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The Protege	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 3382 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters. I make no money by writing this story

Chapter List
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CHAPTER 3

Imladris was a bubbling cauldron of activity as the Mirkwood entourage entered the valley – the winding road which lead into the main courtyard was lined with torches, which had been lit to better cater for the many elves that would soon be filing into Imladris. They had been alerted to the probability that they would have engaged in battle, and to expect casualties. Rooms had been prepared, the healers wereon alert, beds and herbs had been prepared, and the kitchens had been working overtime to prepare specific foods, such as broths, teas and light fare. Imladris was, after all, the Last Homely House, and especially renowned for its healing wing. Erestor particularly, had been frantically overseeing the arrangements, which, although already under control, still needed some final touches – they may be in an emergency situation, but that was no excuse for slagging – they had a reputation to maintain after all.

Amongst the hustle and bustle in the courtyard, there were healers in their long blue or white tunics,ready with litters and first-aid kits, stable boys ready to take weary beasts to a well-earned brush down and rest, and of course, Elrond, Erestor, Celeborn and Galadriel, who stood at the steps of the main entrance to the halls,with Haldir standing proudly behind his lord and lady, while Mithrandir stood towards the back, out of sight of the incoming group, he would observe from a distance.

Arathorn, his beautiful bride Gilraen and their small group of Dunedain had also arrived not six hours previously, and were still in the process of bathing, eating and resting, but this did not stop many of them from venturing out onto their balconies to take in the arrival of the warriors and the Greenwood entourage. They hadn’t been in Imladris long, but it was long enough to hear all the gossip, rumors and other frankly outrageously fantastical stories that were flying about.

“They approach”, murmured Galadriel flatly as she spied the first riders coming into view, eerily illuminated by the orange incandescence of the torches.

And sure enough, the host of near one hundred elves trotted into the ample courtyard of the Last Homely House. Elrond espied Glorfindel, sitting proudly atop Asfaloth, obviously having taken no injuries, but a battle had surely taken place, for the warriors that followed him were a picture of grime and exhaustion. It was a three week trek from the Greenwood in the best of cases, but it was a rather arduous journey, which many ups and downs, flats, valleys, mountains, hills, rivers and lakes, not to mention the other threats that plagued the entire way into the woods, especially towards its southern tip – add to that a run-in with orcs, well, this was the logical result.

Glorfindel chanced a glance at the prince riding to his right. He noted the suddenly erect and proud stance he had adopted. He smiled obligingly at the obvious effort he was making. He understood his reasons, if he were in a similar situation himself, he would wish to appear strong and commanding, even if he didn’t feel that way. It was a question of making that all-so-important first impression, and of course, keeping up the morale of the people – they needed their leader now. Neither would hewant any attention lavished on himself, but rather on his needy people. Glorfindel would indulge him, but vowed that once he had done his duty to his people, he would see to it that Legolas received the attention he so obviously needed, and Glorfindel so wanted to give. He also noted that Legolas had not lowered his hood as protocol would dictate; again, this was hardly surprising. He smiled then, at how he had mislead his lieutenants, there was some fun to be had later on, if not a little vengeance.

But then he wondered why he was assuming so many good things about this one. He had only shared a few lines with him, certainly not enough to know him in any way, and yet he could not bring himself to think badly of him, or indeed to even doubt him. That was a dangerous thing, especially for one in his position of responsibility. He would need to control himself and maintain a healthy dose of positive skepticism, at least until he was convinced of his good intentions.

Coming to a halt, the warriors began to slide off their mounts in varying degrees of elegance, while the civilians towards the back jumped down eagerly, well-pleased to be finally at their destination, but also equally eager to see to the welfare of their brethren who had so adeptly seen to their security at their own cost, not once but thrice, they owed them deference, as their culture dictated.

The Imladris population also hastened forward towards them, some taking the reinsof their steeds, others with litters to usher off those who had been wounded, one of them being Galdithion. Legolas carefully handed him down to a waiting healer, who eased himonto a litter he had placed at the foot of Legolas’ steed. As the healer was placing the injured elf comfortably, Legolas, still hooded, caught his forearm and looked him squarely in the eyes.

“Take the best care of Galdithion, good healer, for he is a brave and courageous warrior, more he is my dear friend.”

Legolas was unsure as to the status a warrior may or may not have here, he had read all there was on the ways of the Noldor, but the information was just too outdated to be sure. In the Greenwood, they were dispensed with the deference given to a spiritual leader; they were recognized as protectors, elves that would give their lives to save their brothers and sisters, they were the epitome of benevolence and self-discipline.

The healer took in the slight accent and the earnest tone of the elf that had snagged his sleeve, but – his eyes, a bright green, so green they let off a hazy mist that was so compelling he found himself staring, ensnared by the effect. Quickly pulling himself together, he rallied his fellow healer to help him with the stretcher into the healing wing, sparing a brief nod in the direction of the green-eyed elf, wondering if the hooded figure could be Him.

Legolas decided it was nigh time to get from his own steed and greet the Lords that waited at the foot of the steps. He had never met any of them, but logic dictated that the dark haired elf in the centre of the small group must be Lord Elrond, and if that were so, the other dark-haired Noldo at his right must be the chief advisor Erestor. To Elrond’s left would be the lady Galadriel, and to her right, the Lord Celeborn, cousin to his father.

Stealing himself he slipped from his steed in a manner less elegant than he would have liked, for his muscles screamed at him to rest.

Straightening his posture, he approached the four lords, stopping in front of he whom he assumed was the lord of the house.

Pulling his hood from his head for the first time since entering the protected valley, he looked straight into the eyes of the dark elf and waited for confirmation.

“Welcome to Imladris Legolas Thranduilion”

“Well met, Lord Elrond of Imladris,” said Legolas, bowing low to the lord.

Later, Elrond would ask himself how he had managed to sound so, well, professional in is protocolarian welcome to the Prince, for his insides had twinged painfully at the first sight of the elf that stood in front of him. The first coherent thought that came to his mind was ‘fey’, for the elf had flipped back his hood, revealing a mass of golden hair that was much longer than that of a normal elf, even though it was heavily braided at the top and sides. Bright red fluid oozed down one soft pale cheek, which was cut and bruising. The eyes that looked back at him were blue, a blue so intense they let off an ethereal glow around them. Chiseled features, a long straight nose and the most delectable lips, all this crowning an obviously war-honed body which was tall and muscled, although sadly obscured by his travel garb. How had he managed to get the words out so blithely? His body had tensed of its own accord, especially his groin, which was now informing him that it wanted action,now.

Snapping out of his reverie, he turned to the Lord and Lady of the wood, and promptly introduced them.

Legolas turned his attention to them, smiling at Celeborn as he recognized the kinship with his father’s house. They bowed formally to each other, but then Celeborn held out his forearms to give the warrior salute. Legolas held out only his left arm, ending in a rather awkward greeting, which he silently apologized for with a subtle smile. Moving a little to the right, Legolas came to stand in front of Galadriel.

“Prince Legolas, ‘tis a pleasure to finally meet the son of Thranduil.”

As she uttered the words, she looked deeply into the misty blue depths. Letting herself sink further inside them, she pondered deeply on what she saw, but as she tried to speak privately into his mind, she found that she could not. He was blocking her! Well that was almost a first, however since she first looked into his eyes, she realized that this one was indeed, touched by the Valar – there was no mistaking that light. To what extent or purpose, she could not guess, but she would make it her business to find out. Steeling a peak at her husband, she found him as blithe as ever in his greeting, but she, more than most, knew him well enough to note the rigid stance, the eyes that stood slightly more open and rounded than usual, a hidden upward slant to his lips.

Legolas turned his attention back to the lord of the house.

“Lord Elrond, with your permission, the road has been long and arduous;I would see that my warriors are comfortable and that my people are well settled.”

“Of course, my prince, I shall be in the healing wing of the house, should you require me, I understand one of your warriors took a serious blow?”

With this, Elrond steered Legolas towards the healing wing, while Legolas filled him in on Galdithion’s condition, pulling his hood back up to cover his head.

The other lords, still standing upon the steps, turned to leave the courtyard, catching each others’ eyes as they did so – it was just a fleeting contact of the eye, but that said so much, only they had seen his face without the hood, together with Glorfindel, and my word, the Prince did not disappoint.

Legolas stepped into a room filled with candles,which cast a warm and well-illuminated glow around the healing ward. The smell of herbs and potions assaulted his fine sense of smell. Many healers were moving around the room purposefully, retrieving potions, ointments, bandages, water and the likes. There were four beds on either side of the room, with a corridor down the middle and a large open window at its end - so different and yet so alike to the healing sector of his homeland. The same hustle and bustle, the smells, the clinking of glass and metal, the occasional groan or whimper, and yet here, Elrond seemed to have taken the concept to new heights. The healers wore uniforms, some in long blue tunics, while others donned long white ones – he wondered at the difference. There was much to be learned here, he would see that Maeron spent as much time as possible here.

The hooded figure moved towards the bed placed near an open balcony, and stooped down to look into the eyes of his friend, who now seemed to be sleeping. He turned questioning eyes to the attentive healer in white on the other side of his friend.

“He will recover, my lord, somewhat sore and tired, but fear not for his life.”

“What is your name, healer? Inquired Legolas.

“Nestaron Balentar, my lord.”

“You have my gratitude, Healer Balentar.” And with that he moved over to another bed where a young warrior was being divested of his tunic, much to the young one’s protests.

“Benogelir, why do you protest, warrior?

Though the young elf could not see Legolas under his hood, his voice he knew well.

“My Prince, ‘tis nothing, a mere scratch that does not merit the attention of Imladris’ fine healers.”

“If they are such fine healers, Benogelir then you will agree with me that if they deem it is necessary, then it must indeed be so. Besides, you do deserve the attention you receive, even if it were indeed a mere scratch, which it is not. You fought bravely and you have my thanks. However, in return, you will let these fine healers do their job.”

Benogelir struggled to stand, which he eventually managed, brushing off the hands that attempted to stop him. He bowed low to his prince. “My prince, fighting by your side would make the poorest of amateurs into the greatest of Elven warriors.”

Legolas smiled warmly, placing his hand over the young warrior’s shoulder.

“Heal my friend; I will see you on the morrow.”

Nodding to the healer, he moved on yet again. Spotting Erestor in the background talking to various elves, he approached and smiled as he neared the dark, exotic advisor.

“My Lord, have my people been allotted their living quarters?”

“We are seeing to it my Prince, most have now been accommodated. ”

“Can I be of assistance, are there any difficulties?”

“Nay, nay Lord Legolas, please, take your rest, you surely deserve it.”

Rest, aye when was the last time he had truly allowed himself to rest?The continuous orc and spider battles in the forest, the long journey towards the festival, so many times had they been waylaid, always on their highest alert, taking double shifts to increase security… by the Valar, a bath and a bed sounded like heaven on Arda right now, and if there were some wine, food...

As if his thoughts had been heard, Elrond approached him and steered him into a quieter wing of the house by the elbow.

“Are you satisfied that Galdithion will live, and that your people are being made comfortable?”

“Aye my Lord, and I thank you for it.”

“Tis my pleasure,Prince. Now, as master healer of Imladris, you must let me accompany you to your quarters. ”

“Of course”.

“Lord Legolas”, began Elrond, “you are in the Last Homely House. Healing is our expertise, and let me tell you that healing is not only about closing the flesh and staunching the flow of blood. It is about comfort, about restoring strength of body and mind, and you my Prince, are in sore need of both. Besides, I heard your words to your loyal warrior, wise words which I ask you to heed now.”

“I would not bother you with this,”he said, holding up his right arm. “It is only superficial my lord.”

“I understand. Nevertheless, indulge me?”

Legolas glanced at Elrond and saw the sincerity in what he had said, and he was interested in what had been said about healing being about more than closing the flesh, perhaps he would allow himself to be indulged, and why not? He hadn’t realized that Imladris would have a similar tradition to the Sylvans of his forest home and was intrigued at the possibilities.

Glorfindel appeared then, falling in with his friend. “Glorfindel, is everything seen to?”

“Aye my Lord, all are settled and are being tended to. May I be of assistance?.”

“Come Glorfindel, let us accompany Prince Legolas to his suite.”

With that, Elrond steered the weary prince into the guest chambers that had been assigned to him, opening the door for Legolas to step through. Just then, Glorfindel caught sight of two dark figures in the corridor, swirling around to leave, not unlike two children caught red-handed but trying to look casual about it..., chuckling to himself, he hastened to his companions, wondering what the twins must be thinking now!

Elrond followed the prince into the bathing room with the intention of checking that the bath had been drawn and that Legolas understood what was to happen tomorrow, however, he was rendered mute at the sight before him, for there stood the paradigm of male Elven physique - the most compelling figure Elrond had ever been privileged to see. Legolas was young, according to his reckoning, but even one of his age who engaged in physical training on a daily basis would not possess such a defined body. This was no slender, sinewy archer – this was a perfectly balanced, sculptured body of the utmost beauty, and he was enthralled. Glorfindel was thinking much along the same lines, having arrived on the scene scant seconds after the master, but was not quite so elegant in his internal dialogue, the only adjective coming to him was “magnificent”, he could conjure no other descriptive, as he stood there staring at the now free mane of golden liquid, the tips of which rested at the apex of a perfectly formed behind.

And then he noticed the bracelet sitting high on his bicep. Gold and mithril swirls in forest patterns with tiny emeralds,sapphires and amethysts inset into the metal. It was a beautiful piece, perhaps too beautiful to wear on a daily basis, which led him to believe that this bracelet had some significance, perhaps a symbol of station.

Elrond, finally finding his tongue, managed to grind out his next sentence. “I see you are pulled to the waters,but first, please allow me to take a look at that arm. – may I?” asked Elrond as he pointed to Legolas’ right arm.

“Of course.”

As he took the forearm in his hands, three elves glided through the door, bearing bowls, towels and a tray laden with jars, bottles, soaps and oils. The only male wore a cloth bag which hung from his side.

“Good eve my lords. I am Maeron, healer of the royal house of the Greenwood. I would know of my prince’s condition, I did not realize he was wounded,” said the healer as he approached his lord.

Elrond nodded to the newcomers, cursing them silently for their untimely arrival, as he continued to prod the nasty cut he found there. It didn’t look serious, painful, perhaps. He knew that he should not continue to heal the prince, his own people were here to claim him as their own, and he would not stand in their way, as much as he wanted to.

“Then we leave you in good hands, Prince Legolas. Tomorrow is a day of rest and healing for all, so please, sleep, rest and explore my home if you should be so inclined.” Smiling kindly to the fey creature, who thanked him in return, he bowed then, and floated from the room, not before spying Glorfindel, still standing in the corner, wearing the oddest of looks – for his head was almost imperceptibly tilted to one side, as if trying to understand something. He was brought back to the present by the figure of Elrond passing in front of him, breaking his inner reflexions. He had much to think on, for his own actions and thoughts had surprised him, and he liked it not.

Back in Elrond’s chambers, the three friends sat down and shared a glass of wine, mulling over the hectic and surprising events of the last few hours.

“Beautiful is he not? I do not wonder that he kept his hood up on his arrival, he undoubtedly knows the effect he has on others, and I daresay I saw a little irritation on his face,” said Elrond.

“Aye,” replied Erestor. “I noticed as well. It must be annoying to not be able to go unnoticed. However, you do have the upper hand, curse you two, I only saw his face.”

“That you did,” said Elrond, taking a sip of wine.

“Well, tell me!”

“Peace!” chuckled Elrond, “you will do yourself a mischief!”

“Well? I am waiting, Elrond.”

“Ai, put him out of his misery, Elrond!” chuckled Glorfindel.

“Now why would I do that? Mayhap I should play the game you play with my sons, Balrog-slayer!”

“Ha! You noticed!”

“Quite”

“And still they say nothing,” groused Erestor, throwing his arms in the air. “You are both traitors, and I shall have my revenge, make no mistake!” he complained, as he took a gulp of the ruby liquid now sitting at the bottom of his cup.

Meanwhile, Glorfindel clutched his goblet close to his chest as he stared into the fire at the hearth, the glow reminding him of the bright-eyed woodland beauty not three doors away. His thoughts began to wonder, as both Elrond and Erestor watched him. It was strange that Glorfindel had not noticed he was being observed, and so they could do nothing more than look at each other knowingly, and smile.
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The Protege