Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 4275 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Chapter XIV: Love’s Price

Legolas scarcely saw Elrohir in the days that followed. The darkling Elf held true to his word and avoided him. Only at meals did they see each other and even then the twin maintained his distance, sitting by Eldarion or the Queen, never letting their eyes meet if possible. The prince felt an overwhelming sense of loss at the Elf-knight’s avoidance though he concealed it well.

He saw the shadow grow beneath the warrior’s eyes, felt the dimming of his flame, witnessed the slow weakening of his body manifested in a mounting weariness and listlessness. Every once in a while, when the twin did not mark his presence, so diminished were his senses, he would catch a glimpse of the anguish in the grey eyes, the raw, unhealing hurt.

He knew it was not only his rejection that wounded Elrohir so profoundly but also the knowledge that he had been compared and found wanting. That his feelings, his thoughts, his love had been accounted of no significance when held up to the prince’s deliberately jaundiced eye. Legolas had not only refused his love but betrayed his trust as well.

The archer desperately wished to ask for forgiveness, to make amends, to do something, anything to wipe away the terrible pain he would espy in the Elf-knight’s eyes. A pain that alternated with a frightening emptiness that stripped him of everything that had made him a figure to reckon with in all of Gondor. Noble Elvenlord, fierce warrior and sage counsellor.

But Elrohir held him at bay, would not give him any opportunity to offer comfort or caring. He knew why. Unless it was love that he would speak of he was worse than useless to the Elf-lord’s needs. Yet the twin remained steadfast in his resolve though the grief ate away at him. His family could only helplessly watch the silent unraveling of his very being but the one person who could help he held at arm’s length.

It was heartrending to see him retreat at times to a place within himself where no one could follow, not even his foster brother, sister or nephew. Unseeing, unknowing, thoughts and feelings turned inwards as he lost all interest, all hope in the world without. Only at his family’s desperate entreaties would he force himself out of the darkness, his love for them sparking his guttering flame anew into a steady blaze for a while. For a while.

Legolas wondered if Elladan in far-off Rivendell could feel his twin’s flickering spirit. If only Elladan were here, he thought in his misery. He would know how to reach his brother. He would heal his grief. But the prince knew the thought to be a lie even as it passed through his mind. Not even Elladan had the ability to heal this malady. Only Legolas held the cure but he hesitated to wield it and he knew all too well that Elrohir would refuse it if he gave it unwillingly. And so the decline continued.

The diminishment became all too apparent the last afternoon of the archer’s stay. Hidden in the shadow of the White Tower, he watched Elrohir as he helped Eldarion hone his skills in hand-to-hand combat in the archery yard behind. Legolas held his breath as the warrior actually finished a bout winded. Elrohir panted and swayed a little when he should not have been affected in the least.

The woodland prince anxiously noted the increased leanness of his limbs, the markedly drawn features of his countenance. For the first time, he realized the Elf-knight was beginning to look delicate, almost fragile. Ethereal. It was not a word anyone would have previously used to describe the fearsome warrior whose Edain blood lent him a brawn not of Elvenkind.

“He is dying,” a hushed voice startled him.

He glanced to his side as Arwen came up beside him. The Queen was stony-faced but her eyes flashed with emotion. “I see him failing before my very eyes.”

Legolas did not know what to say except, “I am sorry.”

“Of what use is an apology if my brother wanes?” Arwen demanded quietly. “But then mayhap ‘tis in your interest that it should come to pass for then you would be freed of the fetters of his love.”

Legolas stared at her in hurt shock. “That is uncalled for, rîs Gondor” —queen of Gondor—he hissed. “How could you think me capable of such a thing?”

The Queen turned cold eyes on him. “Because you are,” she softly seethed. “You deny him though you know ‘twill be the end of him!”

“You would have me force what is not there!” he snapped.

“Nay, I would have you admit what is there!” she countered. “But you would rather see him die than unshield your stony heart.” Her words rendered the prince speechless. “You are not the tender comrade I knew who loved him enough to submit rather than end your cherished friendship. You hearken to your misgivings over the one who loves you more than life itself. I pity you. You are doomed to a lonely eternity without ever knowing the full bliss of true love.”

Before Legolas could respond, they heard a shout and turned their attention back to the sparring match. Eldarion was anxiously fussing over his uncle for Elrohir looked alarmingly pale and unsteady. The Elf managed to pacify his nephew before commanding him to begin archery practice. His strained smile was all too obvious to the watching Queen and Elf-prince.

He happened to glance in their direction. Becoming aware of their presence, his smile vanished completely and he flushed painfully. Then he caught hold of himself and turned his attention back to Eldarion. Legolas heard Arwen’s sharp intake of breath. Without a word, she withdrew from his side, her silence a damning accusation for which he could find no rebuttal.

*******

Valiant heart, tender soul, Legolas thought helplessly as he regarded Elrohir that night as they gathered in Aragorn’s study after the evening meal. The sable-haired warrior tried to allay his sister’s anxieties, jested for her fearful son and put up a smiling face for her worried husband. He refused to let them fret over him, gently brushed aside their inquiries about his state of being. Only once did he look at Legolas and that was inadvertent.

The twilight eyes dimmed in that moment, the sinuous lips tightened involuntarily, and then he recollected himself and a mask slid into place over his expressive features. He averted his gaze and resolutely kept it elsewhere. Legolas felt something shrivel within when the grey pools turned from him. It was as if a candle had been snuffed out, leaving him in the cold and lonely darkness.

Arwen, however, would pin him here and then with a pointed glare. Yet the queen concealed her ire from the others, said nothing of the truth to her family, and thus spared him their certain enmity. Why, he did not know. Until the following day.

The next morning, the royal couple and their son came to bid him farewell. Elrohir did not.

King and heir were greatly troubled by the warrior’s non-appearance. They were grieved by his waning, understood what had befallen him but were not aware of what exactly had passed between the two Elves.

After waving away the guards that they should hear nothing of a sensitive nature, Aragorn looked at Legolas entreatingly. “We cannot force you to return something you do not feel, mellon nîn”—my friend —he said. “But can you not stay and be of comfort to him? It would surely lift his spirits to have you nigh at hand.”

Remembering his last conversation with Elrohir, the prince softly declined. His response earned the Queen’s anger. She skewered him with a black glare, torn between the urge to lash out at him and the desire to aid her brother.

“You cannot leave him like this,” she insisted. “Let me fetch him. He would come if I summoned him.”

Legolas sighed. “If he wanted to see me off, you would not need to send for him. Let him be, Arwen.”

She stiffened, her lovely face turning stormy. “But of course. He has freed you,” she nearly spat. “You are no longer beholden to him, no longer held hostage to his needs. You and your misbegotten fears! ”

At her husband and son’s bewildered stares, she strove to rein in her temper.

“Melethril”—lover—“why do you speak so harshly?” Aragorn asked frowningly. “What has Legolas done to merit such treatment?”

“‘Tis not for me to tell you,” she said tightly. She locked eyes with the Elven prince, her stare openly goading him.

Legolas rallied, stared back at her, blue eyes flashing angrily as well. “You have already begun your charge, why halt it now?” he snapped. “What use for discretion when you have already most likely vented your spleen upon me to any who would listen?”

Arwen’s simmering rage erupted. “I have shared this with no one, not even my own lord and son, for he bade me to speak no ill of you before them,” she informed him icily. The information took him aback and she smiled scornfully. “Even to the end, he protects you from the ire of others. But I will not countenance it any longer. I will not shield one so unworthy of his tender heart!” she ground out corrosively. “Fool that I am, I had dared to hope that you would yield at this last for I trusted his judgment of you. But why should you yield when ‘twas for this parting that you broke his very spirit!”

Aragorn and Eldarion looked at her in utter shock before turning to stare at Legolas. Her wrath knowing no bounds in her anguish for her brother, Arwen released a final volley.

She hissed contemptuously: “Guarded heart? ‘Tis a myth! You have no heart, Thranduilion!”

Ignoring Legolas’ blanched countenance at her scathing pronouncement, she swept away with nary a backward glance. For a stunned moment, king, heir and Elven prince were struck mute. And then Eldarion looked at Legolas incredulously.

“Is what she said true?” he questioned anxiously. Legolas could not meet his searching gaze. The youth backed away, disbelief in his comely countenance. “What does she mean?” Eldarion asked almost pleadingly. “What did you do to – to break—? Legolas—?”

When the archer could do naught but shake his head, the young prince caught back a shuddering breath. “What mother said – about your fears— What are you afraid of?” he demanded, near tears despite his manful efforts to stay them.

Still Legolas did not speak. Eldarion bit his lip then spun on his heel and hurried after his mother. The archer glanced warily at the king. Aragorn was ashen-faced.

“You willfully denied him knowing what would become of him,” he half whispered, eyes wide with consternation and as much disbelief as his son’s.

“Nay, I never intended that it would come to this,” Legolas protested.

“Yet it has.” The king’s regard turned stern. “It seems none of us truly knew you,” he remarked coldly. “Not even my brothers whose friendship you claim to treasure so dearly.”

His face grim, he, too, turned away and followed his wife and son.

Stricken with guilt and misery, the archer mounted his steed and led the contingent away. At the last moment, before he made the first turn down the street, he looked back. He espied a slender figure just by the Citadel gate. Argent eyes bade him goodbye; no trace of recrimination or anger marred their limpid depths.

The prince almost turned his mount around to go back but Elrohir lowered his head and disappeared into the High City. With a heavy heart, Legolas continued on his way, his people following him in silence.

*******

They had crossed Anduin into Ithilien and still the heaviness in Legolas’ heart did not lighten. If anything it grew ever heavier as they drew farther away from Minas Tirith. And when they came within sight of Emyn Arnen and still the burden did not lift, Legolas knew there was something terribly wrong.

He had always felt a sense of belonging when he saw those hills. Known a feeling of homecoming that made his heart glad and soul rejoice. But now he felt empty. He could feel no comfort, no welcome relief. And an ache gnawed at him from within. His eyes fell upon the exquisite gold band on his right index finger.

It had never left his finger since Elrohir had gifted him with it. Not even when he slept or bathed did he remove it. He had thought to return it before he left Minas Tirith but he’d realized how much more pain that would inflict on the Elf-knight. As if I have not already hurt him enough, Legolas thought remorsefully. He gazed wistfully at the ring. It seemed to him that it challenged and beckoned and reproached all at once.

He suddenly brought his horse to a halt. Around him the other Elves also stopped, looking at him in puzzlement. He ignored them and turned his steed around, staring at the City of the Kings in the distance. He stayed that way for the longest time, seeking something he knew not what. And the ache refused to cease. Indeed, it had waxed steadily since his last glimpse of Elrohir.

He turned inwards, strove to understand his feelings. Turmoil and confusion abounded within. He grappled with his emotions, forced himself to sort them out and see them as they truly were.

Since the Elder days, the Elves of Greenwood had suppressed the innate duality of their nature. In the need to perpetuate their race amidst the uncertainties of Middle-earth, the binding of Edhil of the same kind came to be viewed as extraneous and, eventually, by the time of his obstreperous grandsire, Oropher, even aberrant. The inclination, of course, could not be banished; it was as native to the Elves as their immortality. But it had been forced into the shadows of Greenwood’s Silvan culture; something known to be done but not encouraged or flaunted.

Scion of Oropher’s house, Legolas had been raised in this atmosphere, ignorant of that part of him that lay dormant for lack of enlightenment or opportunity for expression. He had indulged his passions solely in she-Elves, never dreaming that he was capable of so much more.

Any attraction to fellow males was explained away as the natural elvish appreciation of physical beauty or the admiration or hero worship of those with qualities worth emulating. The prince had accepted these reasonings without question; no male Elf had yet evoked in him anything to make him believe otherwise.

The alliance with Rivendell had forced a wedge into the closed society of Eryn Galen and served as the first incursion of the ancient ways into the Woodland Realm. But even then, Thranduil’s people had been slow to accept such profound changes in their traditions.

Legolas, despite his ample exposure to these differences in the company of Elrond’s sons, had not embraced them with any marked swiftness or enthusiasm either. Not even the surprising revelation that others coveted him in that manner had changed his views of such passions and the Elves who felt them. They were to be pitied, tolerated, even assisted if need be; he had come to accept that it was normal for their race. But it was not for him. He believed it never would be.

Until Elrohir had awakened in him that which he had long denied existed in his very blood. What he could ignore with other ellyn—male Elves—he could not with the younger twin. Elrohir had kindled something in him, educing not just passive acceptance of his touch but an enthusiastic response to and eventually an active, undeniable craving for it. He’d discovered that he wanted the Elf-warrior as much as he had any elleth, or Elf-maid. But his fear of emotional intimacy had not vanished and even deepened his determination to avoid engaging in affairs of the heart.

Elrohir had confessed to understanding this and had left him in ignorant peace, opting to keep his feelings from his friend. But his devotion had never waned, his tender regard never abated. If anything, he had been ever more patient and caring since...since the night he made his choice.

Emotional pain lanced through Legolas’ frame as he comprehended the truth at last.

When the twins had chosen to be of Elvenkind, the grace for them to remain in Middle-earth past the time of their father’s departure had been contingent on each pledging to bind himself to an Elf who would then stand in Elrond’s stead. Whilst Legolas had known ‘twas his sister, Nimeithel, who owned Elladan’s heart, he had wondered at the time as to who would hold Elrohir’s immortality in his or her hands.

‘Twas I.

Legolas drew in a ragged breath. He bound his heart and spirit to me though I did not know it, he thought in shock.

He closed his eyes, his heart beating wildly. I am every kind of fool, he berated himself. And a blind and deaf one as well.

All the signs had been there from the moment Elrohir pledged himself to be of the Elves. It had been more glaringly apparent when he revealed his love to Legolas on Mindolluin.

Legolas almost groaned out loud as he realized yet another truth. Until Gilwen, Elrohir had not bedded another, male or female, in the two decades since the declaration of his choice. How could he when he had promised himself heart and soul to the archer? It was no wonder that he felt so tainted by his encounter with the mortal woman. In his eyes, he had betrayed his oath of fidelity.

But I did not see or hear, Legolas thought painfully. I was so caught up in my own feelings I failed to comprehend what he had done in the name of his. How is it that he still loves me when I have proved myself so unworthy of his devotion?

His mind raced through all the repercussions of Elrohir’s sacrifice.

A true binding occurred not only when an Elf gave his heart but also when his spirit sought to belong to the one to whom he had given it. Once this came to pass, it triggered a desire for intimacy with that sole beloved; an intimacy of an intensity and relentlessness unknown to any other race in all of Arda. Such was the passion of the Firstborn for how else could love and lust for a single mate outlast eternity itself? Few could endure and not surrender to despair should love not be accepted, requited or expressed.

For so long as Elrohir had still held hope that Legolas might yet love him in turn, he’d remained steadfast; had been so strong of heart and spirit as to be numbered amongst those few who could withstand the ravages of love unreturned. But when Legolas had stripped him of all hope, he’d finally succumbed to the one thing that could be accounted an illness among the Elves. Grief. And with it came the degrading slide into darkness for fading deprived an Elf of all grace and dignity. It showed its merciless hand in Elrohir’s swift waning. Now Legolas, too, could feel the beginnings of that insidious pain and finally recognized the cause of it.

It came to him, with blinding clarity, why he felt so lost, so pained, so...incomplete.

He stirs me in a way no other being ever has. He always has. And there is no other reason for it but I would not admit it. Ai, stubborn, ignorant fool that I am! Elbereth forgive me, I have wronged him beyond bearing.

A new fear coursed through his whole being. A new, far more daunting fear than any he had ever felt in all his years. It thundered in his head, froze his very blood. The reason for its existence cudgeled him with brutal force.

If he did not unshield his heart, if he did not turn back now...he would never see Elrohir again.

He visibly trembled; his hands shook violently as he gripped his mount’s mane. Forcing himself to calm down, he glanced at his companions, noticed their alarmed expressions.

“I am returning to Minas Tirith,” he suddenly announced.

The other Elves stared at him in surprise. “Highness, we are already more than a day’s journey away,” said his captain. “Even should we ride without stopping, we shall not reach the Guarded City until late this night.”

“I know,” Legolas said. “I do not ask you to accompany me. I will go alone.”

“Nay, my prince, we would never let you go alone. We will go back with you.”

Legolas only nodded. “I expect you will be damnably housed,” he told the others. “I will not rouse the King’s household at an unholy hour just to accommodate this mad whim of mine.”

He urged his steed into a wild gallop, unmindful if the others followed or not.

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

Glossary:

Thranduilion - son of Thranduil

Edhil - Elves

To be continued…
- 14
- 15
- 16
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince