Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

Chapter List
- 19
- 20
- 21
Chapter 20: An Elf You Have Never Met

He had slept relatively well, waking only a few times when he had found himself in an uncomfortable position, and now, as he stared up at the carved ceiling of his chamber, he realized he had not dined last night, for his stomach was empty and it made him feel queasy.

Sitting up gingerly, he winced as his body told him in no uncertain terms that it was not fit for such action, not yet. Waiting until it subsided, he rose from the bed with slow, practiced movements, and made his way to the bathing room, only to come face to face with his father, who was just leaving it.

“Ah, good morning! ‘Tis a lovely day, Legolas. Ready yourself and let us eat together, with our people,” he said enthusiastically. Thranduil rarely had breakfast in the halls, preferring the privacy of his own suite of rooms, however today it was important to show their people that their beloved commander was well, or at least relatively so. They needed to raise the people’s morale after the sad loss of Beria, and Legolas understood this perfectly.

“You are chirpy this morning, my Lord,” he said somewhat sarcastically, for he did not feel well. However, he chided himself for his own, mental short temper, for he understood his father perfectly. He sighed as he swiped his hand over his loose hair, making his way to the bathing room and closing the door.

Thranduil, however, ignored the comment - he knew the wherefore of it. The healers would be here in a moment and he would make sure Legolas was duly dosed with painkillers. He was not pushing his son, this he knew, for Legolas would be up and about today no matter what Thranduil did, and so he turned to the commander’s wardrobe, flinging the doors open as he began to inspect the perfectly ordered articles within, a trait Legolas had inherited from his mother. Of course he was chirpy, he thought to himself, for he had his son with him for an entire month; he wondered if he would be able to heal him just a little, bring him a little further into the light, draw him out if he was lucky enough, and if not, then he would simply enjoy his company, for as long as it lasted.

“Ah, this, yes!” he murmured to himself, picking out a calf-length skirt of green and blue velvet that was slit up the middle to the mid thigh. It was a provocative item, yet formal enough for court life, but how to combine this to accommodate his broken shoulder?

A knock on the door revealed Galion, who smiled and bowed to his king.

“My Lord, I thought perhaps I would find you here. Will you be taking breakfast in your rooms?”

“Nay, we will both break our fast in the halls, with our people, Galion,” smiled the king.

“Very well, my Lord, he smiled, glad of this merry turn of events. “May I - may I help you with something?” he asked tentatively, watching as Thranduil’s eyes scanned his son’s clothing, thinking he knew what the problem may be.

“Um? Oh, I was just searching for something appropriate for this piece here,” he said absent-mindedly, his hand stroking his chin as he contemplated the conundrum.

“Ah, I believe this may do the trick, Sire,” he said, as he reached for a white silk shirt.

“It is designed to be worn open from the neck to the waistline, this long sash wraps around the top of the skirt, just so,” he demonstrated, holding it up to himself, “you see, he can wear the sling which will be partially covered and yet…”

“And what is this?” asked Legolas, his face showing his surprise and amusement at the two elves, discussing what he should wear. “Two females discussing what to wear to a ball, perhaps?”

“Do not be cheeky, young king, and get yourself dressed, in this!” said the king with a flourish of his jeweled hand, passing his son the skirt he had selected.

On any other day, Legolas would have complained, albeit light-heartedly, yet today he wished to make his father happy, and this was one of those silly things that would achieve just that – his father wanted to flaunt him, that much was obvious from the clothing he had selected. It was reasonable, however, for the skirt was comfortable, meaning no breeches to have to lace up, and the top was both flattering yet simple, and ample enough to fit the twice-damned contraption he wore on his shoulder.

And so, Legolas simply took the skirt, leaving the shirt on the bed as he returned to the bathing chamber.

Emerging once more, both Thranduil and Galion allowed themselves to stare, for even injured as he was, his face sporting a curious collection of ugly bruises and half his body wrapped in bandages, this elf never ceased to surprise.

A knock at the door interrupted their stupor, and Galion opened it, revealing Antien and Thandion, who glided in with their trays of herbs, cups, cloths and ointments, yet they stopped short themselves at the sight of the warrior who stood in the middle of the rooms, the beautiful skirt hanging to his calves at the back, and revealing his powerful thigh muscles to the front, his hair loose, serving almost as a cape of golden silk, for it reached down to the very juncture of his back and buttocks.

“Excuse us, my Lords – may we?” gestured Antien towards the trays they carried.

“Of course, Antien, I was expecting you,” he said as he moved to the window and Galion left to tidy the bathing area.

Legolas nodded at the master healer as he moved to the bed and sat on the edge, accepting the cup of herbs from Antien and drinking it down as they fussed with the harness and bandages around his chest. Finally satisfied, they stood and bowed before turning and repeating the gesture to the king. However, Thranduil glided over to Antien, placing his hand upon his shoulder.

“Antien, I wish to express my gratitude to you and your team. You have worked most diligently these past few days, and have treated my son most effectively. You have my respect, master healer. Please pass my words on to your healers.”

“I will be sure to, my King. May I also say that to serve you, and Lord Legolas, is my utmost pleasure,” he said, bowing low. It was not every day that the king commended one’s work, and Antien’s heart was now beating wildly in his chest and a mighty beam came upon his face as he looked up once more, before turning and leaving, ushering a smiling Thandion along with him.

Walking over to a still sitting Legolas, Galion approached with the shirt, holding it up in a silent request for permission. Now standing, the house master fitted the shirt, wrapping the long sash around the trim waist and stepped back, beaming in delight.

“Marvelous, my Lord!”

“Is it to your liking, my King?” asked Legolas, as he stood and turned to face his father. “Do you wish to select my jewelry, perhaps?”

“Your injury has made you most impertinent this morning, King Legolas. Now, if I may say, your hair – shall I use Glorfindel’s clip?”

“Aye, yet it hardly keeps it from my face, I will need to take council at Finlond later.”

“Alright, and your crown, my Son, for it is court life for you for the next four weeks!”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

The hall was full this morning as breakfast began, yet no sooner had the plates started to emerge from the frantic kitchens, that the entire room fell silent, chairs scraping across the wooden floor as all stood to bow low.

Turning his head to the door, Elladan realized that the king stood there, together with a stunning Legolas, so stunning that the silence dragged on for longer than usual. Melven too, was struck dumb, the visual stimulus telling his mind that however much it tried, it would not be able to fathom why his heart hurt at the sight.

Slowly, the noise began to rise once more as both kings glided through the tables to the one designated to them and their immediate family. Legolas’ skirt swished about his legs, which poked through the fabric with every step he took, showing his impressive, albeit bruised quadriceps. As they passed the Noldorin table, courteous nods were exchanged, although Elladan and Legolas shared a rather mischievous one – for those two were beginning to understand each other well.

“Commander Legolas looks particularly well this morning,” commented Balentar, watching the magnificent specimen as he moved away from them.

“That, is not Commander Legolas, but King Legolas, an elf you have not met,” said Galdithion proudly.

“My word!” said Melven, still unable to string more than two words together.

“Indeed,” murmured Antien.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The royal table had been graced that morning by Bandorion, Thranduil’s brother and co-commander of the Greenwood forces, and his son Barathon, the perennial applicant for a posting in The Company, also Legolas’ cousin. Alaste, his other cousin, sat with her mother Caladwen, his maternal aunt – though no one would say she had been the queen’s sister, for the only trait they had shared was the shape of their nose.

The two kings nodded at them as they, in turn, bowed low, before sitting once more - the entire family now together on one of those rare occasions when duty and motivation permitted.

Thranduil was hiding a satisfied smirk that had been threatening him all morning, since his son had emerged from the bathing room. He was causing a sensation and that suited the king just fine. It was good politics, as Aradan would say.

You look well this morning, Cousin,” said Alaste chirpily as she smiled. She was such a pretty creature, thought Legolas as he smiled back; more like his own mother than hers, he mused, and yet neither came close to the beauty of the lost queen of the Greenwood.

Trays piled high with food began to appear before them and Legolas’ stomach told him to eat, copiously, and so once the ladies had served themselves, he began his morning ritual, one he had not been able to perform for too long now. The sausage was going to be a challenge, but not a barrier, for these human inventions were his favourite morning repast and nothing was going to stop him, and so he turned his ‘little Legolas’ eyes on his father, making the august king chuckle as he lent over and cut them up into bite size pieces - wondering what would happen if their trade agreement with Dale ever failed – he envisaged Legolas and The Company then, storming the local Dale butcher and hijacking the sausages. Laughter threatened to push its way past his defenses, before he deftly stifled it.

Giggling from nearby tables told Legolas they were being watched, yet the laughter was genuine and heart-felt, and so he turned towards it, smiling at his subjects as he popped the first chunk into his mouth and began to chew.

“So, Cousin, how long until you ride out once more?” asked Barathon, his eyes on his food.

“A month, perhaps less,” he answered, wondering when ‘the subject’ would be broached once more, and how he would answer his cousin this time; however, he decided to take the reins of the conversation, divert it if he could.

“And your training, Barathon?”

“Ah, yes. Just a few insignificant days to go, and then perhaps you will put me to the test.”

“None of the days of your training are insignificant, Barathon. There is always something to be learnt, and as for putting you to the test, that will be difficult for a while,” he finished, shoveling more scrambled egg into his mouth and turning his gaze on his cousin now, gauging how he had taken those comments.

“Ah, but come now, Cousin, how many times have to broken your collar bone? Seven, eight times? I have never known you to take more than a week to start training again!”

There was a veiled accusation there, thought Bandorion, yet he would not interfere. He knew the heart of his son. He thought that Legolas was making excuses to not put him to the test. He had not taken the time to know of his cousin’s injuries, pushing them to one side in favour of his own predicament. He lived in a world where everything revolved around himself, and strangely enough, his cousin. For although the opposite may have seemed obvious, Barathon worshipped the ground that Legolas walked on – however much he didn’t realize that himself. He just prayed that Barathon would see it, before it was too late.

“I wish it were so, cousin. But you see, this particular Uruk was rather – inventive, shall we say.”

“Did it outwit you, then?” he asked, smirking. From a friend the comment would have been funny, but Barathon was no friend.

Turning the full weight of his green gaze on his smirking cousin, he waited for him to return it, and the table to turn silent.

Galdithion stood in a flash, his body rigid and his hand on the pommel of his dagger as his furious face watched that of his Lord’s carefully, a gaping Elladan by his side, for he had sensed nothing to merit it, and yet Galdithion had heard more than enough. Now, as he followed his lover’s gaze, he saw the tension playing out at the royal table, all of them looking at the facetious Barathon. ‘Ah’, he thought, he has erred once more, realized Elladan.

Raising a hand to reassure his guard, even though he had not looked his way at all, Legolas spoke slowly, carefully enunciating every word yet only loud enough for those at the table. “It tortured me, and disemboweled Beria - if this is what you mean by ‘outwitted’, then my answer is ‘yes’,” he said simply, watching his cousin as his face dropped, turning first from shock and then to shame, as he bent his head. Alaste had covered her mouth with a dainty hand and Thranduil’s sad eyes turned to those of his brother’s, watching as they lowered to the table, embarrassment and disappointment shining in them, as plain as the light of day.

“Will you pass me the bread, Father?” asked Legolas nonchalantly, leaving Barathon to recover from his latest mishap.

“Of course, Son,” he said, pushing the basket towards him, as if nothing at all had happened.

Galdithion sat then, and the hall seemed to breathe once more, for although they had seen the guard’s reaction, knew it was something to do with what had been said at the royal table, that was as far as it went.

Galdithion took a deep breath, aware that all eyes were upon him, yet he cared not, he had been riled and would gladly smack the insolent swine in the face. Alas he could not, and so he allowed Elladan’s steadying hand upon his forearm to infuse him with peace once more, and as he returned to his breakfast, Lainion caught his eye and nodded slowly, the light of respect in his ancient eyes.

Bandorion dipped his head once more in mirrored shame. He had been doing this for too long, when would it stop? When would his son see the error of his ways? Would he ever feel as proud of him as his brother did of his own son? And then, there was that niggling thought at the back of his mind, one that had him asking himself continuously if he, as a father, had compared his son with that of his brother’s, had unconsciously pitted him against his cousin, as if he had been saying to his son all along, ‘here is perfection, now beat it’. Had he? Had he done that?

And so the vicious circle fed itself. Barathon felt under-valued, which drove him to meanness and sarcasm in the face of what he wanted to be, which in turn shamed his father, fueling his own frustration, finally turning it into anger, again and again and again.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Legolas had called a meeting with Bandorion and Dimaethor, for the rising number of orcs in the central areas of the forest were worrying, and the subject needed to be broached.

They had discussed tactics and agreed on the deployment of their troops; Dimaethor would ride out with The Company and one new recruit, Dorainen, while Gondien and Barabor would postpone their leave for another two weeks, after which Legolas would make sure they were duly compensated. Elladan and Melven would be busy until their departure with training and briefing; he would see them at the evening meal when he would invite them to the royal table, but for now, his time was his own.

He had dismissed Galdithion until the evening meal, knowing he would appreciate the little time he had with his lover before he was to ride out once more, and Galdithion, indeed, had thanked him most profusely, veritably running down to the barracks as a smiling Legolas watched him, expecting him almost to skip and jump along the way. He smiled to himself at the thought, before a twinge in his arm snapped him out of it. His shoulder was a dull ache that would not abate and his ribs protested every move he made, and as time passed, it made him irritable. The memory of yesterday’s funeral and then Barathon’s clumsiness at the breakfast table were all helping to turn his day sour. He could do with some of those herbs that Antien had mixed for him that morning, and so he decided he would pass by the halls of healing, see the wounded, collect the herbs and then make his way to Finlond - that would surely lift his spirits, amongst other things.

……………………………………………………………………………………..

As he strolled down the pathways, he took the time to stop and talk with those he knew, or to simply return the many gestures of respect he received. He was not in a hurry, he was off-duty as a warrior, but very much on duty as a prince of the realm, and king of its forests.

Finally arriving, he walked inside the candle-lit healing halls and made his way to the central room, the emergency area, where he knew he would find Antien at his table, just past the stone beds that brought back so many unpleasant memories and a chill to his spine. Antien was indeed to be found at his table with Balentar, their heads together over a parchment that lay flat before them.

“Good morning,” said Legolas, for neither of them had noticed his arrival.

“My Lord! Are you well?” asked Antien as he rose somewhat abruptly.

“Peace, Antien, I am alright. I thought perhaps to ask for some of those herbs you gave me this morning.”

“Of course, my Lord, you can take them thrice daily, let me….”

“I will go, Antien,” interrupted Balentar, leaving the two alone.

Antien approached Legolas then, checking the harness and then looking at him with his healer’s eye.

“You know, anyone else would be lying in bed and being fussed over…” he murmured as he worked.

“I have had much practice as a patient, Antien,” he replied softly.

“That you have, fair king, that you have,” he said sorrowfully.

“Master, I have read the chapter on open breaks and then the…, oh, excuse me, I didn’t realize, my Lord,” said the embarrassed junior healer as he turned an endearing rosy pink.

“Worry not, healer…?”

“Thandion, my Lord, I tended to you yesterday,” he reminded Legolas unnecessarily, for he remembered well, that look of longing in the healer’s eye. He had also very nearly spilt the contents of his tray this morning.

“I remember, Thandion. You have been studying it seems.”

“Aye, I will finish my formal studies soon and then begin my years of practice.”

“Then I wish you good luck,” he said, smiling kindly as he watched the emotions play on the young one’s face like an open book.

Balentar reappeared then with the herbs.

“Here, my Lord. Now, two pinches to one cup of hot water, leave it to steep for about five minutes. Thrice daily, and if the pain does not wane, come back and we will mix you something a little stronger, alright?”

Nodding his thanks, he smiled at the three healers and then gestured to the occupied rooms. “May I?” he asked.

“Of course, my Lord,” said Antien, watching as he disappeared into the first room, where the most serious blade injury was to be found, surrounded by family and friends.

“Guard your heart, Thandion,” said Antien softly, “guard your heart, for he is not for you.”

Speechless, Thandion glided from the room. He knew he could never have him, for Legolas was the lover of lords and rulers. He, a lowly healer, could only ever aspire to a kiss, perhaps a moment of shared bliss. He decided then, that he could live with that, and yet what was he thinking? A moment of shared bliss! Legolas would never agree, would never turn his attentions on him. Resigned to worship him from afar like the rest of the elves of the Greenwood, he returned to his desk and opened the book once more. ‘Open breaks or fractures must be treated quickly for….’

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He stepped on to the fresh green grass of the Evergreen Wood, breathing deeply of her primal scent, the woody, spicy undertones serving to clear his mind and lift his heart somewhat. He stayed there, enjoying the moment, until Huoriel approached him, smiling joyously as she opened her arms.

“I am honoured to welcome you back, my Lord. We were most concerned at the news we received on your arrival, and have been awaiting your visit, that we may help in your recovery.”

“Huoriel, take me then, to comfort - do with me as you see fit,” he said placidly, commending his body into this elf’s able hands.

Taking him by his good arm, she led him into the caves, patting his hand as they walked. Once inside, she turned him towards her, looking at him carefully.

“You are in pain, I can tell. You are tired, in body and spirit, you are sad, and, your hair needs attention, my Lord. Has it grown since last I saw you?” she asked, her brows furrowing deeply.

“Nay,” he chuckled, “but Yavanna’s locks are undone…will you help me?”

“It is beautiful, truly. Will you let us style it? Lend yourself to the good of Elven art, my Lord”?

“Woe is me, but yes, I will rise to the challenge, Huoriel.”

Smiling slyly, Finlond’s first lady led him into a large, well-lit cavern. Along one wall, were reclining chairs, sofas almost, that were tipped backwards towards a raised waterway that ran around the entire room. There were several elves laying there, naked save for the towels tucked around their waists, their heads resting over the edge of the channel of water as the experts behind them washed and conditioned their hair. Some chatted amicably, others simply lay there in bliss as their scalps were massaged, their hands manicured, their feet pedicured.

Most Legolas recognized as politicians, others were influential merchants. There was also a smattering of warriors, those off duty due to injury or after a long stint out in the wilds. It didn’t bother him, for communal bathing and pampering formed an integral part of the Greenwood culture, a favourite past-time for those that could afford it, or those that were invited by others. It was also a place where politics and intrigues were discussed, where acquaintances and even lovers met, and gossip was ripe. However, should the mood take one, they could always request the special services that Huoriel and her team offered, in private of course.

Huoriel led him to a partitioned area and undressed him, wrapping his waist in a towel and removing his hair pin and jewelry, leaving him naked save for the bandages and the shoulder harness. Emerging once more, there was a lull in the incessant chattering as Huoriel led him over to an unoccupied chair, arranging his legs and arms comfortably as she gestured to three elves.

“A glass of Dorwinion, my Lord?”

“Perfect,” he murmured, as three elves descended on him. One took his hand, another his foot, and the other moved behind him, all poised for what would be for them, the event of the week, to make perfection perfect – well, almost.

……………………………………………………………………..

Legolas now stood before the mirror in his own rooms. He had chosen a light blue silken shirt and a dark green skirt, the ample sash of a deep rich blue. It was simple yet elegant, however his hair… they had braided the front and sides back, joining each one at the crown of his head so that its bulk could be seen from the front, the braids fountaining up and out around the back of his head as the rest fell down to the tops of his pert buttocks. Had his face not been so beautiful, he would have been a fearsome sight – it lent him a wildness, an untamed element that was both sensuous, and strangely practical. He would have to get used to it, for it made him look bigger than he really was with his hair fanned out like that.

The effect did exactly what Huoriel had predicted, and if his entrance at breakfast had been memorable, dinner would leave more than a few with their mouths agape.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Now on the main course, Elladan conversed with the woodland king. Legolas had invited both of his Noldor friends to join them, for he wished to introduce them into his family circle, that, plus he simply wished for Elladan’s company, for he was witty and intelligent, he had an acetic sense of humour, and he was well-versed in a variety of disciplines, spanning from history to botany, not to mention his considerable healing skills.

Now, specifically, he was asking about the elderberry wine he had first tasted on that first night of celebration after their arrival. Since then, Elladan had explained that he had neither seen nor drank it any more. Now the subject of alcohol was one of his father’s favourites, and so he was now midway through a most lengthy explanation of how it was prepared and brewed, its maturing time, the barrels it needed to acquire that characteristic, retro-nasal taste.

Legolas was surprised to see his cousin Barathon so quiet this evening, not one sarcastic remark had left his lips. He seemed sad, he thought, and wondered then what strange ideas were keeping him silent.

His cousin was an enigma to him, for he had never really managed to understand him at all – what was the origin of his enmity? He decided to draw him out, if he could, albeit he knew it would probably end badly, but try he would.

“Cousin, you are quiet…” he began tentatively.

Barathon’s head shot up then, surprise shining in his eyes. And when he spoke, he surprised Legolas for the first time in years.

“Forgive me, Legolas, I was lost in thought.”

Hiding his surprise at the honest answer, he continued.

“There is nothing to forgive, we are all prone to doing just that, and I am no exception,” he smiled, and then he nearly fell off his chair when Barathon smiled beautifully.

“Aye, I suppose, Legolas, I …. I wish to apologize for my behavior this morning. My words were impulsive, yet they were not intended to hurt, I swear.”

Legolas sat staring for long seconds, looking his cousin squarely in the eye, searching for the truth behind his words, and to his utter shock, he found it. He spoke the truth and for the first time, he felt endeared to this, his uncle’s son.

“Cousin,” he almost chuckled then, for the novelty of it had left him somewhat confused. “Barathon, I do believe you, and I thank you, truly, for your words.”

Barathon simply smiled, before resuming his dinner once more.

‘How strange,’ mused Legolas. He knew this new twist in his relationship with his cousin would bring days of pondering, for he had suddenly seen a side to him that he had never seen before, or was it that he had not wanted to see? He simply did not know. Fortunately, Elladan broke his internal dialogue, addressing him formally as his presence at the royal table dictated.

“My Lord, I met with Captain Dimaethor today, who has briefed us on our next mission, two days hence,” said Elladan, watching Legolas for a reaction, for he would not be joining them.

“Aye, I know, Lord Elladan. You will do well, I am sure. The Company will not move so far south this time, it is the central areas that worry us, for those orc numbers were way over what can be considered normal. You are all in for some orc hunting, my friend,” he said, a fierce grin on his face.

“Ah, and that is something I excel in…”

“So I have heard, but have a care, my friend, don’t let the Uruks surprise you.”

“I will do no such thing, Commander, for I shall jump and whirl, just as you taught me, and then of course, I have wings….” he said, returning the feral grin, and earning himself a delighted smile from Legolas.
- 19
- 20
- 21
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

Arcane Land