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In the Chains of Honor: Shades of the Past	By : Tanesa Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3053 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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In the Chains of Honor
Author: Tanesa Etaleshya, Email: tanesa_etaleshya@hotmail.com
Rating: NC 17
Disclaimer: I�m only playing with them, I swear!
Warnings: Rape, incest, NCS, violence, slavery, angst, mpreg later (of course-where would the fun be without all this? So if you object to the abuse of any elf please do not read or do not get angry with me if you do not heed this warning) Dark and violent. Work in progress.
Author�s Note- Please have patience, I am still getting around to the good stuff, maybe another chapter! Enjoy! Feedback will be, and is, appreciated!

Part 1: In the Darkness Two Beginnings�
Chapter 3
*~*~*
It was nearing the midday meal when Elrond adjourned to rest and check on his wounded elves, having left them to the care of the Mirkwood healers. He was frustrated to the utmost with the stubborn, ever-resilient elf-king, and elf with whom he had long butted heads with over numerous issues. He was muttering to himself as he forced himself to smile as he preceded Thranduil out of the austere room and nodded to the King when a servant bowed and led the way to the rooms he would be given during his stay in Greenwood. The rooms were magnificent, walls painted with murals of trees, vines, flowers reminiscent of what Greenwood had once looked like before the darkness had crept under the canopy of the trees, and the paintings had probably been there long before the creeping of darkness amongst the trees, before the subjects of the murals had become memories.

The room was brightly lit with candles on the far wall, the balcony opened out over a courtyard free of the dark density of the trees, and was, consequently, full of sunlight and all manner of plants and flowers glowing after the dimness of the hallways he had walked following the elf directed to the task. The bed was large and comfortable by the looks of it, heavy dark wood carved to look as if covered in vines. Pale green coverings matched the pillows in the other various pieces of furniture all matching the bed�s design, a desk, several chairs, a table, dressers and even a small bookcase with a few old volumes sitting forlornly on the shelf. He did not think those texts had seen much use over the years, as Thranduil�s Keep was not frequented by any elves outside of Greenwood often

He allowed the pleasant fragrances of the plants growing below to fill his senses and restore some inner calm and balance after his rising frustration with the King. It had not helped his ability to tolerate the King�s arrogance to see at the outset how he treated his own kin, the only Prince and heir of Mirkwood, a son he should value and hold high. Elrond admitted that he knew little of or about the prince, and he knew little more about the King, and he also would readily have admitted that he was a bit jaded in his opinions due to his close relationships with all three of his precious children. Thinking on how he honored his own children, what they meant to both him and Celebr�an, he nearly choked on the anger as it loomed heavy and dark from deep within his chest all over again. He thought of that elf, how his golden hair had shone in the sunlight, his eyes hard and firm as the ice in winter, yet possessing an inner fire that seemed hot compared to Thranduil�s glacial gaze. He swallowed back the bile of fury, breathing in hard the fresh, clean air from the open verandah, his hands gripping the railing until his knuckles showed white and his fingers tired, allowing the rage to pass into the calm resilience for which he was known.

He had asked as to the whereabouts of the elves who had accompanied him, and had, on the way back from the discouraging meeting, visited those wounded and those well who sat beside their comrades. He had only to see to his oldest and �wisest� friend, a friend with whom he would sit to spend his afternoon in order not to dwell upon that which he could neither change nor influence if this day had been any indication.

He had been informed that the other elven lord�s rooms adjoined his own rich rooms adorned in murals and thick rugs woven in intricate designs. So, filled with the gentle scent of fresh air from the forest and garden, calmed by the heady aromas of the flowers blooming in bright bursts of ironic color, he was satisfied that he had regained enough composure to see to his friend. He stepped out into the hallway empty but for two elves standing at the ready to grant any request made of them by their guests, and made his way the few short steps to the next ornately carved door, knocked and slid inside soundlessly in case the elder elf had found rest. The healer that had seen to him was sitting at his side still, another elf at the table apparently cleaning the healer�s tools, glancing at Elrond with a curt nod, then at the fire in the hearth and the kettle hanging above the flames.

The healer stood and bowed lightly to him as he made his way to the bedside. Glorfindel appeared to be sleeping well, his color still pale and troubling, but improving. He leaned over and pulled the cloth bandage away to inspect the wound and was well-pleased that, between the healer�s efforts and the herbs Legolas had given him during the battle, the blackness of the skin around the wound had lessened, as well as the redness of infection. He smiled at the healer as he settled on the edge of the bed, �I am thankful for your efforts.�

�My Lord Elrond, I am honored to be of service.�

�I am honored as well, for your skills and knowledge here in the Greenwood are impressive, that even the Guards know of herbs and the treatment of poisoned wounds.�

�It is but necessary here, my Lord. Often enough there is not time to save those who could be, and sacrifices must be made, no matter how painful to make, my Lord.� The healer straightened his green and black robes on his shoulders as he spoke, looking at the blond elf lord to avoid the eyes of the raven-haired lord.

�I know. Three of Mirkwood lost their lives today, and five of my own.�

�Eight passed? I had not heard.� The healer whispered, his color paled considerably, shifting back and forth on his feet slightly even as he stood more rigidly upright, as if to counter the revealing movement of his feet. �Terrible loss and a terrible waste may yet be known.� He shook his head ignoring the question in the elf-lord�s eyes.

Elrond, by now, knew no answers would be given by this elf or any other, would only mutter the same �we must wait for the decision of the King� that the elf who had shown him to his rooms had when he had asked. �Aye. And the other wounded? How do they fare?�

�They are being seen to by my colleagues, my Lord. I have been assured none was as gravely wounded as Lord Glorfindel. They will recover given time,� the elf shifted his robes again, playing for a mere second with the broach on the collar sparkling with a single ruby inlaid in gold worked into the form of a leaf, �If you will excuse me, my Lord. I will check on him later to change the poultice. My assistant will remain if you so wish his aid.�

�It is not needed, but thank you. I will sit with him a while.�

�The herbs he will require to heal and counteract the poison are on the table, prepared; hot water on the hearth, the tea must be given to him twice more before the evening meal. My Lord,� and with those parting words and a polite bow from each, they withdrew leaving the room in silence broken only by the crackling of the flames and the song of birds in the trees outside mixed sporadically with the soft elven voices drifting up from below.

A meal was brought to him and he ate what he could before he settled down to await Glorfindel�s return to consciousness. He allowed himself to sink into the thick pillows in the chair he pulled up beside the bed, pale green like his own, and found himself giving into the exhaustion now weighing his limbs down, making him feel as if he were, indeed, sinking further, and further into the soft comfort enveloping him. He forced himself up after a time, looked at the sky, and paced back and forth to avoid the sleep tempting him. He wanted to stay awake to give Glorfindel the tea he would need to give his friend before too long.

He was just settling back down into the chair, giving in halfway to the irresistible call of the chair, after first removing the soft pillows, whelighlight knock could be heard on the door to his right, not the door to the main hallway. He stood to his feet as the elf entered after his stiff and stilted �enter�. He was surprised to see the blond elf-son of the King standing in the open doorway, his hair lit to look like spun gold in the light slanting through the room from the balcony, despite the bloody, red streaks staining its perfection, and corresponding red flecks and marks on his pale visage. He looked worse than Glorfindel. His eyes were hard, but pained. His skin was pale, too pale, his lips nearly colorless. He was standing as straight as he had since Elrond had met him, his body not allowed to acknowledge the obvious discomfort he was in. He had not changed his clothes. He smelled of orc blood most of all, but Elrond distinctly caught the light, sweet scent of elf blood emanating from the younger elf. He noted the bloodied slash in the arm of the elf�s tunic, and another in his side and concluded these were the reasons for the scent of injury about the elf. His clothes were a mess, blood-spattered and dirty, but none of this detracted from the elegance and graceful dignity the elf exuded with his every breath. He knew even then the reason his friend�s eyes had been drawn to the elf even in the heat of battle, in ignorance and defiance to the pain racing through him as he, himself, had treated the elven lord�s wound and administered the herbal antidote to the poison. Elrond was quite taken aback with the sight.

The spell was broken when the elf spoke, �My Lord,� he bowed stiffly, his breath catching in his throat as he did so, �May I impose upon you?� He stood with his hands behind his back as he had before his father, but this time he was looking at Elrond, and the dark elf was mesmerized by those eyes, haunting and fiery at the same time. The younger elf shifted on his feet at the lack of response, bowed again quickly, �I apologize, my Lord. I should not have come when you are concerned over your loss with my responsibility so near to hand and mind,� he glanced to where the blond elder lay asleep, then looked back and continued, his tone apologetic and soft, �I will trouble you no longer.� He started to back away through the door, his face downcast and paling further if Elrond was not mistaken.

�Wait, my Prince! Forgive my tired mind but I was caught in other thoughts. I can see you are in some pain, so come. Your presence does not trouble me so much as you must believe. I found no fault in your actions.� He beckoned the elf to enter, and the elf did so with a slight hesitation. Elrond stepped back to the table and the herbs, leaned back on the hard surface, and studied the elf prince before him. Does he ever relax from this stiff formality? He thought as the elf continued to stand with his hands crossed behind his back severely. �What is it you need of me?�

�Forgive my lack of manners in failing to introduce myself, my Lord. There is no excuse for my behavior earlier.�

�That is not what you came here for.�

�Indeed, my Lord. I came because I have none other to turn to in a matter of some� in a matter of health.� The elf managed to spit out the last.

�I am a Healer, yes.� He stepped forward, eyes searching the elf before him, noting the elf�s breathing, his movements ever so slight as he breathed and moved to face the fire for a moment. He could see nothing wrong, no evidence of injury other than the two deep cuts�except- there! A slight favoring of his left side, a slight hitching in his breathing! The elf was injured and had not sought treatment all this day! �Why have you not sought treatment for the wound in your side, pen-neth?� He asked in a tone of soft reproach, a tone he was well-accustomed to using when addressing his troublesome twin sons.

Legolas� reaction, if there had been one, was imperceptible. �None here should treat my wounds, my Lord.� He replied softly as if not understanding the reason for the question. There was something going on here, and he wanted to know what it was that the son of the King would be refused treatment for a wound received defending guests of the realm. �It would be easier for all if I died.�

�A healer should treat any and all who come and seek aid,� he started towards his own rooms, �Follow me.�

�Wait, my Lord. I cannot be seen to take treatment from you either, my Lord. I requested these rooms for you; this door is to your chamber directly from this room. If you will allow me, my Lord.� He followed the blond elf to the door through which he had entered.

As he led led through the packs that had been brought up for him, he asked the obvious, �What nonsense is this that none will see to your wound, Legolas?�

�Nonsense? You refer to the honor of my elves, and my own honor, the honor of Mirkwood itself as nonsense?� Legolas was growing angry, but kept his face serene. The fire in his eyes had swelled in intensity. �None may know that I, too, was injured. I am responsible for the lives of eight lost elven lives, my Lord; would you impugn their honor as well?�

�I said nothing of honor, Prince. I am not accustomed to the ways of your people, Legolas, and I am misunderstanding due to this lack of insight; I meant no disrespect.� He found the pack and set it down on the table, �Wait here,� then darted back to get the hot water from Glorfindel�s room and a basin from the washstand at the rear of the room. �Can you remove your tunic, or do you need my help?�

�I am able.� Legolas pulled the tunic over his head; he had loosened the strings while Elrond had been fussing with his bag and the water he now poured into the basin, mixing herbs into the water to steep.

The elf�s silken shirt beneath the tunic had been a delicate green, now marred with several cuts stained red and one much larger stain on his left side. He unfastened the clasps quickly, then dropped the shirt over the back of a chair as Elrond drew in his breath in stunned silence. He darted forward to examine the wound, unable even to notice the awesome beauty of the blond for the arrow shaft protruding less than an inch from the skin over his ribs. �The arrow has not gone through you, but is near enough that it should not be pulled back lest more damage be done. Legolas, if none else could treat you, you should have sought me out long ago, found any excuse to get me from your father�s company!�

�I could not, my Lord.�

�I will need help to treat this. Do not worry; it will be one of my own elves, if you will allow it?� At the nod he received, Elrond headed for the door, motioning for the blond elf to lie down. He asked for one of the elves in the hallway to bring another elf back with him and then turned back to find the Prince still standing. �Lie down, Legolas.�

�May I lie on the table and not the bed, my Lord?�

Thinking that the elf simply wished for no evidence to be left on the sheets, he nodded and brought fresh towels the healer had left for Glorfindel.

The elf-prince bore through the ordeal calmly even though the bleeding in his lung increased once the arrow was removed and he coughed up frothy blood for several minutes before Elrond�s skilled fingers slowed the bleeding. The elf refused to drink the soporific Elrond made giving the reason that he was expected at the evening meal and could not miss it. Elrond shook his head both at himself and the Imladrian elf helping him tend the Prince, muttering that at the backwardness of the Mirkwood elves having reached a new level in his mind. Legolas bristled slightly, but was too exhausted to say much else before he slipped into a light sleep. The afternoon passed slowlHe mHe moved Legolas from the table to Glorfindel�s room, laying him in front of the fire on a soft rug while he gave the sleepy elf lord the tea. Legolas lay there for some time in silence until Elrond joined him, the other Imladrian elf sitting beside the bed in his place.

�Legolas, you must rest. Do not force yourself beyond your limits. I would recommend you not attend the evening meal.�

�I have no choice, my Lord. If I do not attend, they will know I am wounded as well.�

�And what harm is there in that knowledge? Is it not honorable to be wounded in the service of one�s land?�

�Perhaps this is how you look at it, but we here see it in a different light,� Legolas finally tore his gaze away from the gentle movement of the flames to face him. Elrond saw a flicker of fear pass through his eyes and was then replaced by the stony fa�ade he had stared at all day long in the figure of his father. So alike, yet so different. He mused. �Here, I am responsible for the elves under my command, and they for me. If it were known that they allowed me to receive injury, they would need to share my disgrace, my Lord. You cannot ask me to do this for I will not.�

�Disgrace?� He blurted out; the earlier anger and frustration coming back to him like a half-forgotten illness. �Your father said the same this morning. What disgrace? You fought well and defeated the enemy. There can be no disgrace in that?�

�In victory there may be disgrace, my Lord. The disgrace most anathema to us is the loss of elven life, or of life of any sort other than that of the enemies we face, my Lord. Eight elves died, three died under my command and five of Imladris because I did not think to come in time. To be counted among the dead is honored; to be counted among the injured is not honorable when one is in command; and to bear the responsibility for both is disgrace. Those elves died because I did not lead well enough, guest, and resident alike. Their blood is on my hands. You may take absolution for your loss once the King has spoken his decision in three days, my Lord. It is my fault they lie dead while I yet breathe. In this there is disgrace, my Lord, a disgrace for which I will face the Sentence of the King.�

�You could not have saved those of mine who died before you came! You are a fool to think you are responsible for what fate brings to even the Firstborn. They knew that their faithful service to my House and our lands could bring death to the deathless, and still they pledged their lives! Do not take responsibility for their lost lives, Legolas. And of yours? They fought well and you led well. Long have I known war, and many times have I fought or led, and I found no fault in your actions or your leadership.�

�It is not your decision to decide if I am guilty of these crimes. By our Law I am, and I will serve as the King determines I shall, to restore the honor of my land, my Guards, and my self,� he had struck a raw nerve in the young elf, who now pushed himself up onto his elbows in his anger. He then rolled onto his side, coughed raggedly for some minutes, blood flecking the towel he held to his mouth, waited until the tremors in his body and chest subsided, then stood to his feet without a semblance of awkwardness, only a trace of pain as another cough caused him to lean forward into the wall.

�Down, Legolas. You should not be up.�

�Nay, my Lord. I will return to my rooms, there I will rest until I am summoned. If you will excuse me, my Lord.� The elf turned and walked, now unsteadily towards the door, forgetting that he had not received the elder�s dismissal in his pain and defensive a. H. He caught himself from falling with the back of a chair before Elrond relented and took his arm, wrapping his around the ger ger elf�s back and then he helped him back to his rooms, tightening the bandage around his chest after helping him into the bed. He looked around at the Prince�s rooms as he turned to leave, �I will return to help you dress, please do not try on your own. I will come and we may walk together, young Prince. The secret is safe for I will do nothing to disgrace you or your men further. I am in your realm and by your Laws and customs will I abide while here. But know that I am not well-pleased at this foolishness, no disrespect to those who fell or you. Rest.�

He then took note of the sparse simplicity of the room compared to those he and Glorfindel were given. The walls were plain stone, cold and uninviting. The floors had no rugs to keep the feet warm but one small, intricately woven rug beside the bed. Two pillowless, uncomfortable looking chairs sat in a corner to either side of a small unadorned table. There was a balcony, but a quarter or less of what his room sported. The bed was just as plain as the rest of the room, and all unadorned, spartan and uncomfortable. The most colorful things in the room were the lovely sky blue coverings on the bed, silky and smooth to the touch, finely woven and embroidered along the edges in fine forms of green leaves anall all white flowers, and the elf himself. He could not help but look back at the Prince as he turned in the doorway. At rest, the elf�s stern resolve seemed to fade to reveal the serene beauty of the Golden Prince, for that was the way he looked lying there, every bit of his visage living up to the legendary Golden Prince, as this elf was called outside this wood by those few who had seen him or heard the tale of his beauty.

Indeed, well known was Legolas, First Prince of Mirkwood outside this realm, though as near as Elrond could tell the young elf had never been outside the borders of this wood for long. Thranduil was both a jealous King and a controlling father by all accounts. No, Legolas was obviously kept on what could be termed a short leash. As he walked the short distance between their rooms, Elrond�s mind turned back to the quiescent elf prince, the vision of him having been ingrained in his memory. The blue of the cloth around him set off his pale marble skin and his golden hair bathed in the light. All the pain and austerity washed away in slumber. He was magnificent, beautiful. No wonder Glorfindel had not dared to look away. He had seen what the Lord of Imladris had not seen until this moment. Raw beauty mixed with strength, unyielding honor blended with loveliness.

He shook his head softly and pulled the door shut behind him, taking his place at his side once more, his thoughts whirling around all that had happened, all he had seen and heard. The afternoon had long passed into evening when he stirred once more, his thoughts no less troubled, however more sedate they had become.

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In the Chains of Honor: Shades of the Past