”
Reassured by the warmth and understanding in the questioning grey gaze, the woodland king did as he was bid. All the fears and doubt that had plagued him since the beginning of his changed relationship with Glorfindel and Erestor came tumbling out. His confusion over his place in their lives, and their place in his. The guilt spawned by his reluctance to return to Mirkwood alone, despite his yearning to see his children and his subjects. And worst of all, the suffocating fear that he had betrayed his queen, his bond, by allowing himself to seek more than physical release with another.
Meeting the troubled emerald eyes, Celebrían did not respond immediately. Instead she indicated a grove of silver-clad trees. “Let us explore the hillside garden, híren,” she suggested. “The gwanûn tell me it was particularly favored by Legolas during his visit.”
Thranduil approached the massive trunks appreciatively, reaching out to touch the silvery-white bark. “Aye, I can well understand my son’s love for this place. There is a serenity here that has been absent from Taur-na-Fuin for many years.”
“Have you told Erestor and Glorfindel of your worries?” Celebrían asked after a moment’s silence. “Surely you do not doubt that they care for you deeply.“
“Nay, I do not question their affection for me,” the woodland king replied. “Only the expectations that might accompany that regard.” With a wry smile, he continued. “Having abused my eternal bond by feeling more than passing lust for another, I am faced with yet a second quandary. Do I now owe fidelity to Glorfindel and Erestor as well? Have I any cause to expect such from them?”
His companion smiled kindly. “I would say that you owe only that which you wish to give. Do not turn a blessing into a burden, mellonen. But I will not speak for the living. Ask them.”
“I will not speak for the living,” Celebrían repeated, squeezing the king’s arm reassuringly, “but I will venture to speak for the waiting. Miluien will understand.”
Thranduil’s eyes filled with unexpected tears. “No one speaks her name to me,” he said hoarsely, his throat suddenly tight. “The children speak of ‘Nana’, my advisors praise ‘the queen’, but none mention my Miluien. It is as though ‘tis forgotten that she was more than a naneth, more than her title.” His voice breaking, the king added, “And I fear the day when her face and voice and touch fade from my mind, as well. I would not replace her love with another.”
“Ai, Thranduil,” Celebrían sighed, turning to face the distressed ruler. “Love is not finite, and every love is different. One need not replace another.”
Settling comfortably on an enormous stump, she pulled at her companion’s hand, urging him down. “Must Elladan and Elrohir love one another less because they have grown to love Legolas, also?”
“Nay,” the king replied, his fingers tracing the growth rings of the long-dead tree. “But ‘tis hardly the same, hirilen. And ‘tis a quite young affair.”
“And there is still hope for an ignominious ending?” Celebrían retorted, a hint of laughter in her voice.
Thranduil shook his head. “You know I would not wish it so. ‘Twould please me greatly to see our houses joined. But that is for the future.”
“Then let us speak for a moment of the past,” the Lady of Imladris replied quietly. “Is Elrond’s love for Gil-galad diminished by his love for me? Or say you that he loves me less because he loves Ereinion still?”
Discomfited by the directness of the question, Thranduil moved restlessly. “Celebrían, I do not think ‘tis...”
“You were there, híren,” his companion interrupted calmly. “Was theirs a love that could be diminished by time?”
Memories flooded the king’s mind. Campfires flickered as warriors talked, laughed, sang, and loved – the nights alive with the desperate gaiety of those who know themselves doomed. Banners rippled above clashing armies and the air rang with defiant battle cries as well as the screams of the dying. The ground grew slippery with the blood of orcs, elves and men.
And always, always there was the High King and his herald – their heads bent close in jest, their bodies locked together in passion, their raven-dark hair mingling in the wind as they fought side-by-side, back-to-back...unhelmed and unyielding. Until that final dreadful day, when Sauron was laid low at such horrific cost.
“It was not,” Thranduil answered reluctantly.
“You need not fear for my feelings,” Celebrían said quietly. “Elrond loves me, híren, and I am happy in that knowledge. I cannot replace Gil-galad, as he could not truly replace Elros. That sundering has left a hole in my husband’s spirit which no lover can fill.”
Her eyes suddenly distant, she added, “And if someday we must part, I would wish Elrond a companion to ease his pain and treasure him as I do.”
The woodland king looked at her keenly. “Elrond is fortunate to have found you, hirilen.”
“And I to have found him,” Celebrían answered gravely. “As you were blessed to win Miluien’s love, and the affection of Glorfindel and Erestor. Love need not be diminished because it is shared.”
Rising from her seat on the stump, she looked toward the formal gardens and smiled, then reached out a hand in invitation. “Come, mellonen. They are waiting.”
*******************************************
~Mirkwood 2151~
Legolas watched in amusement as his lover – who had survived all manner of battles and foes over his long life – was completely overrun by one young elleth with a hairbrush. “Do not frown so, ‘Roh,” he snickered. “You make quite a lovely princess.”
“Aye, he is very pretty,” Galueth agreed happily, completely unaware of her brother’s sarcasm. Her small fingers flying, she wove Elrohir’s dark hair into the same ornate braids that held her own mahogany tresses.
“You do that very well pen neth,” Elladan observed with a smile, fingering the mithril beads that had been peremptorily placed in his hand.
“’Tis ever so much easier on another head,” the princess announced seriously, tying off the last of her victim’s braids. “I cannot yet plait my own hair, though Amoniel is teaching me.”
“Amoniel?” Elrohir repeated, looking at Legolas questioningly.
“Galueth’s nanny,” the woodland prince explained. “She is a lovely elleth, despite her bizarre liking for Anteruon’s company, and has been with us since Nana passed.”
“’Ruon is going to bind with her someday,” Galueth reported blithely, as she turned a determined gaze on Elladan’s beaded braid.
“Indeed?” Legolas, replied, one golden eyebrow arching in surprise. “And how came you by this knowledge, thêl dithen?”
“Please, ‘Golas,” the princess sighed, before turning her attention to unbinding Elladan’s hair.
“I have eyes. And ears.”
A look of horror beginning to spread across his face, the woodland prince asked, “And precisely what have you seen and heard, pen dithen?”
Oblivious to her brother’s anxious state, Galueth looked around carefully before bending close to whisper in his ear. “Every night, when he comes to say ‘Posto mae’, they kiss!”
**********************************************************
Elladan narrowed his eyes. “Is that not Tiri?” he asked, pointing to a figure on one of the second level balconies.
“It is, indeed,” Legolas answered with a grin. “And ‘tis Sílolwen behind him. Come and meet her.”
“They may not wish for company just yet, ‘Las,” Elrohir cautioned, as the two forms seemed to meld to one. “He has been gone many moons.”
As though in reply to the elf-knight’s warning, Tiriadon’s voice rang out over the courtyard. “Elladan! Elrohir! Come join us if you have recovered from Galueth’s attentions.” Grinning at Legolas, he added, “And bring him with you, if you must.”
Climbing the curving staircase, the twins found themselves scrutinized by enormous brown eyes, which lit on their bead-studded braids, and suddenly Elladan was caught in an embrace of surprising strength, considering that the giver barely reached his chest.
“Hannon chen,” the auburn-haired elleth said gratefully, squeezing him once more for good measure. “Thank you for healing him.”
Rendered nearly speechless by the unexpected greeting, the elder twin patted one slender arm tentatively. “You are welcome, my lady. Though I did little, really.”
Tiriadon chuckled as his lover returned to his side, one arm twining around his waist. “This, as you may have guessed, is Sílolwen. These are the infamous Peredhil twins, melethen. The healer you have thrown yourself at so shamelessly is the eldest, Elladan. Elrohir is the one looking decidedly cheated.”
“’Tis simply your fate, ‘Roh,” Legolas snickered, grinning as he and the elf-knight were hugged in turn.
“We must not begin our friendship with a slight, híren,” Sílolwen said, smiling warmly at the younger twin. “’I am pleased to meet both of you. And I doubt not that your skill saved him many times.”
Opening the chamber door, she indicated a table that was visible through the far door. “Will you join us? We have wine and fruit aplenty.”
As they followed Sílolwen onto the back balcony, Tiriadon caught Elladan’s arm. “All is settled, then?” he asked quietly, meeting the clear grey gaze.
“All is settled,” the elder twin agreed with a smile. “And you have shed your tears, captain?”
“I have,” Tiriadon answered, his eyes dancing. “Several times.”
“Then we are all lucky, indeed.”
TBC...
Names:
Miluien – gentle maiden (Thranduil’s queen)
Amoniel – hill maiden (Anteruon’s lover)
Sílolwen - shining maiden (Tiriadon’s lover)
Elvish Translations:
hirilen – my lady
híren – my lord
Naneth/Nana – Mother, Mama/Mom
mellonen – my friend
gwanûn - twins
Taur-na-Fuin – Mirkwood
Ai - Oh
elleth – female elf
pen neth – young one
thêl dithen – little sister
pen dithen – little one
Posto mae – Sleep/rest well
Hannon chen – Thank you
melethen – my love
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