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Aearlinn	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 8934 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Aearlinn - Manadh Diorion

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ An indeterminate amount of time goes by ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"This one," said Faelon, pulling the tunic forth with a flourish and a beaming smile.

It was magnificent, comprised of damasked silk the colour of nutmeg embroidered in elaborate detail at the hems of the wide, belled sleeves and all down the back right to the edge its lengthy tail, overlain by a sheer-as-mist top with just a hint of lavender tint. The front was devoid of ornament, save for a delicate tracery of silver that outlined a trailing vine down the center. He held it up for Brannon Neth's (as he'd decided to address Legolas, since the sylvan archer refused to answer to 'Ernil Daur') inspection. "See, the petals of the dahlias just compliment the golden highlights in your eyes."

Elrond looked up from his desk in the study where he was pretending to examine the favoured plan for what he secretly called nosta már while surreptitiously perusing the official decree from Greenwood's Council of Elders that detailed the amount of the dowry and its terms of delivery. The document also declared his bonding to Legolas approved, as Rhûn'waew had promised, and while that was good news he had not yet revealed it to Aearen. Elrond hoped he could address the particulars with Erestor alone, seeing no need to involve his pregnant mate in the sticky problem of getting his Council of Governing Advisors to accede to the demands of the Woodland Realm.

It wasn't that the dowry was excessive; in fact it was really not so much a dowry, by traditional definitions with which he was familiar, but a kind of trade agreement. It was complex and involved quite a number of sub-clauses and tariff-waivers and exclusive rights to market share. In short, it would demand the sort of diplomatic negotiations Erestor dearly relished and Elrond truly detested.

For all this was an unpleasantly dry bit of reading, he couldn't suppress a mild smile as he gazed at the two Elves through the open bedroom door. The chosen ensemble was exquisite and Elrond had commissioned it for Legolas himself, but he already knew the archer's opinion of it and waited for Aearen's reaction to Faelon's selection.

"Deleb! Thaur!" Legolas' features were caste in a scowl of horrific proportions and he eyed the hapless valet with extreme disapproval, obviously wondering what qualified the Elf to continue in his position if such were his recommendations regarding appropriate clothing. "Faelon, this has all these," he poked with apprehensive disgust at the sleeve of the garment, "frilly things on it. I cannot wear this to go hunting with Faron. How am I supposed to keep those fringy whatnots from tangling in my bowstring?"

"Bowstring?" Faelon's brows shot up in surprise. "Do you mean you are really going hunting? For game?"

"Of course, that is what I meant when I said Faron and I were going hunting. How else could one interpret those words? Did I lapse into Nandorin as I spoke?"

"You did say them in half-Nandorin, half-ancient Sindarin or Eldarin, beloved," remarked Elrond. "Faelon does not comprehend your dialect very well."

"If I may correct you, Hiren, I don't comprehend it at all," announced Faelon with exasperation. "Elbereth knows I am trying, Brannon Neth, but I just don't see any logic to it. I thought 'wah-lay-dee-ay ss-phhar-OH-ben-nay' meant you and Faron were going to Lord Glorfindel's home for reasons I could not deduce from the sounds issuing from your lips."

Elrond snorted his amusement and fell to chuckling, adding a shake of his head as he gazed in wonder at Faelon. Legolas, he noted, was not amused in the least.

"Waledie spharóbene Faron means 'I'm going hunting with Faron' and Glorfindel is Sphindemalata in the Old Tongue; wherein did you hear that name within my words? Besides, why would I take Faron to his house when surely he is not there." Legolas was insulted on the mighty warrior's behalf. "No doubt he is debriefing the night patrol as we speak and preparing to venture forth to inspect the defences of the realm."

"Yes, now that you mention it that seems likely, but I thought perhaps it was something of a special occasion." Faelon put away the lovely formal tunic with regret and rooted around for one of the plain, serviceable outfits Legolas had been wont to wear when he was a member of the Patrol. "Since you are so adept in the use of so many tongues, could you not perhaps just stick to Sindarin?" His query was vaguely muffled by virtue of the fact that his head was plunged amid the garments, but that it was heard he had no doubt as a brisk stream of acidic phrases, the inflection and phonology so foreign the speech must have been Khuzdul, sliced through the room. "Or I could keep practising Nandorin," he amended. With a grimace the dark-haired ellon brought forth a tunic and leggings, uttering a wordless grunt of repugnance. "This should have been disposed of long ago, Brannon Neth; it's got gore embedded in the leather. It will never come clean."

Legolas went pale and snatched it out of Faelon's hands, shoving him aside to return the garment to its place in the back of the wardrobe. Elrond was up in a flash and rushed into the room, carefully drawing his mate away, for he'd recognised what Faelon had found well enough. Personally, he agreed with their servant, but Legolas would not endure even the mention of burning the worn and battle-stained ensemble. These were the very clothes he'd been wearing that fateful day when Elrond and his sons had come upon him just in time to salvage his life by extreme measures. Why Legolas wanted such a vile remembrance of that day, the Elven Lord had been unable to wring from the sylvan.

"He doesn't know, Aearen," whispered Elrond, gently squeezing the tense shoulders beneath his hands as he guided Legolas toward the desk. "Remain here and I'll handle it." He waited for Legolas' brusque nod and returned to Faelon, who was watching from the bed chamber with alarm.

"I didn't mean to upset him, Hiren," he offered in hushed and trembling tones, eyes huge with anxious dread. Elrond had become quite protective of his young mate and Faelon had no wish to incite his wrath. Besides, he genuinely liked Legolas, had done so long before his true heritage had been revealed, though of course he'd never indicated that for fear of being involved in all the controversy and gossip surrounding him. Faelon was still Erestor's personal secretary then and everyone knew the Chief Advisor's stand on Legolas' worth.

"Worry not; you aren't to blame," Elrond smiled kindly and turned Faelon around, herding him back to the closets. "I should have explained about those particular items of clothing. In future, you must not handle them in any manner. Act as if they do not exist and all will be well. Now, what have you for Aearen to wear today?"

Faelon sucked in a relieved breath and managed a shaky smile as he bowed his thanks. Without further ado he retrieved a suitable leather tunic in pale fawn suede, a silk undershirt in pure white, leggings dyed a deep forest green, and the low brown boots Legolas preferred. Upon Elrond's nod of approval, he carried them over to the dressing table and laid the items out, adding a pair of silk hose to the pile. By the time this was done, Legolas was sauntering back into the room as if nothing untoward had happened and Faelon offered a tentative smile. "These should do," he remarked and was glad to see Legolas return his friendly expression.

"Perfect," said the sylvan prince. He waited for Faelon to retreat, unused, and quite unwilling, to being 'dressed'. Figwit had apparently considered him unworthy of such service and never attempted to provide assistance in choosing and donning clothing. Never having been waited on in that manner, Legolas had no idea he was being insulted and everything worked out. Younger brother Faelon, eager to do well in his new post and distance himself from his sibling's malice, had considered it his duty to treat Legolas as respectfully as he did Lord Elrond.

That first morning attending to the requirements engendered by the promotion had been something of a drama for Faelon, and the rest of the household also, because Legolas, being naked underneath it, had been highly disturbed by the valet's matter-of-fact attempts to remove his bathrobe. A voluble explosion of Nandorin curses had expressed, without any need for translation, Legolas' outrage at such forward and unsolicited advances upon his person. Well, no sylvan warrior was ever caught without a weapon of some sort and this morning was no different than any other. Right after bathing, he'd strapped on the small dagger kept hidden at his ankle (the much fabled 'boot-blade') and this knife was brought in deadly proximity to the terrified servant's throat. The resulting cacophony of shouted threats and shrieks of panic-stricken hysteria had drawn a crowd outside the apartment.
Without Elrond's intervention, things might have become ugly, for Legolas had a justified suspicion of the elder Elf's household staff. The Lord of Imladris had hastened to get between them, shoving Faelon into the bathing chamber, shutting him in there, and blocking Legolas' means of entry. From that vantage he interrogated the afflicted valet, Elrond as doubtful of the ellon's intent as his mate, and the misunderstanding was unravelled. Once everything was explained properly, Legolas had offered his apologies and Faelon had pledged with profuse sincerity never to try and disrobe him again. The sylvan archer also elicited his agreement (that is to say his sworn oath on his naneth's eternal soul) never to touch Elrond's person either, neither to cloth nor undress him nor even proffer a friendly pat on the back.

Faelon doubted he would ever forget the expression on Lord Elrond's face as the august ruler struggled between smug complacence and mortified chagrin to be revealed the object of Legolas' possessive jealousy. At any rate, far from being ready to abandon his post, the novice valet was understanding and sympathetic. From then on, he restricted his aid to assembling the various components of the day's wardrobe and Legolas responded with gratitude. Between the two a friendship began to grow that gave Elrond's heart ease, for Legolas was not on familiar terms with any of the valley's young people.

So Faelon left Legolas to dress, closing the bedroom door to give Brannon Neth the privacy he craved, and entered the study, seeing that Faron had arrived. He was standing beside Elrond, listening courteously as the Noldorin Lord exhibited and bragged over the various amenities encompassed in the architectural plans his mate had drawn. They both turned on hearing the latch engage and Faron eyed Faelon with curiosity.

"Aur Maur," said the valet with a polite nod. He'd seen the two together at meals and in the Hall of Fire, but had never had cause to speak to the sylvan warrior. It wasn't his place to present himself and as Legolas hadn't offered any introduction, the pair remained strangers. It was odd; for ten years Faelon had refrained from speaking to Legolas because of the sylvan's low status, and now the valet couldn't initiate a conversation with the young Wood Elf's cousin because his station was inferior. This was the first time Faron had come to visit Legolas in the apartment while Faelon was still in the rooms and he took the opportunity to inspect him closely. He found exactly what he expected: a rugged, proud, reserved, and rather intimidating person, the epitome of the Wood Elf stereotype. In comparison, Legolas presented as sophisticated and refined.

"Aur Maur an le." He, too, had noticed the young Noldo about the estate but did not realise Faelon was one of Lord Elrond's employees. He had not cared enough to wonder over his identity until now, finding the ellon in Legolas' rooms so early that he must be on extremely good terms with the archer. Faron could not prevent a sort of covetous regret from seizing him, thinking he had just encountered his replacement. The sylvan warrior's gaze travelled the servant's elegant clothing with a mixture of amusement and contempt. Whoever this Elf was, he was dressed more for a formal outing than a strenuous hunt through the wilds, but far be it from Faron to pass judgement. All the Noldorin folk seemed to go in for fancy vestments and robes. "Will you be joining us?" His query was met with ringing laughter.

"Accompany Brannon Neth hunting? Absolutely not!" exclaimed Faelon with high mirth. "I am more of a scholar, sir, rather than a warrior. I do not find bushwhacking through thorny thickets and strangling vines, following the spoor of some blighted hind, amusing in the least. No doubt you will both return dirty and bedraggled, exhausted, famished, and reeking of the odours particular to dead animals."

"Aye, the scent of success," Faron smiled, surprised to hear this unusual title applied to Legolas but pleased the Noldorin Elf was not coming along. "You are a scribe then." That his war-brother had anything in common with a clerk was extraordinary. Legolas was forever trying to downplay his intellectual side in hopes of convincing Aran Thranduil that he was useless as a member of the court proper. Moreover, he did not enjoy being cooped up indoors engaged in scholarly studies. Faron's smile slipped a bit, considering this new facet to his friend's personality, a side of Legolas never shared with him.

"A scribe? Nay, hardly that, although I served as Erestor's secretary for a time," Faelon replied.

At this point Elrond intervened, seeing the visitor was in the dark as to Faelon's standing within the house. "Faron, this is my valet, Faelon." When the warrior bowed and spoke politely of the pleasure of making the Elf's acquaintance, it became obvious that he was unfamiliar with the notion of a personal attendant for a Lord of high position. Elrond sighed, deciding to let Legolas explain, and resumed his feigned inspection of the diagrams, eager for them all to get on with their plans so that he could get on with consulting Erestor.

"Faelon?" The door opened and Legolas leaned out. Spotting Faron he sent his cousin a wave and a smile as the valet hurried over and the two disappeared behind the closed door. "I was thinking," said Legolas, leading him back to the wardrobe, "about the tunic you chose this morning."

"You want to wear that on a hunt? Nay, Brannon Neth, don't! It will be ruined and you haven't ever worn it. Elrond had that made just last week and I think he meant for you to…"

"Nay! I don't want to wear it now," interrupted Legolas. "Yet maybe tonight after the festivities in the Hall of Fire."

"I don't understand. You want to put on your best clothes after the dancing and singing are over?" Faelon began to worry, not wanting to offend Legolas for a third time before breakfast. He took the tunic out and held it up.

"No. I want to put on just the over-tunic," said Legolas, a faint blush stealing up to the points of his ears, wondering if Faelon would find this scandalous. He slipped his hand underneath it, admiring how it felt atop his skin and the way the soft peach colour showed through. "Just for Elrond." He dared a peek at the valet, who had remained silent for several seconds, and found him staring in open astonishment mixed with unmistakably devious delight.

Before any misunderstandings begin, let me say that Faelon is not a lecherous lout and was not imagining Legolas wearing the gossamer garment, at least not for him. His pleasure arose because Brannon Neth finally considered him dependable enough to confide such intimacies. Elrond had increasingly consulted him on whether Legolas might find a scenario romantic or insulting, and did not hide the fact that there was a stash of naughty toys kept in the top drawer of his dresser. While they both realised Faelon barely knew the archer and couldn't hope to guess his secret fantasies, it was a sign of the Elven Lord's confidence that he spoke so openly. To have won the same trust from Legolas was precisely what Faelon had been striving to achieve since accepting the position.

He met Legolas' sidelong look with a slow, approving smirk. "I think, if you do so, you will want a quartet outside on the terrace below," he said. Faelon frequently arranged for such a pleasing means to muffle Elrond's lusty groans and grunts during the couples' erotic encounters. In fact, the musicians had a standing engagement to play on the terrace right before dawn every day, unless the two spent the night in the grotto, since Legolas tended to be most amorous at that time of the morning.

His suggestion was met with a triumphant smile and a full blush as Legolas turned away to the dressing table and sat to finish braiding his hair. "Good. Leave that out, then, clear the wing of sentries, and close the second library."

"The second library? Brannon Neth, no one ever goes in that musty old room. It isn't likely to afford much in the way of comfort." Faelon's brow wrinkled in distaste, for he was often left confused about the types of activities his charges found pleasurable. "I could take some cushions and blankets and whatnot in there, I suppose."

Legolas shrugged, an enigmatic and dreamy smile adorning his comely features as he efficiently tied off the last of the fine plaits. Since the arrival of his parents, he never went from his rooms without his hair correctly finished. He rose and strolled across to the door and out, casting his eyes up and down Elrond's form in a rather wicked gaze as he entered the study.

He quite liked the way the hunting garb, which Elrond now routinely wore, emphasised the svelte strength of Nín'ódhel's well-muscled body, especially where the leather leggings moulded themselves to his calves and thighs. Elrond also left the tunic and shirt loosely tied so that a small triangle of naked skin was visible beneath the lacings. It occurred to Legolas that he would rather be engaging in a different sort of hunt altogether and in a burst of vivid images contrived the basic scenario for a new game. Ah, I will lead him on quite the merry chase.

Elrond's left brow arched high; he knew that look and at once felt his pulse quicken. Legolas slid into his arms and kissed him, leaving no doubt as to the thoughts on his mind as he managed to press the hardness at his groin against Elrond's leg. The Elven Lord suppressed a groan but could not prevent one hand from groping his mate in a manner not exactly acceptable in public. When Legolas released a breathy warble, so soft it was more felt than heard, Elrond knew he'd gone too far and cautiously broke the kiss.

Legolas' eyes were bright and full of mischief as he leaned up so to whisper in his beloved Nín'ódhel's ear. "Tonight, you and I shall go hunting."

"Manwë's wind! Lord Erestor was right," Faron intoned in embarrassment, turning away at this blatant exhibition of erotic passion. "I'll wait for you outside; that is, if you still plan on coming."

The lovers parted in haste after that, Legolas' cheeks burning even as he giggled, finding Faron's choice of words rather suggestive under the circumstances. He didn't bother to comment, following Faron out to the balcony where first one and then the other leaped neatly over the side. Elrond and Faelon came to the rails and peered down as the cousins strolled away.

"Why do they always jump off the balcony?" asked Faelon, for this was something he'd wondered about since the earliest days of Legolas' residency. Then, he'd considered whether it was a trait particular to Legolas or a more general characteristic shared by sylvan people. Well, that quandary was resolved but still left him perplexed and he looked to Elrond for the answer. The Lord of Imladris just shrugged, smiling down as he watched his youthful mate striding across the lawn, checking his bowstring and adjusting his harness as he moved.

Elrond sighed, wishing he could join them but understanding how important it was for Legolas to resume this friendship with Faron. Clearly, they were the very best of friends and their easy camaraderie reminded the Elven Lord of his young years with Erestor. He and Elros and Erestor had been next to inseparable and innumerable were the pranks and mischievous plots the three had carried out. He wondered if Galbreth had formed the third in Legolas' group, but then recalled the great difference in age between Thranduil's eldest and youngest sons.

More likely some of Aras' many great-great-grandchildren are contemporary with Aearen.

The thought sparked a searing, blistering streak of brilliant awareness and Elrond forgot to breathe for a few seconds. Aras, he realised quite suddenly, had not brought along anyone close in age to Legolas. All of the heir's descendants seemed to belong to Arwen's generation, and she was more than 2600 years Legolas' senior. The Lord of Imladris was certain, as if he'd just had a glance in Galadriel's Mirror, that this fact was in some manner at the root of the elder prince's acrimony toward his nephew.

"Lord Elrond? What is wrong?" asked Faelon, having made no less than three comments about Faron to which his lord had not replied. He watched in interest as the great healer startled and looked at him in dismay as if he'd forgotten anyone else was on the balcony.

"Faelon!"

"Aye, Hiren?"

Elrond frowned. Much as he might wish it he could not pursue this enigma. "Go and fetch Lord Erestor. I need to speak with him in my office downstairs." With that he swept up the documents from the desk and hurried from the apartment, confident his valet would carry out the order at once.

Which Faelon meant to do, let none doubt it, but he had no means of knowing that the erstwhile seneschal was at that moment far from the estate, surrounded by various members of the sylvan prince's family, receiving a laboriously detailed description of the Sindarin Bonding Ritual, a thorough tutorial on courteous and mannerly behaviour among guests and participants in such a solemn ceremony, the proper sorts of gifts the two families must exchange, how many relatives Elrond was permitted in the wedding party itself, and a contrastingly vague description of the concept referred to, amid suppressed snickering and smirks, as Charivari.

Now, I know everyone recalls that Elrond left the decree regarding the dowry lying on his desk when Legolas and Faelon got into a little disagreement over the old, ragged travelling clothes. I'm sure we all can imagine he was too eager to intervene in the brewing contention to adequately hide that document before guiding his beloved Aearen out of the bedroom. And finally, knowing Legolas, we can all guess he spotted this vital manuscript almost immediately, realised what it was, and would wish nothing less than to read it through at once. Perhaps we should join him and Faron now to discover how Our Sylvan plans to achieve that.

"I can't believe you did that, Legolas." Faron's words were filled with affronted censure.

"What?"

"You know what. Ai Valar! I'm not sure I want to go on this expedition after all."

"Why? Faron, we've hardly had any time together since you arrived," Legolas halted and reached over to make his cousin face him. "I'm sorry you were shocked; I sort of forgot you were there. Don't let it spoil things, please?" There was almost a quality of desperation in his voice that couldn't be missed.

"Fine, but I don't want to end up getting devoured by a bear or a panther or something worse all because you're distracted, daydreaming about your Noldorin mate." Faron gave his cousin a playful shove, for clearly his dismay was all pretence intended to catch his childhood friend off guard. He laughed aloud at Legolas' disgusted groan. "Ai, if you could see your face! Sorry, muindoren, but you verily asked for it."

Legolas laughed too and shoved Faron back. "I suppose," he admitted, "only don't joke about that."

"About what, you're over-active libido?" Faron shot back, still laughing.

"Nay," Legolas was serious. "I meant my bond with Elrond."

Faron stopped on the path and stared at Legolas, for such insecurity was not a hallmark of his cousin's demeanour. He was used to a wilful, obstinate Elf with a tendency to behave a bit too much like a spoiled favourite son. "I wasn't going to tease you about that, but perhaps I should."

"What? Why?" Legolas could not believe his ears.

"Because I have never seen you like this, Legolas, and it bothers me. Why are you so worried about what everyone thinks all of a sudden? I would expect you to defy anyone who dared to censure your choice of a mate."

"That's just it, Faron. He wasn't my choice. I had no choice at all. I was just…taken."

"Ai! Do you think you're the first Elf to endure a bond of extremity?" said Faron, confused and uncertain how to handle a humbled and debased Elven prince. When his harsh words generated a defeated drop of his cousin's head and a listless shrug, Faron became instantly, uncomfortably distraught. "Legolas, I didn't mean that to sound so cold." He laid a hesitant hand on the prince's shoulder. "Do you not love him, then? What I just witnessed in there seemed to suggest it is so, yes?" he inquired gently, wishing more than anything that Legolas would lift his head and toss it in haughty indignation to have such a query posed.

"I do," admitted Legolas, so softly it was hard to hear the words, and when he raised his eyes to his cousin's there was something like fear shining in them. "You don't think less of me, do you?"

Now Faron was torn between anger and wrenching sorrow, for the Elf he knew would never doubt him thus and that Legolas did made it all too clear that the Elf he knew was irreparably altered. He ground out a frustrated and incoherent noise, pulling Legolas into a strong embrace, rubbing his back consolingly, startled to feel the small swell where the hidden child lay. Realisation dawned. "Muindor, I could never disparage you for that. It took great courage to fight off the grief and open your heart to this foreign Elf Lord, all for Galbreth's sake. It cannot have been easy."

Legolas sighed, much relieved to hear this, and withdrew from the comforting arms. "You have no idea," he remarked, a brisk shake of his head and a grim smile calling to mind for Faron his former, imperious self. "He was such a stuffy, arrogant old legend!"

Faron laughed. "I can imagine, for to me he still is that."

"No, no, you can't realise. He was disdainful and so lofty he thought himself level with the likes of Fingolfin. Compared to then, he is a regular, normal, fun-loving Elf such that you and I would befriend."

Faron quirked an incredulous brow. "Sounds like someone else we know," he hinted, wondering if Legolas could see himself a little better now.

"Who, Fennas? Aye, Elrond and Erestor behave much like the Elders of our folk." Legolas resumed walking, turning about and heading back toward the Last Homely House.

"Well, that is not the name I had in my thoughts, but no matter," Faron was grinning in bemusement but decided not to ridicule his friend, considering the pregnancy made Legolas overly sensitive. He noted their course and frowned. "Are we not going hunting? Is there something you've forgotten?"

"We are, but I have to do something first and I'll need your help," answered Legolas. "Elrond is trying to hide the Council's decision from me and I must see it."

"Then why not just tell him so," Faron counselled.

"He's trying to protect me," explained Legolas. "No need for him to worry about my reaction to the news; I can deal with it and he need never know. Besides, if it is really terrible I might be able to mitigate the harm by talking with Fennas. I don't want the past to place too great a burden on Imladris' citizens."

"Legolas, this is not a wise course. Elrond is your mate and you should simply tell him that you want to read the decree."

"Well, shouldn't he have told me about it? He's trying to keep things from me that directly impact me and our child."

"Aye, that I won't deny, but you said he only hopes to spare you worry. It makes no sense to compound his mistake by making it yourself."

Legolas halted and confronted his friend, arms crossed over his chest in stern remonstrance. "Faron, are you with me or not?" he demanded.

"I am with you," answered the woodland archer moodily, "but I still misgive this plan. It isn't healthy for one mate to plot against the other."

"Thank you for those words of wisdom. Coming from you, who has no mate, the advice is so much more profound."

Faron merely rolled his eyes to this and followed, no doubt in his mind that the endeavour was ill-fated.

In no time the pair reached the tall cedar beside the house and scaled it to the open balcony, keeping low and skirting around the furniture as they scanned the study for Elrond's presence. Legolas grinned and slipped inside, straightening as he moved to the desk. His pleased expression transformed into one of aggravation as he shuffled through the remaining plans and papers. "It is not here," he announced. "Elrond has taken it with him."

"Well, you'll have to wait until you see him later and confront him then. Let's go, Legolas, the day advances."

"Nay, I mean to get hold of that decree. He must have taken it to his office. That can only mean he plans to have Erestor look into it." Legolas chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, trying to figure out a way to seize the document. "If I get them busy doing something else, you could steal the paper and take it to my poplar tree. Then I could follow and read it at my ease," he suggested.

"Legolas, let it go," pleaded Faron.

"I would hate to have to remind you that I am both a Prince of Greenwood and a Lord of Imladris, while you, dear cousin…"

"Ai, innas-en-Gond!" hissed Faron. "Fine. Command me, my Liege."

Legolas flashed a rather smug smile and returned to the balcony, dropping to the garden below once more. Faron joined him and together they shrank into the shadows crowding beneath the shrubs and hedges and trees growing near the walls of the mansion. Legolas led them around the angled perimeter until he reached the windows of Elrond's office. He listened keenly yet no voices issued from within. Carefully he lifted his eyes to peer above the sash and scrutinised the room. Crouching back beside Faron he shared his puzzlement. "Empty. Where can he be?"

"I know not, but is the decree there?"

"Impossible to tell from this distance though there is a substantial pile of parchments and such on the desk."

"Then let's go in and investigate. The sooner we get this over with the sooner we'll be out in the woods," insisted Faron. Having been coerced into complicity he was eager to conclude the adventure and relieved to find no witnesses to their prying and spying. At least, none so far. He followed Legolas through the window and watched as his cousin hurried to lock the door. "If we are discovered, you are to make the explanations, my Liege, and don't even think about laying the blame on my shoulders."

"What nonsense!" scoffed Legolas. "This is my home, too. No one would dare challenge my right to snoop… I mean, investigate. Or rather, visit my mate's office and…"

"Snoop," corrected Faron darkly.

The friends glared at one another a few seconds but then Legolas shrugged and turned to the desk, eagerly sorting through the accumulated papers. He paused, smiling with happy pride as his hands found the plans he and Elrond had chosen. This he shyly held forth to Faron.

At first, the warrior was inclined to grumble, for he'd already had to endure Lord Elrond's enthusiastic bragging over the abode. One look into Legolas' bashful, hopeful eyes converted him and he took the drawing with a smile. "'Tis a fine dwelling, muindor. Well done."

"Truly? I haven't shown it to Ada and Nana yet. You know I refused to pay attention when it came to instruction about the responsibilities of being a life-bearer. I need them to understand that I take this very seriously. Do you think they'll approve?"

"Of course they will! How can you doubt that? They still love you, even though this is hardly the fate they would have chosen for you." Faron felt his gut constrict, instantly remorseful upon seeing Legolas cringe at this unpleasant reminder. "Not that there's anything wrong with Lord Elrond. I mean, he's a noble and worthy Elf."

"Even if he is Noldorin and the very person responsible for Aras' bitter grief? Not to mention my utter debasement, even to the shame and embarrassment of our entire House."

"Saes, Legolas, that isn't what I said."

"But it is what you meant."

Now unbeknownst to these two life-long friends, the very Elf they were discussing was in fact no more than a stone's throw from them and quite close enough to hear every word they spoke.

Elrond, having waited as long as he could for Erestor to appear, had decided to continue his search for the missing scroll of genealogy. To whit, he was presently inside the storage closet attached to his office, a place wherein he filed away his work once it was completed, believing the notes and accounts and minutes of the various meetings and councils essential to corroboration of the ongoing history of Imladris. This compartment was less a closet than a variety of safe, one which held the Elven Lord's monetary resources as well as historical documents. It opened at either end, connecting his office of state with the small, private library that housed some of elvendom's rarest and most important works of literature, art, and history going back to the earliest days even prior to the First Age. The room was not obvious, the entrance covered over by a fine tapestry on either side and there was no reason for Legolas or Faron to give it a second look. Elrond was fairly certain his youthful mate had never ventured into the little chamber, though the Elven Lord had mentioned its existence once or twice.

Say what you will about the noble nature of the First-born, it is an established and documented trait of nearly every important leader that he incorporated a secure and obscure location to house those treasures and riches associated with his realm. Caves and caverns and vaults tended to be the prevailing methods utilised, evinced by the elaborate constructions of Nargothrond, Menegroth, Gondolin, and in present time Thranduil's underground lair. Galadriel and Celeborn were said to have eschewed the excessive accumulation of possessions, but this was a lie. Their stash was simply better hidden via the use of the magic Galadriel learned from Melian. Círdan was perhaps the only Elf Lord who really didn't care about the power associated with material objects, but I'm sure even he had a strong-room of some kind. Elrond, too, had need of such a cubby hole, but having no love for caves and no command of magic he'd invented this clever room, hiding it and its vital contents in plain sight.

He was not the kind of Elven Lord who allotted a great deal of time for visits to the coffers of his estate. Keeping account of what came into and went out from the storage chamber was one of Erestor's many duties. Thus, if his cousin had taken the scroll, as Legolas had suggested, it made sense to think Erestor would return it to the safest place in Imladris. Elrond had entered in order to make a thorough search of the neatly organised but nonetheless packed chamber. As often happens when someone sets out to sort through a closet, he quickly became engrossed in examining and reminiscing over the various items he came across. Wood Elves being so very stealthy, he hadn't realised anyone was near until he'd heard Legolas' voice. At once he remembered the decree left on his cluttered desk and meant to storm into the room to stop them, but hearing their words induced him to linger awhile and snoop on the snoopers.

"Listen to me, muindor," Faron's voice was soft with compassion. "You cannot accept Aras' burden as your own. You have had enough to bear without that and no one would expect you to be able to heal his heart."

"Yet there can be no doubt that I am part of his grief, doubly so now as I am the one who brought about Galbreth's death."

"No, that is not true. Your parents have absolved you of that completely and Galbreth will be with us before a year's passing. Aras has no just cause for his anger toward you or Elrond. What happened all those years ago cannot be changed. I am certain Lord Elrond didn't even understand the situation; he had no knowledge of sylvans."

"It is true that he doesn't know but he is bothered by Aras' obvious hatred and wants to understand. How can I tell him that the cures he administered on the field of battle had such a deleterious effect?"

"If he asks you directly, would you refuse to enlighten him?"

There was silence as Legolas debated within himself. Finally he spoke, his words limned in uncertainty and confusion. "I don't know."

"Ai, Legolas, he is thousands of years old and does not need you to protect him from reality."

"Souls do not grow calluses, Faron," admonished Legolas. "He can feel hurt and grief as much as any Elf. You don't know all the sorrows he has borne already. How can I bring myself to give him more?"

"You underestimate his strength, nor have you taken into account the love and joy you've brought into his life. You're carrying his child, Legolas; there is no greater gift, no greater happiness."

A loud sigh punctuated that statement and then Legolas responded. "Let's not discuss it anymore. Come on, were we not going hunting today?"

"Aye, but what of the decree?"

"I don't want to think about any of that right now, Faron." Legolas could not clearly explain it, but his answer expressed a strange kind of trust with Elrond. Withholding knowledge such as he was, he no longer wished to ruin the Elven Lord's efforts to protect him from whatever truths resided within the Elders' proclamation.

"That is well," stated Faron. "I never wanted to get involved in this in the first place."

Just as when they'd entered, the sylvans' made no sound to betray their exit. Even had they done so, Elrond was too stunned to register any disturbance as he sat pondering the words he'd overheard. Perhaps it could be argued that he should have revealed his presence at once, but really, who among us could have resisted such a temptation? The desire to learn the story behind Aras' unreasonable contention proved too strong for the Elven Lord, yet in the end went unsatisfied. What was spoken raised more questions, pointing to some terrible catastrophe of which he, apparently, was the author.

Had his efforts at healing really produced some disastrous result? In vain Elrond tried to recall every herb he'd used on that dreadful day at Dagorlad. Legolas' bizarre reaction to cinnamon came at once to mind. If something similar had happened, how serious had the affect been? Sickness? Permanent impairment of the faculties? Death? Elrond shuddered and the next instant nearly shrieked as he felt the light touch of a hand on his shoulder.

He was on his feet and whirled to confront the offending person, an angry glower collecting over his forehead, lips already parting in preparation for uttering a harsh rebuke. The anger and the words both vanished from his mind as he beheld the Elf who had so successfully sneaked up on him. There, sitting cross-legged on the floor, each hand resting on a bony knee, sat an Elf, a very ancient Elf; one whom the Lord of Imladris had never seen before and certainly did not recognise.

The ellon's antiquity was heralded by his long, snow-white tresses, the steady, golden glow of his aura, and by his serene yet care-worn visage. Around his eyes and lips the fair skin was impressed with lines and creases as only those marked by extreme tragedy presented. Hardship and time together had applied their inexorable pressure, reshaping the external form as well as the heart and mind. Sorrow had wrought its wounds and left its scars, but the accumulated Ages had not left this Elf gaunt or frail or defeated. Strength and fortitude shone from eyes that were a soft, powdery blue and held within them a clarity that was almost frightening to behold. Here was an Elder who could see a soul in its entirety, every deed ever done and every thought ever harboured, good and bad, noble or base.

From such a one there could be no escape, no privacy, no hiding and yet he smiled, somehow lending the unrelenting inspection an overtone of compassionate commiseration that was rooted not in pity but in affinity and common purpose, as if he had already faced and come to terms with all these same contending facets of existence. Indeed, there was about him an attitude not of weighty and dour misery but rather a sombre sort of self-effacing humour. Whatever he might discover about a soul under his regard, it was information that would never be used in judgement or condemnation for he had already encountered like aspects within himself and had survived even that.

Beyond the mesmerising intensity of the pale blue eyes, everything else might as well go unremarked. Still, it was notable that he was wearing sylvan garb, though all his clothes were black instead of forest-hued. He kept his colourless hair bound in a manner that Elrond found inexplicably familiar, though in his current state of amazement he could not pin down the sense of recognition any more fully. Realising he was staring and his mouth was hanging open, Elrond blinked and licked his lips, trying to find words that were fitting to the occasion of encountering a strange Elf while eavesdropping on his young mate from within the confines of a secret vault. While he was seeking an alternative to 'who are you and what are you doing here' that sounded impressively imposing and yet respectful, for there was about this Elf that which commanded respect, the ellon spoke.

"Forgive me, but I could not resist viewing this. I know I should have asked first, but I am rather reclusive these days. I helped myself but as you see I am returning it safe and sound." He reached behind him, drew forth a long rolled parchment, and held it out to Elrond. "I believe this was entrusted to your care, Master Elrond." His smile grew, watching the wide-eyed expression overtaking the noble Peredhel's features.

"Yes, but how came you to have it?" Elrond stuttered out, taking the document he had been searching for so diligently. "Where have you come from? Nay, it is obvious you arrived with Thranduil's folks, but why have you not…"

"Again I must beg forgiveness," the Elf stood and bowed deeply, his white hair sweeping the floor as he did so. "I followed your kinsman on his daily rounds and he led me here. As you might imagine, it was reconnaissance vital to the Elder's Council, of which I am Archon."

"You spied on my financial affairs? How dare you!" Elrond could not believe it. Much leeway and indulgence he'd granted to his guests, but this was too much. "I do not care what your position in Greenwood may be, such an act of deceitful subterfuge is inexcusable. Let me assure you, this will be taken up with your King. Not even the citizens of Imladris would be so bold!"

"Yet family may enter here without impunity?" queried the ancient. He stood tall, not an insignificant height, and his countenance exuded benevolence, his incisive eyes turned gentle and warm with an eager and fearful hope as they held Elrond's troubled grey ones. "Only an opportunity such as this could entice me from my quiet life beside Gladholduin: to set eyes upon you at last. I am your uncle, known to you only as Eluréd, yet that is not the name I would hear you speak, being more a title than anything else. Call me Elril instead and you will have given me much joy."

Elrond dropped the scroll in his shock and astounded wonder. "Muindor-en-Naneth?" he whispered, casting his sight over the tall Elf anew. Then he identified the source of similarity tickling the underside of his thoughts: the eyes and the hair were the same as Elwing's. "Save it lacks any colour now," he murmured aloud this curiosity.

"Aye, thellion, it has been this way since that dreadful day when Nana was cut down before my eyes. I should have died that day, would have perished for certain but the folk of Lenwë found us and rescued us, Gilorthad and me."

"Gilorthad? That is how Elurin is called?"

"Was; alas, he lives no more. We were given those names to keep our identities protected." He bent to retrieve the scroll and placed it in Elrond's hands. "Word reached the Green Elves that Maedhros was seeking the sons of Dior, for what purpose none knew but many could imagine. Our protectors believed he hoped to hold us hostage in exchange for the Silmaril with which Elwing escaped. It was at that time we were spirited across the Ered Luin and over countless leagues of wild lands. Once more we braved a fearsome range of peaks and then came upon our sylvan kin of Greenwood. With them we remained."

"I can scarcely believe this," Elrond breathed, a shake of his head accompanying the words.

Elril shrugged. "I know not what proofs I might offer. We were left with nothing of our parents, my brother and I. You must understand, we were so very young when the traumatising events occurred. Younger than you and Elros when a similar fate deflected your development. The surest way to prevent our fading was to distract us and we became immersed in our new life and forgot that once we were princes and had other names.

"Yet, there is one relic I have kept, just a small thing and not really evidence for it might have come from any one of the kindly Elves that salvaged us from a terrible doom." The ancient ellon held forth his hand and upon its palm there appeared a small golden band, simple and unadorned without any jewel or carving. "Here is said to be the wedding band Nimloth wore upon her finger. I know not if that is true, but so my adoptive mother told me, hoping to keep my first life-giver's memory real, that I might remember something other than her throat gaping wide and pouring forth a fountain of blood upon me. If not for this ring I would have lost my mind, but with it I was able to imagine my Nana as she was before that day: happy and smiling, playing her harp for me and my brother. How the golden band flashed in the sunlight as she plucked the strings!"

He was quiet for a time, gazing down at the simple circle of golden metal, and when Elrond reached out to take it up his fingers almost closed over it in jealous protection. Then he laughed a bit and offered an apologetic smile as his nephew inspected it.

"No proof you say?" announced Elrond, eyeing his uncle askance. "You are joking, then. The inscription bears out your words, Elril." He handed the band back and watched as it somehow disappeared in the second of time it took for him to spare a look into the ancient Elda's face. Elril was nodding thoughtfully and regarding him with interest.

"If that is enough for you, so be it. Someone could have found the ring and not the children of the elleth who wore it. I could be someone hoping to take advantage of your fabled hospitality by pretending to be Eluréd. Just because the inscription says 'Dior ar Nimloth an Uir' does not mean I am the product of that eternal bond."

"Why are you saying this?" Elrond demanded, taken aback.

"Only to assure you that I have no means to prove my claim," shrugged the Elf, peering with that unsettling intensity into Elrond's face. "You must accept me on faith and the feeling in your soul. Am I Elwing's brother?"

The Elven Lord could only gape at him, overcome for a moment with anxious doubt. Yet why would this citizen of Greenwood choose to masquerade in such a manner? The words shared between Faron and Legolas rang a warning knell through his thoughts. Is this how Aras hopes to take his revenge? Then why would Elril introduce any uncertainties? Suddenly the ellon's face shifted into a bitter and frustrated scowl.

"Aras is a fool. The trouble with him is that he has never had the responsibility of leadership. So I warned his parents, for he was a spoiled only son, but they would not have him exposed to the dangers of the darkening woods to the south. The grudge he harbours against you is unjust," Elril expounded, yet how he knew this was the focus of the Elven Lord's thoughts he did not reveal.

"You know of this?" Elrond asked, thinking that was a stupid question yet unable to gather himself sufficiently to sound sagacious.

Elril didn't seem to notice, or didn't find it an unsuitable query. "Aye. I will tell you about it, if you ask it of me, for I confess there is likely nothing I would refuse you, be it in my power to supply it. I have many descendants and love them all, but you and yours are the only link I have to my Nana." His features transformed into a beatific smile. "You cannot know what joy I feel to see Rh�n'waew's youngest son linked to you. Though there are uncounted generations dividing us, I feel like his Minya'dar and have tried to fill that role, with Oropher dead so long before Legolas was conceived."

At this Elrond had to smile, yet there was sadness in his heart as well, for Aearen had not been able to share any of these vital connections with him "I'm pleased also," he managed and sighed. "Legolas has told me so little and from the words I overheard just now he is not inclined to reveal the nature of Aras' displeasure. I wish he could confide in me," he said wistfully, a tiny edge of discontent colouring the remark.

"Aye, he's confused and fearful, unsure of himself and his place both among his people and yours," nodded Elril. "You will need to be patient with him for many years yet. I know it is difficult for you to see, but Legolas is still trying to overcome his grief and guilt. He is very young, after all is said and done, and wisdom is not an innate trait but one learned at the behest of life and fate.

"You, however, are not so young," the elder Elf's tone took on undeniable accents of admonishment. "I will not tell you what you should do, yet my opinion is that Legolas' fragile self-image would be bolstered by your confidence in his ability to handle the conditions of the Elders' decree with grace and dignity. He is of age and has been well trained in affairs of state, though he has a tendency to rebel against attending such duties. Be assured, he was raised with the knowledge that his unique physical attributes would be bartered for the betterment of his people. He was destined for an arranged marriage from the moment of birth."

Elrond's brows went up. True, he had thought the same thing, once he understood his mate's parentage was so noble, but as Legolas had never hinted at it, he'd assumed Aearen hadn't contemplated that future. Now, this notion was revealed to be insupportable. Of course he must have been aware. How had he felt about that, Elrond wondered, and had there ever been anyone for whom his youthful heart had throbbed?

"This, believe it or not, is the source of contention between him and Aras," Elril announced.

That gripped Elrond's attention immediately. "Aras!" he hissed, pronouncing the name as if it belonged to some diabolical enemy from which he longed to be delivered. "How can he hold his uncle's physical nature against him? Legolas had no power to cause such attributes to arise."

"Indeed, yet Aras is not entirely in his right mind. Sometimes, I wonder if he ever was." Elril frowned and shook his head briskly. "Nay, that is unjust. His reasoning is flawed but not unfounded. It is true enough that the majority of the royal family, as well as Greenwood's populace at large, prefers Legolas to Aras or any of his offspring. The very idea of another child to rival his seemed to drive Aras to fury."

"I'm sorry, but from a healer's perspective that does seem unstable," Elrond contradicted, doing his best to present his argument objectively. "Why would another child be a threat to him? First of all, the likelihood of Thranduil stepping down is non-existent and …"

"Saes," Elril raised his hand to halt this objection. "Greenwood has lost too many good people for me to bear hearing such a speech. We could lose Thranduil on any given day. He does not remain within the caverns of his stronghold, no matter that all his family and most of his subjects would wish it. He is part of the regular rotation of warriors. This is due to the lesser numbers we have to face an ever-increasing foe." The ancient Elf grimaced and abruptly turned, stalking out of the storage room in dark fury. "Bah! There's no need to detail our strife for you, Lord Elrond. I know Mithrandir keeps you well informed."

"I meant no disrespect, truly," Elrond followed quickly, suddenly ashamed of himself for playing the diplomat. This problem was obviously too close to the heart and soul of Greenwood to reduce it to mere political terms. Elril's hasty footsteps had led them into the private library and Elrond at once offered the agitated ancient the most comfortable chair and poured him a small glass of miruvor. His uncle accepted both and took several moments to savour the cordial and regain his composure.

"Nay," he finally sighed and sent Elrond a kinder smile. "I know you did not. Forgive me, we've had much to endure. Let me continue, for the way this works is not as you might imagine. No doubt you assume that Galbreth reborn will once more become the crowned prince upon achieving his majority. This is not the case. Aras will retain his status."

Elrond was unprepared for that titbit of knowledge and his surprise showed. "Yet even so, inheritance of power goes only to the first-born son. With Aras' place assured, his eldest male descendant would also be favoured, correct?"

"Aye, and that is exactly the problem," nodded Elril, his expression grim. "He has no such male descendent."

"None? Nay, he has numerous ellyn with him here. Some of them must be grandsons."

"Aye but they are not considered part of his bloodline." Elril announced. "His only child, a son, died at Dagorlad and left only two females as progeny. Those daughters married into various other families. None of their male offspring may ascend to the throne. According to the Law, in such a situation Legolas becomes the heir and inheritance shifts to his first-born male offspring, should it come to that."

In stunned silence Elrond attempted to assimilate this information. Even after learning Legolas' identity, he'd never contemplated that his beloved Aearen might be called upon to accept the leadership of Greenwood. Granted, the circumstances would have to be catastrophic, with not only Thranduil but Aras removed as well. His healing gift warned him that the crowned prince's grief threatened to hasten his departure from Arda. Setting aside his personal reasons for disliking Aras, the situation was anything but promising. How much longer could the suffering Elf persist before his choices reduced and he must sail or fade? Suddenly, given the Sindarin monarch's direct involvement in his realm's defence, the unthinkable became plausible. His heart quailed and he gripped the arms of his chair; Tinu Mín was also in line. The next thought he could not contain. "Legolas knows this?"

"Undoubtedly," confirmed Elril, "though it is something he aggressively refuses to discuss. It isn't that he has no love for his country or his people, but he cannot stomach any reference to losing his Ada."

"That I understand," remarked Elrond, "but not the depth of the enmity between Aras and Legolas. Is Aras incapable of fathering another son? Surely he could choose to reincarnate his first-born. Ah, unless…"

"Exactly," nodded Elril. "He is not incapable, as far as we know, but thwarted. His mate perished from grief after their son's death even as he rode in escort to take her over Sea. She is buried somewhere in Eriador that only Aras and his guard know. He should have gone on to the the Havens and sailed, for his spouse's parents migrated there long ago and only in Aman shall he meet his beloved again. But he did not choose that course.

"Instead, he returned home to invoke the ancient custom. Aras enlisted his wife-mate's sister to bear his son anew. This was no easy decision for either one, and the families, too, were distraught and aggrieved. This sister was also at Dagorlad and took wounds there as did so many. Alas, she never conceived any child with Aras, and before you ask let me say she would never deny so serious a request in that manner. If she could not stomach to bear his child, even less would she abide his touch and would have stated so, refusing his request. Nay, she was truly barren thereafter, unable to conceive with her mated husband either."

"Then Aras begrudges Legolas' elevated position," mused Elrond. "Thranduil and Rhûn'waew elected to produce another child, so to safeguard the lineage of Oropher. Yet why didn't Galbreth and his mate seek to conceive another son? Wouldn't that child be placed before Legolas in the line of ascent?"

"No," Elril said simply. "Galbreth's mate died at Dagorlad; he was inuanu, like Legolas, not that it really matters. Galbreth did not wish to wed another and with Aras surviving saw no reason to do so. Even had he chosen a second mate and made another son, that prince would not supersede Legolas.

"Neither have you named the reason for which Legolas was produced. My beloved granddaughter, for so I consider Rh�n'waew, decided to create another child long after Dagorlad, as surely you understand. Your mate has seen only 76 summers." Elril smiled at Elrond's appreciation of this fact, and chuckled a bit. "Such an age difference," he teased. "She averred that her youngest son was ordained by the Powers to be, that he is vitally important to all the free peoples of Middle-earth, and stated that he would be foremost among not only the woodland folk but all Elves, no matter their race or lineage."

"Extraordinary!" Elrond breathed. "Legolas said she is deemed a seer among her people."

"So she is, and it is this that caused Aras to become so hostile. He took her words to heart; it felt like nothing less than betrayal, rejection. In his mind, Rhûn'waew had predicted his Adar's fall, and thus his as well, and seemed pleased about it. That is not so; she would never discard Galbreth, her first-born and one of the noblest Elves ever created. She loved him fiercely and Aras she adored for love of Galbreth. When he was lost to us, none grieved more deeply than she save Thranduil, unless it was Legolas himself."

"Legolas knows about this prophesy?" Elrond felt this was important.

"He does and has always dreamed it meant he would travel far amid the various Elven realms, acting as Thranduil's emissary, uniting those who had become distant under the stress of so many hardships, gathering his sundered kin-in-kind to achieve a common cause: destruction of Dol Guldur and the very Wraiths that inhabit it."

Elrond sucked in a noisy breath and nearly leaped from his seat. "He wished that?" He shook his head vehemently. "Nay, tell me Thranduil would not have permitted him to attempt such folly."

"He would not. Such was Legolas' dream, the kind of starry-eyed fantasy elflings invent and youth makes possible. To me he confided this, perhaps to Faron, but certainly to no others. In his heart of hearts, Legolas knew he was to be wed in order to obtain the kind of alliance his birth portended, and I believe I've mentioned he rebelled against this fate most strongly. What he does not know, and need now never come to understand, is that the marriage had been arranged and confirmed: he was to belong to Galdor in Mithlond. The journey that resulted in his union to you was meant to deliver him to his future husband."

All these revelations overwhelmed Elrond yet he leaned forward, hungry for more insight into his enigmatic Aearen. To think that all these complexities had moulded his beloved. In truth, many of his Wood Elf's obstinate ways, issues that had plagued and perplexed him for ten years without resolution, became more comprehensible. That he might never have met the sylvan archer gave his soul an echoing lurch of panic, that he had come so close to driving him away, even so recently as a mere handful of days gone past, chilled his heart. Elrond resolved to do all in his power to make their life together fulfilling beyond a child's aspirations to gain renown through heroic deeds and acts of courage, sure in his soul that their love must eclipse the dramatic prophesy of the Winter Queen.

"Aras was openly pleased for Legolas to be sent away. He was weary of living in what he termed 'the slender, golden shadow'. I cannot express the foment of his rage upon the news of his Adar's death, all because Galbreth would not allow Legolas to face his new life alone." Elril sighed and finished his miruvor thoughtfully, eyeing his nephew closely. It was clear the renowned healer had for the moment forgotten about the reference to his part in Aras' animosity.

In many ways, the ancient Elf wished he could uphold Legolas' desire to keep Elrond ignorant of the truth, yet he realised this would be demeaning to the Elven Lord. It was one thing for Legolas, young, impetuous, and lacking experience, to hope to preserve his beloved from hurt and harm, yet quite another for Elril to withhold so important an aspect of the history underlying the distance between these two greatest of Elven domains. In the silence that elapsed, the two studied one another and something of an understanding passed between them. At last Elrond broke the quiet.

"There is more than this," he said. "My part in the contention hasn't yet been revealed. I find that I do ask you, uncle, for that which you might rather keep secret, that which assuredly Legolas does not want me to know."

"I hope you will make allowances for him," pleaded Elril. "His heart aches for you and he feels that is enough pain without seeing the hurt these facts must cause reflected in your eyes."
Elrond drew a sharp breath. "Did I really inflict harm to those I sought to heal?" he queried, the words uttered in a low and serious voice.

"You did, through no fault of your own," stated Elril, seating one of his strong hands upon his nephew's shoulder in commiseration and support. "It was caused by conditions none could have foreseen. Consider the long Ages the sylvan people dwelled beneath the trees of Greenwood. Even the Sindarin folk, newcomers compared to those who had resided beneath the canopy since before the rising of Ithil, have lived there long enough to acquire the resistance required if one is to survive the hazards of such a blighted land."

"You speak of the spiders?" The Elven Lord's mind was already following his uncle's reasoning and evaluating the possibility that cures in standard usage among folk west of Hithaeglir might be detrimental to sylvan physiology.

"That and the vile poisons used by the Orcs of Dol Guldur. We have developed immunity to many toxins that would fell others, yet apparently our isolation from the rest of elvendom has caused other weaknesses of which we were not aware. The potions you, and other healers also, administered as agents against these poisons left an eradicable blight upon the survivors. Sterility."

Elrond gasped. "Nay!"

"Unfortunately, it is truth I speak. Male or female, any who were attended by the Noldorin healers became barren. The sheer numbers who fell wounded that day prohibited exclusive treatment by Greenwood's healers and surgeons. We were grateful for the aid, please know this. Even once the results became obvious, still most would not condemn those who had only hoped to give succour."

"Aras was not among those so generous," intoned Elrond, sick at heart to learn this dreadful news. "I cannot say I fault him for his anger."

"It is honourable for you to say so," said Elril, "but I cannot excuse him thus. His grandparents make too many allowances and that enhanced Aras' character flaws. I still hold to my initial judgement: he has been spoiled and pampered by everyone, even more so after Dagorlad. Galbreth tried to compensate for the loss of Aras' wife and son."

"Elbereth! What a bitter tragedy this is. Were the herbs that caused it discovered?"

"Aye, eventually, but the damage is irreversible. Can you understand why Legolas did not want to reveal this to you?"

Elrond agreed in silence. Now he was torn, not knowing if he should admit to his newly acquired insight or play dumb. He sighed and shook his head. "I dread to confront him, for how shall I manage it without seeming to give censure?"

"That at least is simple," smiled Elril. "I will take the blame for the history lesson, as it really was my doing, as long as you sit down with Legolas and discuss that decree."

Elrond snorted out a self-deriding laugh. "Now I know you're really my Naneth's brother," he grinned. "She was a bargainer, too. No doubt you had this in mind from the start."

"I willingly admit it," said Elril, "though I would have made him tell you anyway."

Elrond rose and replenished the miruvor and then resumed his place, sipping thoughtfully as he contemplated the strange turn events had taken. After a time he resumed his questions. "Tell me of your brother. Did he meet his end at Dagorlad, also?"

"Nay, neither of us would go to war after what we witnessed as children, but he was gone long before that dire conflict erupted. He chose the mortal way, as did your brother. The race he fathered is strange, the folk a reclusive, distrusting lot, even as he was. Among the free peoples, they are called beornings."

The Lord of Imladris probably would have collapsed under the burden of this last revelation atop so much shocking news, had he not already been seated, and he almost dropped the glass in his hand. Not by any flight of imagination would he have arrived at this end for his long lost uncle and he could only stare, silent and grim as he listened to the tale of a grief too bitter to abide, an anger too consuming to endure for everlasting, a disgust with Elf-kind too profound to stomach remaining among the First-born. In the end, he wept for the uncle he never knew and thanked the Powers that Elros had not made his choice with such bitterness and despair.

TBC

~ ~ Glossary ~ ~

Manadh Diorion: Ultimate Fate of Dior's Sons

Ernil Daur: Forest Prince

Brannon Neth: Young Lord

nosta m�r: birth home - Quenya

Ernil neth: young prince

Deleb! Thaur! Horrible! Abominable

Ai innas-en-Gond: Oh for Pete's sake!

Nirnaeth Arnoediad: Battle of Unnumbered Tears

Gladholduin: Laughing River

Elril: Bright Star

Gilorthad: Rising Star

thellion: sister-son-nephew

'Dior ar Nimloth an Uir: Dior and Nimloth Forever

Miny'adar: Grandfather

inuanu: female-male, an elf of dual gender

Iest Mín: Our Wish - pet name for Legolas used by his parents.

Rhûn'waew: East Wind

Aras: deer, stag

Fennas: Doorway

Tinu Mín: our little star

NOTE: OK folks, I don't know what you'll think of this. It's all AU, remember, and admittedly I have played havoc with the fate of the Lost Twins of Doriath. It occurred to me that the descendants of Beren and Luthien must have been given the same choice of fate as Elrond and his offspring, for Beren and Luthien were granted this right by the Powers, who returned them to live again upon Middle-earth, apparently both as mortals. Nothing is said if this is true, but I feel Dior was also offered that choice and in accepting to rule in Doriath after Thingol's death, indicated he counted himself among the Elves. Elwing's fate we know, that she chose the First-born for herself and for Eärendil. Now I say the Lost Twins, her brothers, would have to face this decision also, if they lived.

There's no indication in any of Tolkien's writing that the beornings had any Elven blood, but they were certainly strange and magical and alone among the people of Middle-earth had the ability to change shape. Only the Powers and the Maiar are described as being able to take on and put off physical form at will, and so I am reasoning that such an ability might come down through Melian, Dior's grandmother. Well it's no doubt a strange take on these characters. It isn't all sad but neither could I make it all happy.

I know I have not explained why Eluréd (Elril) never attempted to contact his nephew in Imladris, but this is enough for now. We can learn the rest when Arwen learns what has come to pass. Yes, I know by rights she should be here by now and I have left her in the background, so I will try to devote some time to her and the Twins next time.

Beyond that, this chapter finally reveals what Aras' problem with Legolas is, and as I said his antagonism is really not justified, no matter how tragic his life has been to date. Now that Elrond knows the truth, he will try to be more understanding, but his efforts will be in vain and the two will have a confrontation that results in Aras' removal from the valley for once and all. I hope the convoluted explanation of the laws governing who can become the king of Greenwood make sense. At least I hope it sounds not too unreasonable. I am guessing most folks are surprised to find out that Legolas and his babe are closer to the throne than I have led them to believe. I was not deliberately being obscure; I simply hadn't worked out the whole fiasco in my head yet. The decision was made while I wrote it out, took a number of revisions, and still this seemed the most believable scenario, to me at least. Feel free to disagree and if I made any errors in consistency please don't hesitate to point them out :)

Last but not least, we get to see Legolas interact with real friends, both old and new, and I hope that gives everyone a warm feeling that things are going to be all right for him. He is loved and no longer isolated.

As always, my deepest thanks to one and all still reading and enjoying the story!

© 07/17/2008 Ellen Robey
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Aearlinn

Aearlinn - Manadh Diorion

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ An indeterminate amount of time goes by ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ Glossary ~ ~