Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

To Resist both Wind and Tide	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 4374 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do nto own Lord of the Rings and no money is made from this story, just fro fun.Characters and settings created by JRR Tolkien.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Chapter Fourteen Promise Fulfilled
For the second time on this journey, Aragorn came awake with the uncomfortable realisation that he was being watched and not by his mate. Jarred abruptly into awareness, he could not define what had roused him, the impression of a loud noise his only clue, but he immediately forgot about that as his head came up and his eyes flew open to find Elboron, Prince of Greenwood, seated cross-legged on the talan, one hand resting atop either knee, staring at him. There was a hint of mild amusement about the noble ellon's viridian eyes but the elf was not smiling.

Aragorn's next thought was for Legolas and the man found the archer beside him, rolling over and sitting up, shoving the unruly mass of golden hair out of his face, obviously only just emerged from sleep as well, though the sun was long past dawn. Aragorn was glad he'd remembered to cover Legolas with a blanket and grabbed it just in time to prevent an embarrassing exposure of their partial erections. They shared a quick glance filled with mutual relief, each pleased to find the other well and right where he'd been the night before, then focused on the patiently waiting Sindarin prince.

"What is amiss?" asked Legolas, peering through bleary, blinking eyes at his uncle.

"Maur Aur an golé" (Good Day to you both) said the King's brother and reached to a tray before him on which reposed a small, elegant tea service. He poured steaming brown brew into three ceramic cups the colour of bark, handed over two to the late risers, and sipped from the last. He peered at Aragorn but pointed with his raised cup at Legolas. "Not so pleasant on first awakening, that one. Puts off sleep till he's got no choice about it, always has, then sleeps so deep it is almost hibernation."

"Ai Valar, Elboron! Maur Aur an le," snapped Legolas irritably and set his cup aside with an exaggerated sigh. It was his uncle's joy to tease him thus but he detested it beyond all things. "Now, what is it?"

"Sîdh, I came to let you know the wizard has arrived," Elboron replied more seriously, watching as the man easily soothed the riled archer with a single glide of his hand down Legolas' back. Now he regretted his flippant remarks. He had only meant to treat with his nephew as was his wont in years past, thinking it would reassure him that things remained the same between them. He realised how foolish, nay, how insensitive that was; nothing would ever be the same for Legolas.

"Already? How is that possible?" Aragorn's brows rose in bewilderment. "Mithrandir took the longer route by far; I would not have thought to encounter him again for many days." He repeated his comforting caress and Legolas leaned against his touch, visibly relaxing.

It made Elboron smile to see it. This more than anything had convinced him there was nothing wrong with Legolas beyond the devastation of profound grief and guilt. His conduct during the battle, his demeanour afterward, the depth of his sorrow, and most of all the strength of the bond between him and his mate, all of this had convinced him. Elboron was supremely glad he would not be called upon to destroy Legolas, for he loved him as he did his own grandchildren. How could he face his brother again if that was the deed he must confess at the end of this affair?

"His mode of travel you can address with Mithrandir," suggested Elboron, swallowing his tea and setting his cup aside. "What a wizard may do is beyond my understanding, or, indeed, my interest." He reached over and tapped his nephew on the knee since the archer was studiously avoiding his eyes. "Legolas, forgive me; you are no longer a child and I should not goad you thus. You are angry, yet hear me: I am convinced you are incorrupt, but I must adhere to the forms of the law."

"You are?" Legolas chanced a swift peek at Elboron and found he was not unhappy with his uncle any more. The elder prince's eyes held compassion and admiration, and seeing this was not only surprising but encouraging. He sat up straighter. "And the others?"

"That I cannot judge," Elboron said, sharing a dour glance with Aragorn, "but there will be some supporters. Celon'lir, of course, but he is also expected to uphold his father's memory; he grieves for Doronarth."

"I lost him too," countered Legolas, suddenly feeling the loss of Doronarth keenly, though there were many years between them. They had been at least as close as he and Elboron. "He was my brother. I had nothing to do with his death."

"Aye, I know it," Elboron shook his head and again patted his nephew's knee. "What you learned about the attack may help Celon'lir come to terms with it. He is still set on war with Rohan and had we not received word of your rescue, he would likely have won the debate and secured an army. Many of Doronarth's kin are in favour, but they are still a minority among the people at large."

"That is good news," Aragorn inserted. "The people of Rohan are not devious and the one who was responsible will be made to pay, if he has not already."

"This is a tale that I would hear," Elboron announced, sharing a grim smile with the man, "yet it will have to wait. We've this ritual to conclude first. Afterward, mayhap there will be a time for adventure stories."

"It wasn't an adventure," snarled Legolas, glowering at his uncle. "What I've learned is important intelligence that bears upon the peace between two free nations who can little afford to turn against one another."

"Aye, I meant not to slight your experience, Legolas," Elboron assured. "Sîdh, I would have peace between us, muindorion. You know this is just my way as it has ever been. I am too old to change it now, so just accept that there is love behind it. Whatever I am bound to do, I will not shun you any longer. If my reticence has caused you pain, as I know it has, I regret it deeply, but I had no means to know for certain until seeing you, testing you."

Legolas made to answer but Aragorn cut him off. "Reticence is a gentle term for it, Ernil Elboron. I am not done being displeased over my mate's treatment here among his own people and expected better from the Wood Elves."

"I don't know why you would have any expectations one way or another, unless Legolas told you something of our customs, which he admits he did not."

"That is hardly an answer," Aragorn bristled.

"What would you?" Elboron offered another of his elaborate shrugs. "I have made my judgement and it is in his favour. If you think this was easy for me, or that I enjoyed treating my nephew as an outcast, you are mistaken."

"Enough, Kalrô. That is all the apology you will ever get from him. Ernil Elboron is never wrong." Legolas smiled, pleased to have his mate so stalwart in his defence.

"That is well," complained the man, addressing the prince again, "but I do not understand your sudden change of heart between yesterday and this morn. Legolas has not changed overnight."

"Kalrô" Legolas whispered, nudging him, cheeks red.

"Your confession was overheard by many," Elboron informed the man, smiling warmly, "myself among them. I am convinced the bond is true and that the feeling between you is an indication that this is the fate Eru intends for you both. That was as reassuring as Mithrandir's words, if not more so."

"Ah," Aragorn had forgotten the audience below, even as he'd predicted, but did not regret his avowal of love and tenderly pulled Legolas to him, an altogether proprietary action. "What of Gandalf's testimony?

"We shall all hear it, but he has already said enough for me. Before anything else he demanded to know where Legolas was for he is under his protection, it would seem, and he vouches for his spirit." Elboron smiled back at the man and rose. "Now ready yourselves for we need to be on our way. I let you sleep as long as I could, Legolas, and we will stop early again tonight."

"Will you send news to Ada?"

"Aye, as soon as…."

"As soon as you two dress yourselves and come down here."

Elboron's sentence was completed for him by the wizard's gruff voice below. The prince chuckled and rose to his feet. "That was not the answer I would give, but it will suffice. Have the tea and then come down." He calmly dropped over the edge of the talan, causing Aragorn to choke instead of swallow and reinforcing the man's conviction that the royal family definitely harboured a streak of lunacy in the bloodlines.

"All right, Kalrô?" Legolas rubbed his back.

"Aye. At least now I know your rash behaviour is inherited and need not wonder overly about it." He had meant to say worry, but thought better of admitting to Legolas he feared the archer was courting death.

"Rash? Nay, I am not so." Legolas threw off the covers and went searching for clothes, finding the fresh garments were indeed his own, and began dressing. "I am not the one who was standing up in a canoe brandishing a sword like a First-age hero, an easy mark for those foul beasts. That was rash."

"I agree, but Elboron practically dared me," shrugged Aragorn. He was content for the moment to watch his mate wriggling into the tight leather leggings.

"Ai Valar, do you always accept a fool's errand?" Legolas suddenly felt his mate's eyes upon him and took his time, making rather more of tucking in and tying up than perhaps was necessary.

"Would you have me branded craven?" Aragorn did not mind the exaggerated care the archer was taking.

"I would have you…" Legolas paused, a devilish glitter flashing through his eyes and a rakish grin upending his lips. A step carried him close enough to cradle the man's rugged face between his hands and bend low for a quick, loud buss on the lips. He released him roughly, observing with satisfaction Aragorn's suitably pleased and mildly stunned expression. "…alive and well," the elf finished smugly.

"Come here," Aragorn ordered and circled Legolas round the waist, pulled him into his lap, kissed him properly. He nuzzled the smooth cheek happily. There was no denying he enjoyed this flirtatious side of the Wood Elf's personality and was glad to encourage it. "I like to see you smile, Melethen. Your eyes shine like sapphires."

"You give me cause to smile," answered Legolas, beaming, arms loosely draped over his mate's shoulders. It occurred to him that the last time he'd sat in anyone's lap, he'd been a babe. He'd felt safe and secure then, loved, and he did now, but this was infinitely better. "You'd best hurry before Mithrandir loses patience." Yet Legolas made no move to rise, enjoying the sensation of the solid erection rising beneath him instead.

"I have already lost patience and will not hesitate to come up there myself if required," Mithrandir's disembodied voice threatened.

The lovers groaned and Legolas stood, offering a hand to Aragorn. "Sorry," he whispered. "Not going to be a comfortable climb down for you."

"No matter," sighed Aragorn, fumbling for his pants, enjoying the archer's attention as he struggled into them. "Elboron promised an early halt tonight." He buttoned up and then turned to help Legolas with his shirt, stealing kisses as he tied it shut. "Can you wait?" he whispered, "because if you can't, I'd as soon make them wait."

"Nay, do not tempt me!" laughed Legolas and gave the man a gentle shove. "Get dressed, Besnô; I would have this done. I need to see Ada."

Both hastened after that and were on the ground quickly, finding the wizard at the base of the tree, leaning on his staff and smiling. Elboron and Celon'lir stood with him. Not far away, Tuilelindô waited patiently beside the man's charger, the latter without his tack and gear, which were collected neatly near at hand. The sylvan warriors were ranged about in a loose semi-circle, all watching the couple with keen interest, some pleased, others guardedly so, some as yet blatantly suspicious, and a few of Doronarth's kin making no secret of their anger.

Legolas exhaled a short sigh; it seemed they thought he had not felt enough pain and begrudged him this one source of joy. He kept his displeasure hidden, however, thinking of the import of the ritual to come. Once completed, none could openly accuse him again, no matter what misgivings were hidden in their hearts. He felt Aragorn's hand at the small of his back and produced a smile for the wizard. "Mithrandir, I am glad your journey was so swift. Tuilelindô is a good guide, yes?" Legolas called his mare to him as he spoke.

"She is that. I saw no reason to delay once I knew you and Aragorn were safely across Anduin," replied the wizard, "and do not bother asking how I managed it. The secrets of Aman are not to be shared with those not of my Order, pen neth."

"I was not going to," complained Legolas. "My parents raised me with proper manners and good common sense."

"To that I also agree," smiled Mithrandir. He and Aragorn shared quiet nods of welcome and then the wizard suddenly held aloft his staff. "Lasto enni!" (Hear me!) he cried and all the elves started, becoming still and respectful as every eye trained upon him. "By the sacred oaths of my Order, the Istari of Aman, as a Servant of Eru and Emissary of Manwë, High King of the West, I declare Legolas free of any unclean power, in full possession of his soul and able to freely exercise the desires of his will and order the thoughts of his mind. Legolas has been cleansed and tested as none of you have, and I would take him even before the High Seat in Taniquetil. Let any who gainsay my oath announce his objections hear and now, else nevermore pass judgement upon Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of Greenwood and mate of Aragorn of Imladris."

Silence followed this proclamation and challenge. No voice dared speak, yet though none could doubt the wizard, some yet held Legolas in suspicion. Twice more Mithrandir called out his testimony and twice more the woods returned the only answer, and the very commonplace nature of the sounds of the forest world were a second validation of the archer's integrity. The wind rustled the leaves, the birds sang, insects hummed, and everywhere the spirit of Tawar walked in proud, silent commendation of its youngest prince. After the third pronouncement, the wizard lowered his staff, resting it for a brief moment on Legolas' shoulder as though in benediction, and from the point of contact a bright spark gleamed, silver and white, a small bloom of the vital energy of his faerlim, and a collective gasp arose from every throat, even the archer's.

"Tawar nin beria!" (Tawar preserve us)!

"Man sen?" (What is this?)

"Phajak'lâ!" (Spirit-light)

The whispered words ran round the small company and many stepped back in fear and awe; a few fell on their knees. Man and elf shared surprised expressions, neither knowing what this might forebode, and both turned to the Istar for explanation. Elboron and Celon'lir exchanged amazed glances that clearly confirmed mutual recognition and the prince came forward to his nephew.

"I thought my eyes deceived me during the fight, but I see they did not. I saw a glimpse of this during battle, but did not know what it could mean, Legolas," he said, settling his hand carefully on the very shoulder from which the light had arisen. "None can doubt so potent a sign of the clarity of your spirit."

"It is true; I saw it too," affirmed Celon'lir, coming near but hesitating to touch his uncle. "Legolas used faerlim to fight our enemies. Who has ever done such before?"

"None that I recall," added Elboron. He paused as the warriors murmured agreement. Many had noticed the brief flickering flashes from Legolas' arrows, even in the full light of day during the battle on the river, but had not known how to judge such a sight, whether it was a sign of good or ill. Elboron was pleased; this was added proof he had not expected, and moved quickly to conclude the test of his nephew's soul. "Legolas, now is the time to produce that token."

He did not hesitate; indeed, he had already retrieved it from the mare's pack and held it up for all to see. Without a word, he handed it to Elboron that his uncle might attest its authenticity, dropping it in the elder prince's outstretched palm.

"It is her ring," Elboron said quietly. "There can be no doubt; the duty with which Legolas was charged, a task he undertook in love and devotion as much as sorrow and fury, is complete. Let us remember not this day and celebrate Ranak'lâ's life rather than her death. The Woodland Realm will rejoice and hold feast on her Begetting Day in one coronar. Kin and family may also hold feast on her day of bonding to Thranduil, should they so wish it, lest he bar it."

"And the promise?" asked Legolas.

"Aye, there is no reason to prohibit it, for you remain among us: First-born and a sylvan warrior. I will send tidings to my brother and leave it for him to judge the merit of your words. Such is already your doom," answered Elboron and quickly left the group to compose both the message and his countenance.

A rush of sighs ran through the crowd as the elves accepted this judgement; the strain and fear of not knowing over at last. Those who had been moved to want happiness for him called out to Legolas now and professed their support, words that were not lacking in warmth yet remained too few, for not all were comfortable with what he had done. Never before had they been forced to face the emissary of death, for such an elf always died in the process of completing his duty. Lingering fear remained, along with the nagging worry about others who had gone on similar missions. Had they died indeed? Had they completed their gruesome tasks?

Legolas did not notice any of this, for Celon'lir ran forward and embraced his uncle, overcome with guilt and sorrow both. "Muindor," he croaked, "gohennach nin."

"Aye," Legolas hugged him back, glad to have his kinsman returned to him, but sorry they would soon part, perhaps for many years. "You could not know how it would turn out. I am glad you escaped."

"Valar, Legolas," rasped Celon'lir. "It is not as you think. I didn't escape. I…I fled as soon as I saw them surround you. You must forgive me, muindor!"

"I have already done so," soothed Legolas. "Be at peace, for I would not have you dead and that is the only outcome your capture would have allowed. There has been enough death among our kin."

"Legolas, this will help keep it safe," Mithrandir said and when the elves broke from one another he held forth the golden band, suspended now on a sturdy mithril chain. Legolas came closer and the wizard draped it round his neck, tucking the token beneath his tunic. "There," Mithrandir announced, glad to have this unpleasant ritual concluded. Legolas smiled his thanks and returned to Celon'lir. The two walked a little apart, for Celon'lir had much he wished to say but his feelings were high and both wished for privacy to mend this breach.

Aragorn made to follow but the wizard held him back. "Let them talk a moment; Legolas needs all the friends he can get," he murmured quietly and pulled the man aside. When they had gone a few paces, he spoke again. "Well done, Dunádan. I knew your love could save him and was I not correct?"

"You said my love would cure him; never did you mention that my solemn profession of that love would be instrumental in clearing him of these abominable charges," hissed Aragorn, not done being angry with the Wood Elves for their shunning and ill-use of his mate.

"I could not," insisted Mithrandir. "It had to be completely spontaneous and entirely at a time of your choosing. Elves have extremely acute hearing and anything rehearsed would have seemed false to them."

Aragorn would say more and ask of other things still incomprehensible to him, but Elboron was calling for the elves to mount up, for in some mysterious fashion horses had been called and the area was filling with sturdy ponies. Legolas returned to him and helped him saddle Azrûbel. When all were astride their steeds, the elder prince called orders and the ranks formed, only now Legolas and Aragorn rode beside Elboron at the head of the column, Mithrandir and Celon'lir flanking them. There were many leagues to go, but little risk of battle and the horses trotted along to the sound of Legolas' sweet lament, many of his kin joining him for the chorus.

The Halls of the Woodland King were so well hidden that Aragorn had no idea they had reached them. He knew the fortress was beneath the earth, but he thought there was a mountain and a mighty river serving as a natural moat before it. He had heard much of the Great Gates and expected to see an elaborate and well-fortified wall in which these gates would reside, but errors in translation and subsequent exaggeration from those few who had actually seen these sights had worked their way into Aragorn's mind. Thus, he came to the heart of Greenwood the Great without realising it.

Three days riding had brought them without incident to a still green glade in the midst of the towering trunks of beeches, these trees so tall their tops soared away to dizzying, eye-defeating heights. Greenwood was not so dark and gloomy a place as the man had imagined it would be and he thought, after the second day, that this was a consequence of the long habitation of the sylvan elves. The sense of menace and of watching eyes had steadily diminished as they journeyed northward, replaced by a quiet, majestic presence: still, ancient, and venerable, and while the humour of this spirit was stern and forbidding to the man, there was about the atmosphere a feeling of familiarity and glad welcome for the band of warriors travelling its byways.

It is for Legolas most of all, this welcome. The forest has not rejected him.

The man was pleased to think this and could not help but believe it was one of the reasons his mate was so calm. Mithrandir had satisfied all doubt as to the integrity of the archer's spirit and Legolas had produced the proof required. Elboron had publicly granted his forgiveness while Celon'lir had openly wept and pleaded forgiveness himself for doubting his uncle. One or two others had come forward and embraced Legolas, but most had refrained, still leery of him, a kin-slayer, though none had spoken that word.

Now, Legolas was quiet and circumspect, his brash and bold façade discarded, but he was no longer fearful, either. He had sung each day, obviously songs of mourning, and alone with Aragorn in the night he shed tears. Their love-making was intense and almost desperate, Legolas more aggressive, more demanding, as though he was trying to store up light. By day, he seemed prepared to fulfil his promise and resigned to whatever his fate would be. That it would include leaving Greenwood was inevitable, and the man understood this was not because the archer had bound over his life to Aragorn's. His affinity for the forest was unmistakable and no small part of his sorrow involved this pending separation. At every break given the horses, he vanished into the branches. Legolas immersed himself in the Great Wood, imprinting every tree, perhaps every leaf, upon his heart so never to forget.

Aragorn could not say for certain when they had crossed into Thranduil's realm for their was no visible boundary until they reached the unsightly gash of the Forest Road, a narrow, overgrown, unkempt, and rain-riven track. He had thought this was the barrier and remarked on its poor state of repair, but Legolas corrected him, saying they had been in his father's lands for many leagues gone by. The road, he said, was not of the Wood Elves' making or their liking, and they hoped it would eventually fall to disuse.

The man let that remark go unanswered and reflected on the blurred outlines of Thranduil's realm. He had noticed the air becoming sweeter the further they journeyed from the river; sweeter both to the lungs and to the ears, for it was filled with the voices of elves, indistinct and muffled as though very far away, singing amid the boughs and branches. Sometimes he caught the notes of lutes and piping flutes accompanying the omnipresent song. It soothed Legolas and the mood of the company eased considerably as well. Yet, the change had been so gradual he hadn't realised it until the understated chatter and commotion of abundant wild life increased, also.

He stared in amazement at colourful and exotic birds such as he had never seen with long sweeping tails, delicate and elaborate crests, and calls that were sometimes more raucous than rhapsodic. He saw the fabled black squirrels, their fur velvety and thick like a panther's might be, and a curious creature that dropped right before his face, using its long tail as a fifth limb, swinging from a branch upside down to peer at him curiously, not a hint of fear in its huge, bright eyes. One plopped down atop Legolas' shoulder, gripping his hair with tiny, fingered hands while leaning out its small, wet snout to sniff at the man. When Legolas spoke to it, it gave a strange cry and leaped into the limbs above.

"What manner of animal is that?" Aragorn asked, laughing as he watched a whole troop of them following the entourage in the canopy.

"Phaja Glada (Laughing Spirit) or Hent-en-Tawar (Eyes of Tawar). There are two kinds: one shy and one bold, one active by day and the other by night. They do not have voices, but they have been awake a long time, longer than the elves, and know many things. They are valued allies," answered Legolas, smiling. He motioned to the limbs above. "These are Phaja Glada. I kept one as a pet when I was a child."

"Did you?" Aragorn chuckled, imagining this, seeing Legolas as a child and wondering if he favoured his father or mother more. He did not ask, though he had discovered that Legolas wanted, nay, needed to talk about and remember his mother as she had been before the days in the Tower. It was almost as if the ellon called her into being at these times, whole and resplendent, sanctifying her life and robbing death of any victory over her, but the man feared Legolas was in denial about his role in her demise and did not want to encourage such a break with reality.

"Aye, I was ten summers old when I found her in her nest all alone, crying so pitifully; a spider must have got her mother, so I brought her home." Legolas spun his tale. "Nana said I was the mother now and had me teach her how to be Phaja Glada. Fortunately, Yavanna made it so these clever beasts are born knowing what to do and I did not have to show her how to make a nest or what fruit to eat, which insects to hunt, how to call to others of her kind, or how to use that tail like another hand. She grew up and went away one day to make a family of her own, but she comes to visit every now and again, like today."

"That was the one, the one on your shoulder just now?" Aragorn laughed, glancing up in the branches, but he could not distinguish this single animal among the throng of them running the limbs. "By the stars, they are long-lived creatures."

"Yes, that was she. They do live on for centuries and if you watch them long enough you see that they take care of the aged ones among them, treating them with distinction. They are like small, furry humans in that."

"What? Legolas, those animals are not at all like humans."

"Perhaps. Small furry humans with tails might be more accurate."

"Ai Valar, I will not even answer that," laughed the man, exceedingly pleased to hear his mate making jokes, even if they were demeaning to mankind. "Did you give your pet a name?"

"Nay, Nana said it was not the way among their kind to have names."

He fell silent and it was only then Aragorn realised everything around them had grown still as he spoke, as though the Spirit of the Great Wood wanted to hear the story and honour Greenwood's Queen.

It was soon after that the company reached the clearing. Now the horses were dispersed throughout the meadow, dozing in pairs posed head to tail or snatching at the grass, necks stretched low, devouring hunks of the lush emerald blades, a rare commodity in Greenwood where sunlit meadows were scarce beneath the nearly impenetrable network of leaves and limbs. The pastoral glade was bordered by a murmuring brook, a rushing freshet noisily bounding over a deep, rugged channel strewn with sizeable boulders and a fallen tree trunk, the water racing down the slope over which the meadow ranged and on around a distant bend where the terrain dipped sharply. A more thunderous roar could be heard in the distance, but the sturdy woodland steeds paid no attention, relaxing after the long trek through the trees.

The Wood Elves likewise took their rest, scattered in small groups throughout the meadow, some lounging stretched out on the ground, lost in reverie, others sitting cross-legged tending to their weapons as they conversed. One ellon sang a soulful song, a reverent hymn to Tawar. A few perched on the steep banks of the stream, legs dangling over, while many waded in the tumbling flow, laughing as they played at catching fish, barefoot, leggings rolled up round their knees, these wild and wary sylvans. They had arrived here at mid-morning and Elboron elected to camp, deciding to wait here until an escort arrived from the King's stronghold, for the contingent of elves about them had still the duty of the watch on the woods and could not desert their posts.

Aragorn found the implications disturbing, for he'd thought all distrust would vanish once the wizard vouched for Legolas, but the archer shrugged off his protest. It was the law; he was still under his father's doom and so an armed escort would take him in. A formality, Mithrandir assured. He, Aragorn, and Legolas were among those by the brook, seated apart from the others a little, responding to that subtle sense of uneasiness issuing form the combined auras of the warriors. Aragorn and the wizard smoked, crafting luxuriant rings and figures which drifted up and wafted away, while Legolas leaned against the man's back, head resting on his shoulder. His eyes were on the clear sky above, watching the drifting clouds, voice softly extolling the majesty of the Great Wood. His heart was in the song, for he had thought never to see home again.

Legolas was pleased to have this time of waiting, free of discussions, questions, plans, and contingencies. He smiled; Aragorn had plotted out a sound campaign to see them safely through the days ahead, debating the various points with Mithrandir, Elboron, and Celon'lir, the four of them conferring like generals preparing for battle. Legolas refrained from participation, allowing his mate to determine whatever course he deemed best, realising, as Elboron surely must have done, that there was little to be done; events must follow the forms established long ago, even before the Sindar came to Greenwood. Yet Aragorn needed to feel he could control the situation and provide the protection he had promised, though everyone, including the man, knew it to be a ruse.

A serene peace had come over Legolas after Aragorn spoke from the depth of the bond, professing love freely without prompting or query of any kind. The sensation of quiet exuberance remained and became like a shield around him, a barrier through which the anger and scorn of his people could not penetrate. 'Our bond is a shield.' the man had said, awe, joy, pride, and wonder in his voice, love shining in his eyes. It was true and the archer smiled, remembering the expression on Aragorn's face, a look of humbling realisation, for he knew in that moment, and not until that moment, that the benefit was his. Legolas stood between him and any harm that might threaten his life, his future, his fate. He had begun to treat his mate with an almost reverent appreciation and Legolas permitted this; it was his due.

Calm and contented though he was, there had been times during the days past when he had considered reneging on the promise. It was his mother's dying wish and she had secured its fulfilment by tying it to her forgiveness, but Legolas was afraid delivering her message would be like stabbing his father in the heart. As it stood, the King believed what everyone else did: that his mate's soul would have fled from her body as the vile creatures raped her. To know she had been present through all the torments of the past two years, unable to escape, unable to die, this might be the one burden Thranduil could not bear. Legolas loved his father as much as he did his naneth. How could he be the instigator of such pain? If Thranduil spiralled into grief and faded, his death would be on Legolas' conscience as well. The archer wasn't sure he could endure that without going mad.

His song faltered and he sighed, falling silent as he shifted against the strong back supporting him, sustaining his body just as the Ranger's noble heart upheld his spirit.

"All right, Hervenn?" asked Aragorn, peering over his shoulder. He reached back awkwardly and touched the golden hair in a light caress.

"Aye." Another heavy sigh emerged.

"How much further until we reach the stronghold?"

"We are almost there. Just around the bend, there, are the gates and the bridge over the river. We'll arrive tomorrow."

"Will your father be among this escort Elboron expects?" Mithrandir asked. He was as much in the dark over the customs of the Wood Elves as Aragorn.

"No, I don't think so," said Legolas quietly. "Elboron would have told me."

Aragorn heard the tension underlying the elf's words and shifted, easing his body around so he sat beside Legolas, arm around his shoulders. "Walk with me, Melethen," he said and stood, pulling Legolas up, too.

They clasped hands and wandered off down the stream a ways, Aragorn warily watching the Wood Elves watch them. He no longer believed they would harm his mate physically, but he did not want to be followed, either, and he scowled darkly at any eye that chanced to meet his. He knew this was no deterrent in itself, but he was counting on Elboron's warning to hold, and it did. The couple paused once he could no longer see the elves playing in the brook.

Immediately Legolas leaned in and kissed Aragorn. "Besnô," the husky whisper was barely audible and he pressed his forehead against the man's. "I have something to ask of you."

"You do?" Things were not going as Aragorn had planned; he was the one with questions. "What is it, Melethen?"

"It is against the custom, but I am anxious to see my father. Come with me; I can get us into the stronghold unseen."

"What?" the man's brows rose. "You want to sneak in?" He did not want to run into any warriors who might be overly zealous in enforcing these bizarre laws, especially when he did not understand exactly what the laws entailed.

"Aye. I am to wait for the escort and they will take me to my father, but I just do not want to tell him what I must in the presence of armed guards with arrows aimed at my heart."

"Arrows…!" Aragorn gripped the elf's biceps tight. "Legolas, tell me exactly what is going to happen here, please."

"It is because I was in the Tower, in case I am consumed by evil or inhabited by the unhoused feä of an elf tortured to death and enslaved to darkness. This is one way to make Orcs, though it is time consuming and has limited success. The Wraiths found an easier way." This last he spoke with bitter hatred.

"Beloved, everyone can see you are no Orc and Mithrandir already vouched for you."

"Aye, but there is still fear. Mithrandir is new; these laws are very old. There are ancient stories about captured elves, no different in appearance than before, returning home to murder their families and kin, set fires in the woods, shoot warriors on patrol with them."

"Elbereth! I had no idea this was possible."

"So they will keep me surrounded and I will not be able to get close to him. I cannot fulfil this promise separated by a ring of armed archers. It is cruel enough without that."

"Is it even possible to sneak into the stronghold?" Aragorn asked uneasily. He was disinclined to think so, for he knew Legolas' capacity for stealth and this was an entire country of Wood Elves.

"Aye, for I know a way most do not."

"Surely Elboron knows."

"He does, and expects me to try," Legolas mused.

"Then this plan is doomed to fail. Melethen, let us simply go to Elboron and ask him…"

"I already have, remember?" The man's perplexed expression was answer enough. "After the crossing I spoke of the promise and he made it clear he won't make any exceptions under the law. Indeed, he cannot diverge from them; it is his duty to his brother but also to the woodland people."

"Since then, Mithrandir has testified that your spirit is pristine," argued Aragorn. "Elboron may reconsider."

"Pristine," Legolas smiled and stroked the bearded cheek, closed the distance between them and kissed him. "That is beautiful, Besnô. Thank you."

"You are most welcome," said the man, taking a quick kiss back. "Now let us go speak with your uncle and see if we can arrange this meeting to your liking without forcing him to defy custom. A lesser number of guards, perhaps, or even just he and Celon'lir could…"

"It would be futile. Try to understand his position, Kalrô; he is charged with this despicable duty, nearly as horrible as the one with which I was charged, for if he deems me corrupt then he must kill me outright, and he will not hesitate to do it. Asking him to relax the laws is tantamount to admitting that very corruption, for if I am truly incorrupt then I understand all the necessity of this. I would have forced him to slay me at that moment. I could never put anyone in those circumstances, Aragorn." Legolas had to stop, overwhelmed with the horror of his own deeds. He crowded close and hid hid face against the man's chest.

"Ai, Melethen," Aragorn cried softly, gently petting the bowed head as he pulled Legolas tight against his heart, struck speechless. His young mate, with all the burdens he already bore, carried this one, too. He didn't want to compel his uncle to endure the guilt and remorse of slaying someone he loved.

"So you see, I think he wants me to slip away without his knowledge," Legolas eventually managed to continue. "If I am caught, he won't have to be the one."

"Oh, Legolas," Aragorn did not know what to say to this, but suddenly he understood what he must do. "My place is beside you. As I have promised from the start, I will stand between you and harm. If you need to see your father alone, so be it. How do we get there?"

"It is not so bad as slithering through the swamps at Gladden," said Legolas, pulling back with a tear-bright smile, "but we are going to have to get wet."

Aragorn shrugged, grinning. "That only means I'll have need to warm you later, yes?"

Legolas snorted at this attempt at amorous humour but appreciated it nonetheless. He disengaged from the comforting proximity to his mate's solid strength and grabbed his hand, tugging; they broke into a run, hastening away from the elves, following the river. The banks grew less steep and the river more sluggish as they progressed upstream, for they were on the southern side of the gently sloping plateau within which the King's stronghold had been delved. Legolas pointed to the flow and they slipped into the water, careful not to splash, and waded into the main channel. In no time they were swimming against the steady current and reached the northern bank without difficulty, for the stream was not broad like Anduin.

"Quickly now," whispered Legolas, though there was no one in sight, and took the man's hand again. They crouched low and squelched through a slough of reeds and mud, and beyond this low spot the ground began a steady uplift, resulting in the bed of the river sinking deeper and deeper until only their heads would be higher than the banks, had they stood upright. Soon, they could do so without fear of being spotted and Legolas again broke into a run. By the time Aragorn was puffing for breath, the ground had become rocky and the way slick, the water noisy and churning, casting spray over them. The roar became steadily louder and ahead the man could see a waterfall spilling a frothy cascade onto the stoney land and Legolas halted, pulling the man down to crouch behind the cover of overhanging brush.

"From here on, we may encounter guards in the tunnel, though it is unlikely. Keep your sword sheathed at all times, even if we are ordered at arrow-point to stop. Let me handle them and…"

"And watch you get shot?" Aragorn's tone indicated how little he thought of this idea. "No, from this point forward, I lead. The Wood Elves will not kill me without cause and if we're stopped, I'll talk us out of it."

"Talk? What kind of talk can stop arrows?" Legolas scoffed.

"I'll say I am a messenger from Eriador, or something," Aragorn waved away his mate's protests, "doesn't matter. The point is, if they see you first, they'll shoot first and worry about my presence later. If I lead, they will be too surprised, seeing a man inside the King's defences, to react immediately. That gives us the advantage."

Legolas stared, sceptical. "Advantage."

"Yes, now tell me where we're going," urged Aragorn, but he could guess, staring at the fluid curtain.

"Beyond the falls is a tunnel, a secret way of escape my father designed when he had this place carved. It leads to an alcove just outside his study but it is a treacherous path, filled with rushing water at this level. Once we descend to the caverns, there is a vast, deep lake, still and silent, which we must circumvent. The only way to do so is using the outcrops of hanging stones overhead. Among them are uncounted places for archers to hide, so if the way is guarded then that is where we'll be caught."

"Sounds impossible," complained the man. "Why isn't there a boat for crossing this lake?"

"Because the idea is to keep intruders out, Aragorn, not make it easy for them to get in," snickered Legolas. "Once on the other side of the lake, the path is easier and dry. At the terminus, we'll be in full view of anyone walking through the corridors at that moment. Could be warriors, servants, my Ada's counsellors, anyone, but if we can get into the study I am certain we'll be safe, for my father will be there."

"What happens then?" Aragorn asked, the first time he had dared question his mate about the King's possible reactions.

"I'll do what I came here to do," Legolas said evasively, breaking his gaze from his mate's. "Come, Elboron and Mithrandir can postpone discovery of our exodus only so long."

There was no point in delaying longer and he dutifully stood aside to let Aragorn lead, waiting until the man was on the move before fisting the dagger he'd stolen from Celon'lir and hidden in his boot. If it came to it, he would take life again before permitting Aragorn to be killed.

It occurred to the man that if there were archers behind the pouring cascade, he was an open target, but then felt immediately better for an elf would have spotted him already. Since he was not dead, they must be alone here. He picked up the pace and tugged Legolas through the drenching flood into the boulder strewn mouth of the tunnel's outlet, stepping down suddenly into knee-deep water as the path dropped. He gave a startled exclamation and stumbled, splashing to a boulder and bruising his shins in the process. Legolas kept him upright and they shared grim displeasure as they moved on, climbing over and around the rocks.

The cave narrowed to a crevice, continuously dropping, then became little more than a narrow chute wide enough to go single file, but at least it was tall enough to stand almost upright. It was dark and Aragorn wished he had a torch, navigating by touch and the faint gleam of his mate's faerlim, his sense of time and space distorted by the omnipresent noise of running water. Its level rose and fell but was never more than waist deep, though the current was strong and plucked at them, trying to sweep them in quickly. The man fought against this and they moved forward one faltering step at a time, struggling for balance, and he was glad for the light weight of Legolas' hand on his shoulder. Then the path began to expand again, becoming wider and smoother, signs carved on the rock walls, and the water curled and boiled furiously about their ankles. They pressed on.

Gradually, the unmistakable sound of another cataract arose and grew steadily more thunderous in the enclosed space, until at length they came to a place where the entire passage was filled with water, a spraying torrent funnelling through a narrow crack in one wall, gushing across the opening and splashing everywhere before disappearing in a frothing frenzy through another gap which could not even be detected through the water's foment. Beyond this they must pass, and did so, but not without being thrown against the opposite wall by the force of the deluge. They teetered on a slickened ledge of stone feeling the cold, wet air of a yawning abyss only inches from their feet.

They edged past and paused for a moment, relieved to have survived. The water under foot was only inches deep now and trickled away down the tunnel's sloping floor, an inky, black trace glimmering with silvery shards of light where the rolling surface caught and reflected the elf's glow.

"That was the worst of it," said Legolas, his words echoing around them. "Now there is only the lake."

"Good, I can't wait," Aragorn chuckled darkly. "Valar, I see now why there are no guards on this side of the tunnel."

"Who goes there?"

The query sprang at them suddenly from the tunnel's black depths, spoken in hesitant and bewildered tones. Man and elf jumped in surprise, shared a glance, and then Legolas pushed in front.

"It is I, Legolas of Greenwood and my mate, Aragorn of Arnor," answered the archer, his own voice trembling with anxious expectation. There was a short silence in which his breathing was audible.

"Legolas?" The word came at them in reverberating waves filled with confused overtones of hope and dread.

"Ada!" Legolas caught his breath and leaped into motion, running blindly down the lightless passage.

"Wait!" the man splashed after him, terrified something horrible might be about to transpire and came to an abrupt halt before he'd travelled more than a few metres.

There in the narrow passage stood Legolas and Thranduil, their elvish light combining to give the scene a hazy, golden caste, ethereal and ghostly. They were locked in a tight embrace, both mumbling pleas for forgiveness and testaments of sorrowful regret. The man stepped forward and his foot trod upon something hard and metallic; he knelt and hefted the knife his mate had been holding, tucking it into his belt with a sad smile. He was the one in front, but is was Legolas who would have detected any threat first and had armed himself, thus to defend his mate. Now the man drew near, but remained enough apart to give them a chance to deal with the misery in which they were mired, and he could no longer entertain the notion that Thranduil had no feeling for his last child.

In the mystical glimmer of faerlim, Aragorn took the opportunity to formulate his first impressions of the monarch. The two elves were nearly the same height, but he could see that the Elven King was broad and robust, thick of limb and sturdy, much like Elboron: Sindarin in size and bulk. In contrast, his son was lithe and light and slender, the epitome of a woodland elf, made for racing through the trees and wielding the bow, disappearing amid the bolls and branches. Yet they shared the flaxen shade of their lengthy manes and the man guessed they would have the same eye colour, too. He smiled, realising how rare a chance this was, to see them both so unguarded, hearts so completely revealed, and he knew now he had nothing to fear from this mighty ruler. Whatever laws might exist in Greenwood, Legolas was more in danger of being squeezed to death than anything else. Time passed and father and son drew apart and wiped their eyes and runny noses, smiling mournfully.

"I thought I'd never see you again," Thranduil said, struggling not to give in to fresh tears.

"I thought the same," sniffed Legolas.

Their speech faltered, for what lay between them was a void of unthinkable horrors, sickening and ugly, dark and twisted.

"Ada, I have a promise I must keep."

"Nay, nay! Say no more. Not here, Iondo (son)." Thranduil held his child at the biceps and clearly did not want to release him, not even with his eyes, but he was aware of the other person in the tunnel with them and not deaf to Legolas' words announcing him. He turned glittering eyes on the man and appraised him carefully, noting with approval the bold stance, the respectful distance, the ready hand resting on the hilt of a mighty sword. An expression half-grimace, half-smile graced Thranduil's face. He met his child's eyes again. "Your mate, Legolas?"

"Aye, Ada, this is Aragorn son of Arathorn." Legolas held tight to his father, feeling him start at the import of this name, and they shared another long look of sad resignation.

The man realised this was his cue to come forward and he did, taking two steps before dropping to his knees in the water before the King. Never in any mental vision of this moment had he thought his first meeting with Legolas' father would be in a cold, wet cave with water from an underground stream swirling round his legs. "Mae govannen, Aran Thranduil. I beg leave to plead my suit, for though it is unjust for a mere mortal man to claim the love of one of the First-born, Legolas and I share the bond of life over death." It was exactly the right thing to say, being more or less what Legolas had instructed the man to say.

"No suit need be pleaded," said Thranduil, sighing, and bent to raise the man up. "The bond of life over death is indisputable, especially given the circumstances. Welcome, Aragorn son of Arathorn. Now enough talk; there is still a long passage to navigate and I have a feeling there will be a pursuit, though a slow one." He turned, keeping hold of his son's hand, and led the way.

"Ah yes," grumbled Aragorn. "The underground lake of unfathomable depth over which one must scramble via rooted teeth of stone. I hope it does not require too much acrobatic leaping and lunging to cross it."

The King paused, shared a look with his son, and gazed back at the man, lips twitching with the preamble of a grin. "I brought a boat," he said drily and beside him Legolas snorted out a laugh.

The rest of the journey was uninteresting to the man. The wonders of the subterranean sea and its caverns failed to capture his attention, for he was more concerned about what was to come. Time seemed both fast and slow as one minute he wished to hurry this pivotal event's conclusion and the next wanted to delay until he was certain Legolas was strong enough to endure it. What would happen if he had another break in reason here? Would Thranduil doubt the integrity of his son's soul? What would trigger it?

Thranduil's anger, or more still his grief.

Yet his doubts could not destroy his hope nor his relief to see Legolas so at ease with his father. Thranduil seemed as reluctant to hear the news his son carried as Legolas was to deliver it, and the man felt keenly that both were stalling. Legolas sang as they paddled, melancholy and low, and Thranduil joined him, but Aragorn abstained, feeling there was more being exchanged between father and son than the words of the hymn. He could feel them comforting one another, the energy of the song bridging their hearts, blurring the boundary between faerlim, rendering a soft and golden nimbus about them. Dream-like, he thought it, ethereal; in such a manner must the elves appear when crossing to Aman. He prayed Legolas would find peace at the end of this journey.

In due course they came to the shore and landed the boat. Walking took them through more tunnels to a door, finely crafted of heavy oak, hinged with thick brass hasps and fitted so well into the opening it barred that not even a hint of light showed round its edges. Thranduil lifted the latch and pushed it open and the brilliance on the other side was nearly blinding after the near pitch of the tunnel. Aragorn shielded his eyes as he went through, blinking to acclimate himself, and when he could see he was astounded.

He was standing in a corridor as fine as any in Elrond's home, high and rounded and broad enough for two abreast, carpeted with plush woven rugs, the walls panelled with a veneer of wood to hide the stone, and lamps at regular intervals. The only thing it did not have was windows, but the monotony of the walls was relieved with paintings and tapestries. While he peered at this unexpected splendour, Thranduil scrutinised him just as thoroughly.

"You have known loss, have you not, Aragorn? Yet you did not sing with us. Why? Here is something that unites all the people of Arda: love and pining for those lost to us."

"Aye, Aranen, yet a mortal's voice cannot hope to match the beauty of elvish song," stammered Aragorn, stunned by the King's insight.

"There is beauty of many kinds in Arda," the King shrugged. "Who did you lose?"

"Ada! Don't pry; he may not want…"

"Nay, it is not prying," Aragorn interrupted Legolas' scolding words. "I lost my father, but I was so young I do not recall either the time of his death or the time before when he was with us."

"Then you have been robbed of your father twice," said Thranduil, completing his inspection of the man who now held his son's life in his hands. "Once by Shadow and once by the shortness of a child's memory."

"That is true," said Aragorn, who had thought this in his own heart but never spoke it to anyone. He glanced quickly at Legolas and found him watching his father with intense concentration, but could not tell if this line of inquiry was cause for worry or not.

"We must talk of the strange fate that brought you to my son," continued the King, setting one hand on the man's shoulder and the other on his child's. He nodded, expression serious but neither unkind nor foreboding. "You do look like Elendil somewhat; the lineage holds true. Know that I will not contest Legolas' choice, not is it one I dislike personally, save for one reason alone. That you can guess. But come, and welcome to my home, for we are here." He crossed the plush corridor and opened the door into his private apartment, bidding them enter.

Legolas did so, releasing a long sigh, and then the man knew he had indeed been passed through an evaluation of grave import, successfully. The archer reached for Aragorn's hand and presented him for an instant that brilliant smile; sapphire bliss.

The man squeezed, grinning, as always swept up in the glory of that smile. He had time to gather impressions of a study filled sparsely with simply but well made furnishings: a great desk of oak, cluttered with papers and little bits of junk, which on closer inspection proved to be numerous dried flowers, leaves, desiccated insects, chiefly butterflies, crudely painted pictures, carefully copied alphabet letters and short messages, every one of which said 'I love you, Ada'. Aragorn realised these must be gifts made and given to the King by his children when they were very small. In a short, painful tightening of his chest, he suddenly felt envious of Legolas and Doronarth, resenting that double loss more keenly than he had in many a year. It dissolved almost instantly, though, for he could not doubt Thranduil would forgive his son. No sooner had he thought the words than the King spoke.

"I know what you would tell me," he addressed Legolas. "You think I cannot know it, but I do. Still, you have made a vow to tell me and to give into my hands the proof that Ranak'lâ is truly dead." He held out his hand, palm side up, and waited.

Slowly Legolas reached inside his shirt and drew forward a mithril chain worn round his neck. From it the small golden circlet winked in the lamplight. He took it from the chain and with shaking fingers placed it in his father's hand, retracted his arm and let it fall to his side. They stood staring at that small lovely thing, such a simple article of jewellery that held so many hearts, so many fates bound within it. In unison father and son exhaled the same sigh of weighty sorrow, met identical grief-torn faces above that ring. Thranduil's fist closed around it and he reached for Legolas, clasping him at the shoulder and guiding him to a group of chairs. They seemed to have forgot the man and sat across from each other, leaning over the space between them until their foreheads were touching, Thranduil's hand still held firm and steady to his son.

"Now say the words."

"I would have you cast back the net of conscious awareness into the flowing currents and ever-deepening ocean of memories the long years have given us," Legolas said without need for more of a preamble than a sustaining breath. "Draw up from these swirling depths a day, Melethron melui nín, a single and singular day. It was a day green and golden and we were alone, rare enough, and though the day was so fair and sweet you were filled with discontent, frowning and petulant, your eyes so deep a blue they nearly became purple."

With a shock Aragorn realised Legolas was reciting, verbatim, the message from his mother to Thranduil.

"Nay, I was not petulant," complained Thranduil with a soft laugh, "But tell me more for I cannot see yet which day this is you want to relive."

Now Aragorn caught his breath in a sharp, audible gasp, frozen in consternation, for it was equally clear Thranduil was responding as if to his dead wife-mate.

"Yes, I understand, for there were so many petulant days," snickered Legolas from his mother's heart. "This one was different. We had already a wondrous family, a fine strong son, two magnificent daughters, numberless grandchildren through countless generations of all three of our offspring. Every spring brought at least one child born of our house. Still, when I asked you the source of your gloom, you answered that you missed 'little feet running and small voices calling for Ada.' Now do you remember?"

"Oh! Ranak'lâ, that day? Oh trees and roots, I remember it."

"What words do you recall, Melethen?"

"I said someone was missing only I couldn't name who," replied Thranduil, voice high and strained now, for he was weeping. "Every time I counted them in my mind, I knew someone was missing but I couldn't see who it was. Just a long swath of gleaming golden hair and then laughter, melodious, singing laughter, a challenge and a cry of joy both."

"Yes, that is what you told me. And once you bared your soul thus, I could see it in you clearly, this lost one, and the missing child was no mystery to me at all. 'Melethen,' said I, 'it is for yourself you seek, and through your child-time, behind that, your father. I cannot give him back to you; it is not for me to say when or how he returns mi-srawanwe. (incarnate) I will give you instead your child-self back to love and protect and nourish and grow. He will be beautiful, as are you, and strong, as are you, and he will look upon you with your own eyes.' That is what I promised you, Melethen, and now I understand the wisdom in your petulant longing, for none other could comfort you in this time than he, our last child."

Thranduil released a long, high pitched keening wail, a noise Aragorn had heard only once before from the First-born, from Legolas, and his heart quailed. Father and son sat rigid, locked in this macabre re-enactment, and the man had the sickening realisation that both knew Ranak'lâ more intimately than one of them should. He balked at this, revolted. Perhaps, to compensate for the raw and ugly pain of this knowing, Legolas' mother had imparted to him some measure of her mind, her spirit, and rather than the archer reciting, she spoke through him. That made it easier for the man to watch; there were some levels of sharing he would rather not know, and that same horror must fill both the King and his child. Instantly Aragorn was made ashamed of his reaction, for his watching it was nothing next to their living it.

"Rejoice," Legolas went on, and now his voice wavered, too, saturated with sorrow, "for this child you so desired that you named him the day he was made has done for you and for me a service far greater than that which we did in giving him life. He has freed me; I suffer no more, Thranduil nín, Aran-en-inden." (My Thranduil, King of my heart.) Legolas faltered a moment for Thranduil was howling and clutched him close, near crushing him with the ferocity of his tremendous grief, saying over and over:

"No, oh no, I didn't know; no, I did not want him for that, not for that, Ranak'lâ, not for that."

"I know it, Ada," Legolas cried softly and tried to comfort his father. "Be at peace, it had to be."

Aragorn released a mighty breath and heaved in several lungfuls of air, swiping at his eyes, but refused to turn away, painful though this was, feeling it his duty to stand by and bear witness to this event, silent advocate for his mate in case he must act and save him as he'd promised, and in truth it was a relief to hear Legolas speak as himself and know he was not lost in madness.

"Go on, iondo; I am all right," Thranduil's hoarse, sob-choked entreaty rent the air. They were composed, after a fashion, the wrenching moment passed, and sat as before, less desperate but more miserable, slumped against one another in the lassitude of sorrow.

"In that wretched Tower are things no person should ever know much less endure. Of the nature and origin of our dire enemies, we all pretend stubbornly to be ignorant, but our spirits are sick with the knowing even while our minds deny it. We cannot deny it today, Melethen, for the sake of our last child's very life.

"Here I was brought to be brood mother to generations of them: twisted, misshapen perversions of children. Here I was put in the harem with others of our people. In the harem I found my sister, lost so long ago, supposedly freed by her mate. It has been almost an Age, Melethen, that she has been there, one of the first captured, still alive, still producing for them two babes a year, always twins. She is bred back to her own sons as soon as they reach maturity. All the offspring are male without exceptions. Of orc females I saw only those who had once been elves, none Tower-born."

As one, Thranduil and Aragorn gave vent to ill-breath, and the man staggered to a chair and sat, unable to stand.

"No! Was she aware?" The King's hushed words were fraught with fear.

"Aye, that myth of the departing feä is necessary for all days but this one. It is the males they capture whose souls are devoured; our females, once soulless, cannot reproduce, so the spirit is left intact by means of sorcery. Anyway, I killed her and the spawn in her as soon as they put us together."

Thranduil groaned, then turned aside and retched on the carpets, for he understood at last.

"This was to be my fate, the fate the Dark Lord desired from the beginning when first he planted that vile spire and killed my Atu in so doing, for I swore revenge on him because of it. Did I not harry him in his filthy den? Aye, and he never forgot that it was my voice that urged the wizard to take up this cause before his White Council and run the Necromancer out. From this indecent life our child has delivered me, and from that same life Mithrandir delivered him.

"They meant to use him, Melethen. After he killed me, their wrath was great and first they were going to destroy him in the usual manner, but then they decided he would be my replacement. They would use his seed in hopes of getting female orcs. We have been too successful, it would seem, in defending our ladies from capture. Even with sorcery of the most compelling kind, most females perish after a few hundred years, and thus more are needed."

This time it was Aragorn who vomited, understanding why his mate had been left partially whole, his power to reproduce not negated utterly but only halved.

"Legolas! Legolas! Ai, Elbereth!" cried Thranduil and rose, gathered his child from the chair and sat with him clutched close, holding him carefully and tenderly in his lap. "I am sorry, so sorry. Please forgive me, iondo."

"I am not the one whose mate was murdered," answered Legolas. "Listen!" and he went on, determined to say the last, for here were words to render it bearable. "I placed upon him a heavy burden and bade him bring you these my last spoken words. As payment, I promised him forgiveness and as soon as the final syllable is said he has it. More he needs: most of all to receive from you the same. Thranduil Melethen, forgive him and do not let this ending between me and thee become a rift between your heart and the heart of the child you wanted so much that you named him the day he was made.

"Named thus because he was yourself again," suddenly the two spoke together, Thranduil echoing words he knew well, and completed the sentence, "just as a dormant tree comes to bud again in spring, so your soul was rejuvenated the instant you got him." Legolas continued alone, head buried against his father's neck. "And these are words that tell of things known only to the two of us, and now to him, that you may believe him. I am free forever and when the spring comes new again for the elves, then I, too, shall be reborn, and walk beside you in the woods of green leaves."

"Forgiven, iondo, forgiven," moaned Thranduil, pained to have to say the words, for Legolas had not done anything but what he was forced to do, and this to his naneth, and for this he ought to be the one demanding restitution.

Legolas sighed and shifted, melting against his father, face pressed into the crook of his neck, spent and too filled with sorrow and joy so that he could neither weep nor smile. He held onto his father, and Thranduil held tight to him. He heaved a sad, soft breath and spoke:

"Now I am free."

The words fell upon their hearts like a stone in a pool, heavy and sinking, drowning hope in the spirits of those who heard them, for it was apparent to all three that this was the one thing Legolas would never be.

TBC

NOTE: Only the epilogue left now. Hope this was satisfactory for everyone. We will have a happy ending for all despite the solemn ending here. Just not wanting anyone to think it is instantly all better now. Still, Thranduil's love and Aragorn's love combined are sure to do wonders for the suffering Wood Elf. And I could not resist adding in some very long-lived lemurs for Mirkwood.
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To Resist both Wind and Tide