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Twilight Tales - Sacred Bond	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 12117 -:- 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
- 1-Advent
- 2-Bridging
- 3-Pledges
- 4-Serendipity
- 5-Deepening
- 6-Request
- 7-Bedfellows
- 8-Liaison
- 9-Catalyst
- 10-Tidings
- 11-Profession
- 12-Rift
- 13-Seeking
- 14-Confluence
- 15-Oneness
- 16-Assignation
- 17-Covenant
- 18-Gambit
- 19-Recovery
- 20-Bond
- 1
- 2
- 3
Chapter II: Bridging

Rhosgobel, laer TA 2071

They gathered before the rustic halls of Radagast the Brown in the vales of Anduin nigh to the southern borders of Mirkwood. Thranduil and his beauteous progeny stood tall and proud as they awaited the approach of the party from Imladris.

Times had been relatively quiet since the malevolent power that had ruled Dol Guldur fled its premises before the courageous advance of Gandalf the Grey soon after the passing of the Woodland Realm’s Queen Alphaieth. Not that the evil had diminished; only that for the present, it was muted somewhat. These were the beginning years of the Watchful Peace. Though the use of the word ‘peace’ seemed grimly laughable in light of the reason for the conference to be held on the neutral grounds of Rhosgobel between the Half-elven lord of Rivendell and the Elvenking of Mirkwood.

Relations between the two realms had changed little in the years since the fraught birth of Thranduil’s last child. Indeed, on some fronts, it had turned positively frosty. The woodland folk remained wary and reclusive, their distrust exacerbated by the occasional but continued clashes with the other elven tribes. Again, nothing as heinous as the kinslayings and abductions that had blighted the First Age but rather altercations of varying degrees of severity. Yet the Wood-elves were not entirely to blame for this woeful state of affairs.

Not all of Elrond or Círdan’s people were as sharp of wit or foresighted as their lords and some were apt to act foolishly when they came into contact with the Silvan folk. And Thranduil’s Elves, their suspicious natures boosted by their perilous existence, were quick to respond in kind. As for the mysterious citizens of the Golden Wood, well, they were even more secretive than Mirkwood’s inhabitants. But the Wood-elves knew they hearkened to Elrond because their lord and lady were sire and dam to Elrond’s wife. They were not to be trusted either.

One such encounter between an arrogant Imladrin patrol and a mule-headed Mirkwood hunting party had come dangerously close to the point of total enmity between the two realms. Alarmed by the prospect of these elven strongholds lurching on the brink of hostilities if not outright war, Mithrandir had insisted on a meeting between Elrond and Thranduil to straighten matters out. He had persuaded both to come to Rhosgobel and narrow if not close the rift that yawned ever wider between their peoples.

Now was not the time to dredge up old sores or foster new wounds, the Istar had gently but firmly chastened them. It was not demanded of them that they become close friends but for the love of all that was pure and good, could they not at least have peace between them? The elven tribes had to unite if they were to withstand the evils that threatened Middle-earth anew.

And so they came to Radagast’s home. As expected, the Mirkwood party arrived first. But the Rivendell Elves were not long in following and within the hour were sighted as they neared the Wizard’s house.

Thranduil perused his children with not a little pride. It had been agreed that he and Elrond would bring their respective families with them as a gesture of good faith and a way of calming the all too easily roused dudgeon of their respective subjects.

His proud regard was not without basis. His dark-haired heir, Gilfaron, would one day rule their people as ably as his father should Thranduil, Eru forbid, meet an untimely end. Gold-crowned Denilos already defended the realm as one of its most valorous captains. Tuilinniel, with her resplendent red-bronze locks, and Celebrethil, whose shining tresses were closer to silver than gold, were as cunning and feisty as their brothers but also capable of the gentleness and compassion of their departed mother.

Thranduil’s eyes dipped lower and softened as he gazed at the slender sprite who hid behind Tuilinniel’s skirts. Mithril and gold hair so soft and fine it could pass for the richest silk framed a tiny face still round of cheeks as befitted a child barely past infancy. Large round eyes of a deep cerulean hue peered out at the goings on, curiosity and apprehension alternating in their depths. A rosebud of a mouth and a pert nose completed a countenance that promised sheer perfection of feature and shape in the not so distant future.

Legolas clutched at his sister’s skirt and tucked closer against her side as the Imladrin Elves approached. In all his eight years, he had seen so little of other Elves as to almost consider them another race. Too young to have absorbed his people’s distrust of these Edhil, he was nonetheless a little fearful of all strangers. But also excited as most children are when confronted with something new and fascinating.

The Rivendell contingent entered the small courtyard astride their wondrous elvish steeds a splendid sight to the little Elf’s eyes. Elrond and his ethereally lovely wife Celebrían headed the party. Golden Glorfindel and darkly handsome Erestor followed them, riding at either side of their lord and lady. Just behind the esteemed warrior and the sage steward, an elleth—Elf-maid—of astounding beauty could be glimpsed.

Legolas guessed she must be Arwen, she who was called the Evenstar of the Eldar. He had oft heard it whispered that she was Thingol’s daughter of Doriath returned.

With considerable awe, Legolas watched the newly arrived Elves gracefully dismount. It was then that he espied two mirror images as they came up from behind. He squealed in delight.

Protocol was thrown to the wind. Diffidence cast by the wayside. Legolas darted from between his sisters and raced toward one of the near identical soldier-princes, one name issuing from his lips.

Elrohir smiled and dropped to one knee, arms held out, decorum be damned. An instant later, he hugged close a gleeful Elfling, oblivious of the stares leveled on them.

“Mae govannen, Legolas,” he said with great warmth. Well met. “I see you have grown some, pen neth.”—young one.

Legolas giggled and gazed happily at him. Here was the one Elf from without who was no stranger to him but filled his child’s heart with joy and belonging whenever they met.

Legolas knew. This was his savior. The reason he lived.

“I was worried you would not come,” he said in his high lilting voice.

“How could I not come when I knew you would be looking for me?” Elrohir teased him gently, running his fingers through the sun-kissed mane.

“Not to mention that it was required of us all to accompany our fathers,” Elladan pointed out with a grin as he came to their side. He held out a friendly hand to the tiny Elf. “How fare you, Legolas?”

Legolas shyly but readily clasped the proffered hand. “I am well, Elladan,” he murmured with a smile.

He was not as close to the older twin but he did not fear him either. If Elrohir had assured his very existence, it was Elladan who had eased his mother’s passing from hers. For that alone, he liked the Elf-knight’s brother as well.

A collective clearing of throats called their attention back to the reason for the gathering. Elrohir rose with a rueful sigh, Legolas’ fingers still tightly wrapped around his hand.

“Later, little one,” he softly said. “After our fathers have threshed out their differences, we will spend time together.”

He had to grin when the Elfling pouted mutinously. Legolas was aware that not all the woodland folk approved of his devotion to Elrohir even if he did not fully understand why. But he had also been taught that there was a time and place for everything. A markedly affectionate reunion with Elrond’s younger son was not to everyone’s liking on either side of the divide. It was not wise or prudent to flaunt their friendship too often or openly. But he was also Thranduil’s son and had inherited enough of his sire’s nature to stubbornly cling to his chosen loyalties. One never knew if he would give in or not to the exigencies of the moment.

At last Legolas nodded, albeit grudgingly, and released the Elf-knight. “You promise?” he asked, looking up with pleading eyes.

“I promise,” Elrohir replied. “As soon as we are done for the day, I will be at your beck and call, lass dithen.”—little leaf.

The blue eyes sparkled merrily both at the familiar appellation and the promise of his friend’s companionship. Only then did the princeling return to his sister’s side.

The talks lasted all day, ending only when the sun began to lower in the late afternoon sky. This was not surprising considering how many grievances were brought up, some so old as to be positively hoary, some fairly recent and not yet addressed.

Mithrandir had suggested that the twins take part in the discussions if only to soften Thranduil’s attitude towards his conference companions. The Elvenking and his family had good reason to be grateful to Elrond’s sons. But Elrond’s sons were not the whole of their people. Whatever goodwill Thranduil and his kin might harbor for the brethren was not automatically extended to the rest of their kindred. However, they tended to be more open when in the twins’ presence. Hence, Gandalf’s insistence on their participation.

The ploy worked well enough to ensure that both sides at least listened to each other and acknowledged errors made and apologies tendered. In all, it proved a hopeful first meeting.

But the length of it was a trial for the fair-haired little prince who longed to be with his adored friend.

Legolas refused to keep company with his sisters or nurse or even with the warriors assigned to watch over them. Instead, he took to clambering up the great oak that overlooked the open porch where the talks were held. From this vantage point, he could see what was going on and ever so often exchange a wink or a grin with Elrohir.

His sisters clucked with disapproval, his nurse implored him to descend to no avail and the warriors whose company he had scorned scowled with understandable pique. It touched on their pride that their youngest prince should show such blatant preference for the company of one who was not even of their kingdom.

Not that anyone dared to chasten him save his father and siblings perhaps. And certainly none could begrudge him his attachment to the Elf-knight. Legolas owed his very life to Elrohir. It was a debt that could never be truly repaid. If the little prince offered his friendship as a means of redeeming some of it, who were they to judge it right or wrong?

But he did not have to enjoy himself so much in the paying of it, many grumbled. Had it been simply a matter of gratitude-spawned tit-for-tat, it would not have irked them so. But no, Legolas genuinely worshipped Elrond’s son. Thrived in his presence. Was never so happy as when Elrohir visited the Woodland Realm.

The Elf-warrior was aware of the simmering resentment and being of a tactful bent took pains to conduct himself with all propriety and restraint. But when one’s partner in crime or, in this case, diplomatic gaffes was an irrepressible royal toddler with a stubborn streak to boot – it was fairly difficult to pull off to put it mildly. As was evinced when the council broke up for the day.

Hardly had Elrohir risen from his chair when he descried the little form scrambling down the great oak with agile swiftness. Conscious of the amused stares of some and the far from amused glares of others, he quietly awaited the tiny whirlwind’s appropriation of his self.

“You promised!” Legolas immediately reminded him when he started to suggest that mayhap they could wait until the following morn.

Elrohir had to grin at his little friend’s tenacity. “Aye, that I did,” he conceded. “Very well, lead the way, pen neth.”

With an apologetic glance at Thranduil and a helpless shrug to his parents, he allowed an elated Legolas to haul him away.

********

The following morning found a cat-and-mouse game in progress over in the small patch of woods behind Radagast’s house. A tall Elf slowly and silently searched the brush and trees, his stealth and grace evidence of long experience and skill in the stalking-arts. His eyes darted from side to side, picking up signs of the passage of his quarry.

Just as silently a small form emerged from the vegetation behind him and crept up to the seeming oblivious warrior. It appeared that this prey was intent on turning the tables and capturing its hunter instead. The fair-haired mite moved ever closer, face flushed with excitement, eyes shining with anticipation.

At the very last moment, the darkling Elf suddenly turned around and with a triumphant growl, scooped up his tiny shadow. Elrohir guffawed as he slung his armful of shrieking, squirming, squealing Elfling over his shoulder and hastened back to the house.

On the back porch, Radagast awaited them, a large tray of freshly baked sweets in hand. One backward glance informed Legolas of the treats and he ceased his cacophonous protests in an instant. Without further ado, he eagerly rearranged himself in the Elf-knight’s arms that by the time they reached the Wizard, he was comfortably enfolded in Elrohir’s embrace.

Minutes later, Elrohir settled down beneath a slender elm, Legolas ensconced in his lap and a plateful of pastries atop the princeling’s legs in turn. Legolas happily fed the Elf-knight as diligently as he helped himself to the sweets. In between bites, his cheerful piping voice was heard to recount events that had passed in Mirkwood in the half-year since he and the twin had last been together.

From their perch on a second-story balcony on the other side of the house, Elrond and Gandalf watched them. The Wizard chuckled softly as he observed their affectionate manner with each other. He glanced at Elrond, his wizened eyes bright with the pleasure of having been treated to so endearing a sight.

“Would that you and Thranduil could be as amiable with each other,” he remarked to the Imladrin lord.

Elrond sighed. “Thranduil would sooner gut me than shake my hand over more than a formal treaty,” he said somewhat cynically.

Gandalf shook his head chidingly. “Now that is the kind of talk that has led to this rift between you,” he pointed out. “If he and you, their own lords, speak so disparagingly of one another, what can you expect of your people?”

Elrond paused then nodded, a rueful smile creasing his lips. “You are right. We will have to strive to follow our sons’ example if we are to know as much accord between us as they do.”

“More than accord,” Gandalf commented. “They will be the key to securing peace between your realms.”

Elrond raised an eyebrow at that. “Will they?” he murmured. “They are but two souls who have found friendship amidst adversity.”

“And they will have more than that I warrant,” the Wizard continued. “I cannot say for certain what it is I feel when in their presence but it is very strong. Strong enough to bring your people together I believe.”

Elrond stared at him in some amazement. “I hope you are right, meldiren”—my friend—he said. “‘Twould be a great blessing for all of us. And a timely one.”

Gandalf eyed the pair thoughtfully. Tired out by the morning’s play and a bellyful of honey cakes, Legolas had began to nod off. Elrohir shifted him in his arms to cradle him against his chest. The little Elf contentedly curled up in the comfortable nest of the Elf-knight’s embrace and was soon fast asleep. With a doting smile, Elrohir dropped a tender kiss on the child’s golden crown then lazily leaned back against the tree to wait out the princeling’s nap.

“I wonder if you yet realize that your Elrohir’s destiny lies with Legolas,” he said. “Almost as if he already belongs to the young prince.”

Elrond turned startled eyes on the Istar. “Belongs?” he repeated.

Gandalf nodded. “I cannot see all that the future holds for them but of what I do see, they are rarely if ever apart,” he said slowly. He looked solemnly at Elrond. “I believe the fates have more in store for them than this enviable friendship of theirs. Methinks it will change once Legolas matures and becomes an Elf of his own.” Again, he observed the duo and Elrohir’s tender attention to his slumbering charge. “And he will be beautiful, that much is certain. Astonishingly so.”

He glanced at Elrond and smiled at his friend’s stunned expression. “Come now, Elrond, all children grow up,” he chuckled. “But as to what they become when they do is anyone’s guess. Including yours and mine.”

Elrond let his breath out. “You are suggesting that one day they may very well…” He stopped, unable to quite believe the notion, much less accept it.

“I suggest nothing but that change is inevitable and that their friendship can and will most likely evolve with the passage of years,” Gandalf demurred reasonably. “As to what it evolves into is entirely up to the two of them.”

Elrond regarded him searchingly. And then he sighed. “And I will just have to resign myself to the inevitable whatever it may be,” he said with a snort that was equal parts caustic and amused. “Ah, you truly enjoy confounding your friends, Mithrandir.”

The Wizard said nothing but his eyes twinkled humorously.

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

Glossary:

laer – Sindarin for summer

Edhil - Elves

To be continued…
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Twilight Tales - Sacred Bond