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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6313 -:- 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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Chapter X: Twilight’s Advent

Artirion, Yavannië FA 138

Legolas seated himself upon the wide sill of the arched window in the library on the far side of Elrond’s halls. He gazed out pensively at the night sky; stared at the starry firmament as he strove to calm his ruffled feelings.

It was now seventeen years since his arrival in Valinor. Sixteen since Elladan and Nimeithel had learned of Arwen’s passing and followed him to the Undying Lands. With them had come their twins and Celeborn and Lindir and all the remaining Elves of Imladris. Eryn Gael, the settlement he had founded in Ithilien still flourished, however, as did the Woodland Realm of Eryn Lasgalen.

But even these two elven domains’ times were ending. Nimeithel had brought word to her parents and brother that Melthoron and Brethildor would eventually come to Aman along with their respective mates and families and many of their Wood-elven subjects. Theirs would most likely be the last ship to sail from the Hither Lands. When that happened, Círdan would also forsake Middle-earth’s shores and Lindon, the longest lasting elven realm in the Hither Lands, would pass into legend as well. Any of the Firstborn who chose to remain behind would either have to seek their own means of travel to Valinor as Legolas had done or dwindle and become a hidden folk, a matter of myth and rumor to men of later days.

But for those who came to Aman to eternally reside in Elvenhome, there was the joy of reunion with loved ones and the gradual adjustment to their new abode. Legolas smiled at the notion. He himself no longer felt like a stranger in Valinor. He had to admit he was very much at home in Eldamar. The house he always kept in readiness for his own much prayed-for reunion was a refuge of incalculable worth. And the nearness of close kith and kin had helped ease his loneliness to a more tolerable degree.

His wandering thoughts returned to the reason for his presence this evening in Elrond’s halls.

The Lord of Artirion was feting his wife who was newly announced to be with child. After the heart-rending losses of two dearly beloved children, it was no wonder the couple rejoiced in this unlooked for blessing. It was reason enough to hold a great celebration in their gracious home. Reason enough to invite many of the noblest of the Eldar of Valinor to the occasion.

Thus Elrond’s wide halls and Celebrían’s elegant gardens teemed with guests from Tirion, Alqualondë, Taur Galen and Maltaurë. And Vanyar, Noldor and Teleri mingled felicitously, partook of the sumptuous feast laid out for their pleasure and discussed their hosts’ unprecedented hospitality. If this was how well Elrond and Celebrían celebrated the conception of a child, they could only imagine what the couple would do when said child was actually born!

Legolas, though he had had little heart for merry making, had done his duty as their law-son and mingled with the guests at first. But before long, the unwanted attentions of admiring females and the unwelcome importuning of would-be suitors had driven him to seek solitude in this isolated part of Elrond’s home.

The flirtatious ellith and salacious ellyn had tested his patience to the hilt, more so the latter. At least, the maidens retreated once he made it clear he was determined to remain chaste. But the males could be too persistent and he had already had to resort to physical means to rid himself of one troublesome Elf.

He twisted the gold band on his finger. It shocked him that even the evidence of his status as a bound Edhel was not enough to discourage them. It did not occur to him that sheer fairness of countenance and form could turn even the most reasonable Elf into an imprudent hunter.

He was by no means disinterested in others’ company. He frequently sought the fellowship of his friends as well as family. Elladan was ever ready to accommodate him in his occasional need for succor and counsel; their age-old friendship had deepened even further in the wake of their mutual loss. And there was Gimli and the perpetually cheerful hobbits to sustain him when his spirits drooped. His childhood friends, Mithrael and Heledir, had also long settled in Valinor with their families and he spent many a day with them. And he had made new friends, of course, amongst the long time residents of Eldamar and was loyal to and caring of them as well. But that was all he was willing to give of himself.

He could not conceive of sharing himself intimately with any other save his departed spouse. And it was not mere duty that stayed him from seeking the tenuous consolation of casual, noncommittal bed-play but that he craved no other’s touch save Elrohir’s. Simply put, they were not he and therefore found no favor with him.

He sensed the entrance of someone into the chamber. A scathing remark nearly escaped his lips before he realized it was his mother, Ithilwen, who approached. He relaxed and smiled ruefully at her.

Ithilwen could not help the sense of pride that welled up within her as she regarded her youngest son. Clad in a midnight-hued tunic over dark grey long breeches and light shoes, he was a vision of startling contrasts but a vision nonetheless. There were few Edhil to match his sublime radiance in all Aman even amongst the golden Vanyar. Indeed, his beauty had been extolled throughout Elfdom since he set foot in the Blessed Realm. But none of his admirers had attained the pleasure of winning more than polite acknowledgement of their appreciation of that aforementioned beauty.

“I am glad you still welcome my presence, ion nîn”—my son—she said with a knowing smile.

Legolas reached out a hand and helped his mother onto the sill beside him. “I am sorry, Nana.”—Mama. “I thought you were that tiresome Bregon who would not believe that I am not pining for someone to share my bed.”

Ithilwen laughed softly at his expression of exasperation. “Since he did not follow you I must presume that you managed to convince him of your resolve. May I ask what you did to dissuade him?”

Legolas snorted. “I flipped him into the garden pond and left him to cool his ardor in its chill waters.”

Ithilwen giggled, eliciting a chuckle from her son. “I am sure he believes you now,” she said.

Legolas sighed. “If only they would just leave me alone. You would think once they saw my ring they would know better than to pursue me.”

Ithilwen paused. She raised a white hand and stroked her son’s cheek gently. “I fear you have attracted much interest, Legolas. There are many who would not mind the impermanence of mere physical intimacy with one as desirable as you. And there are also those who seek to bind themselves or their daughters or sons to you.”

“Because they seek alliances with Ada”—Papa—“and our kinsman, King Olwë,” Legolas said with contempt.

“Your beauty and strength are also potent incentives, pen neth.”—young one.

Legolas shook his head. “They seek in vain. Let them look elsewhere. I already have a bereth, a spouse, and there is no breaking our bond.”

“But would you do so if it were permitted?”

Legolas looked at her in surprise. “Permitted?” he repeated. “Are you saying a binding can be broken?”

“If the Doom of Finwë and Miriel were to be invoked and the Valar countenanced it, then, aye, a binding may be dissolved,” Ithilwen replied

“What Doom is this?” Legolas asked, more out of curiosity than interest.

“Ages ago, Miriel Serindë, wife of Finwë, first King of the Noldor, passed into the Halls of Awaiting,” the woodland queen explained. “Finwë grew lonely and also longed for more children and, thus, desired another wife. To accommodate his desire, Miriel agreed to forfeit her chance of ever coming forth again from Mandos’ halls. She chose to remain within them for eternity. Thus, Finwë was released from his vows and took Indis of the Vanyar as his second wife. The rest of that tale you already know.”

Legolas stared at her in dawning suspicion. “Why have you brought this up?” he queried. “Do you and Ada want to marry me off to someone?”

“Nay, mell nîn”—my dear—“we know full well where your affections lie.” Ithilwen hesitated. “‘Tis Olwë who has inquired about your willingness in this matter. It seems that an impressive number of Elves have urged him to persuade you to consider taking a new mate.”

“What?” Legolas gasped, aghast. “Are they mad? They would doom Elrohir to an eternity in those halls for the sake of their ambitions?” He flashed an angry scowl at his mother. “You already know my answer, Nana. Why did you even trouble to ask me such a foul thing?”

“Because ‘tis Olwë who made this request and, out of respect for him, I had to put the question to you,” Ithilwen pointed out.

Legolas started to tremble with rage. “Will they force this upon me?” he demanded. “Can they break us apart? If they do, their efforts will be in vain for I will sooner die than be bound to another and be forever parted from Elrohir!”

“My love, my love, no one can force this upon you,” Ithilwen cooed soothingly. “If ‘tis your desire to keep your bond with him, there is no force in Arda that can break it. Nay, not even the Valar themselves if you or he are unwilling.”

“They are fools to think that I would replace Elrohir with some mewling brat or overweening pretender,” Legolas hissed.

Ithilwen sighed. “Unfortunately, there are still some misguided souls who think a Half-elven lord not worthy of a prince of the Teleri,” she said. “Not all the Elves of Eldamar know of the Peredhil’s wondrous deeds in Middle-earth.” She nodded in the direction of the festivities. “They respect Elrond and his family but there are those who decry wedding or breeding with Edhil who bear mortal blood in their veins.”

Legolas laughed bitterly. “They would compare themselves with a grandson of Eärendil? They could never hope to match him in nobility or valor or beauty, much less surpass him. ‘Tis folly to imagine that I would ever give him up for one of them,” he snapped angrily. Of a sudden, he heaved a shuddering breath. “They do not see that all that holds me from despair is the hope of being with him again,” he said almost whisperingly. “That only his oath has kept me from waning in grief.”

“His oath?” Ithilwen echoed in surprise. Her heart suddenly ached for her son, as his anger dissipated to be replaced by sorrow.

“Before he died he swore he would come back to me,” Legolas said painfully. “He—he said he would beg of the Powers and Eru himself if he had to that he be returned to me and soonest.”

He looked at his mother, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I know only Námo can decide if a faer”—spirit—“may leave his halls but I have held onto Elrohir’s promise nevertheless. I have to believe that he will come back to me else I will despair. I promised him I would not despair, Nana.” His voice broke as he finished.

Ithilwen pulled her son into her arms. “Ai, my Legolas, I did not realize how deeply you still grieve for him,” she murmured. “Do not stop believing then.”

She drew away and cupped his face between her palms. “Keep your promise to him and do not despair. Trust that the Powers will have pity and grant your heart’s desire ere long.” She wiped the incipient tears from his eyes. “And as for Olwë’s request, your father and I will make it perfectly clear to him that ‘tis out of the question. Do not fear force or coercion from any quarter, my love. ‘Tis your will in this matter that the Valar will uphold.”

Legolas laid his head gratefully upon his mother’s shoulder. Small comfort though her words of encouragement were, it was still comfort and that he needed if he were to go on hoping.

*********

Eldamar, Yavannië FA 139

The youngest prince of Taur Galen looked out upon the cobalt waters in the Bay of Eldamar, facing east to where the Hither Lands lay. It was now eighteen years since Elrohir had passed away. Eighteen years since his heart had been rendered wounded and unhealing.

He oft stood on the long white shores of Valinor, looking back to where the Elf-knight’s green grave still lay. Always, memories assailed him and, though bitter mingled with the sweet in the remembering, he needed to recall the past in order to endure the lonely present and keep up his hopes for the future. He twisted the gold band on his right index finger. It had become his habit to do so whenever he thought of his darkling mate.

After a long memory-tapestried while, he turned his back on the sea and made his way to Artirion.

A few days ago, a messenger had arrived in Alqualondë where Thranduil and his wife and son were visiting with his kinsman, Olwë. The Elf had announced the birth of a son to Elrond and Celebrían that very morn.

The messenger had also specifically issued an invitation to Legolas to visit Elrond’s halls as soon as he could. Legolas had accepted but before proceeding to the healer’s home this day, he had made this quick trip to the shores of Eldamar first. It was almost like a pilgrimage to him, one that strengthened his connection with Elrohir no matter how fleeting or elusive.

He was blithely welcomed by Elladan and Nimeithel. To his bemusement, they immediately led him to Elrond and Celebrían’s bedchamber, broadly beaming all the way. The Lady of Artirion sat up in bed, cradling her babe, her doting husband at her side. As soon as she saw Legolas she beckoned to him, a secret smile on her lovely face.

“Suilad, Legolas”—Greetings—Celebrían said. “We are pleased you were able to visit us in this time of joy.”

Legolas smiled back. “I would not miss this moment for all the gold in Arda, Naneth”—Mother—he replied.

“Indeed, ‘tis worth more than gold,” Elrond remarked cryptically. “Come, will you not look upon our son?”

Legolas shyly acquiesced and bent over the child. His eyes softened as he took in the infant’s dark beauty. Sable hair and proud eyebrows marked him as Elrond’s son but the pale luminosity of his skin and the sinuous sculpted lips of his mouth, both so alike to Elladan’s, were undeniably inherited from Celebrían. He reached out a hand and with his finger stroked a plump, petal-smooth cheek.

The infant’s eyes opened at his touch and a pair of long-lashed grey eyes stared at him. Grey that bordered on silver, Legolas realized with awe. He was all but mesmerized by the infant’s gaze. Then all unbidden, the babe broke into a smile and, to the archer’s amazement, reached out its arms to him. He looked at Celebrían uncertainly.

“I think he would like to make your acquaintance,” she dimpled and, without hesitation, eased her child into the prince’s arms.

Legolas’ eyes widened as tiny hands instantly grasped a stray flaxen lock that had fallen over his shoulder and clung to it with gleeful tenacity. He had to smile as the infant toothlessly grinned at him in delight.

“What is his name, my lord?” he inquired of Elrond, gaze still locked on the wee Elfling.

“The same name he bore in Middle-earth, Legolas,” Elrond replied ever so gently. “Elrohir.”

In that moment, time seemed to come to a standstill. Turning almost paler than the pristine draperies of the bedchamber, Legolas stared first at Elrond, then at Celebrían, before looking back down at the infant in his arms. He was forced to take several deep breaths before he regained the ability to speak lucidly.

“El-Elrohir?” he stammered. “He is-he is returned…”

Words failed him as the silvery eyes continued to regard him with innocent wonder.

“Aye, Legolas, he is returned to us,” Elladan confirmed. “Do you not mark what year it is?”

Legolas looked at him in perplexity for a long while before suddenly letting out a stunned gasp. It was the 139th year of the Fourth Age in the reckoning of Middle-earth. The very same year the twins had been born in Imladris in the last age. And now he realized with ever increasing awe that the infant had been born on Elladan’s begetting day almost down to the very minute the elder twin had emerged from his mother’s womb.

The others smiled with glee when they noted his full comprehension.

Elrond said gratefully: “‘Tis remarkable that he was released so soon. It seems our prayers in this regard were answered quite promptly.”

Legolas could only nod mutely at first. And then he collected his wits and looked curiously at Elrond and Celebrían.

“Did you know ‘twas he that you carried?” the archer asked in a hushed voice.

The silver-haired Elf-lady nodded. “Námo informed us when he decided to release our son from his halls.”

“Why did you not tell me?” Legolas said a little reproachfully to his law-parents. “You knew how much I yearned for this day.”

Elladan placed a soothing hand on his shoulder. “We did not want you waiting on hope for a whole year, gwanur.”—kinsman. “We thought it would be more gratifying for you to see him in the flesh and know for a fact that he is at last returned.”

Nimeithel added, “Father and Mother thought this course wisest, too, tôr iuar.”—older brother.

Legolas was at a loss for words. He knew they had only sought to spare him more unbearable waiting. Still and all, he could not help feeling a little resentful that he had been left completely in the dark. The feeling was banished, however, when Elrohir tugged at his hair, reclaiming his attention once more.

He gazed down at the child and was caught in his twilight stare once more. His own eyes glistened with sudden gladness. “Elrohir nîn,” he whispered tenderly. My Elf-knight.

Lifting the babe higher, he pressed a gentle kiss to its smooth temple. The infant Elf-knight cooed softly at him and happily nuzzled his face against his cheek in turn. Legolas felt his heart swell with joy and hope.

***********************

Glossary:

Yavannië - Quenya for September

ellith - Elf-maids

ellyn - male Elves

Edhel, Edhil - Elf, Elves

To be continued…
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight