Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Aearlinn	By : narcolinde Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 8933 -:- 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.

Chapter List
- 36
- 37
Aearlinn - Mereth-en-Gwedhel

Thranduil endured in silence the minor indignity of being dragged along by the arm at a furious pace, led away by an undeniably furious Elven Lord, guided along paths unknown toward a destination undefined. The woodland King saw no need to speak and add to the burdens afflicting his unlikely law-son and felt instead a type of kinship with Elrond he never would have imagined possible; a kinship based on factors inherent in the unusual nature of sylvan bonding instincts. Thranduil was not involved in a multiple bond, but he had rather more knowledge of such situations than his host might guess. That was not something he was ready to divulge yet nor, he considered, would Elrond be willing to listen to him just now. What must it be like, sharing one's mate with one's own sons? Thranduil was throughly thankful he could not imagine and would never have to really comprehend.

He spared a sidelong glance at the fuming Lord of Imladris but failed to catch Elrond's eye. The mighty lore-master was completely engulfed in his thoughts and hardly seemed to notice he still had Thranduil in tow, but the King knew this was not so. He strode along patiently, expecting a spectacular explosion of condemnations, perplexed aggravation, and anguished regrets to erupt from the Noldorin ellon's throat at any moment, yet Elrond kept it all contained. The folk of Eärendil's lineage were not given to vocal expressions of deep feeling, apparently, and Thranduil had to wonder if it was healthy to keep all that anger seething inside, boiling like a pool of magma deep beneath the earth just waiting for a chance to escape. It crossed his mind that Legolas had often borne the brunt of this buried wrath through the numerous slanders, insults, and abuses to which Elrond had for so long turned a blind eye. While Elrond was not consciously aware that he had vented his ire in this way, but that did not prevent a swift flash of rage from coursing through his veins.

Some of that emotion must have transmitted through the contact where Elrond's hand gripped him so tightly and the harried hervenn vain took a small misstep and scowled, just fixing the furthest corners of his peripheral vision on the Sindarin King beside him. He released the tense muscle beneath his fingers and exhaled a disgruntled breath, thinking the King had just cause for anger, considering his youngest son was involved in such an scandalous situation. He kept moving, though, and said nothing; in fact, he increased his pace a bit.

By this time the bounds of the estate had come and gone and still Elrond stomped along the sunlit pathways. Thranduil realised they were heading for the city and issued forth his own restrained exhalation of burdened displeasure; he had no appreciation for the massive elegance of Noldorin architecture and stonework which defined the city and found the straight, slate-paved streets and their rows of houses behind gated lawns distasteful. It was all so crowded and artificial and made him feel depressed.

He had never lived in a town of any sort, enjoying the freedom and the closeness to nature all woodland elves preferred, and could not comprehend why anyone would want to try to outdo what Yavanna and Aulë had already perfected. The most beautiful of cultivated gardens could never compare to the majesty of a forest, while the magnificent abodes of stone and wood shrank to puny insignificance next to the lofty glory of the smallest mountain. It was all but a pale imitation and a false effort to pose a kind of dominion over the lands. They were now approaching the centre square where the shops were just opening up, heading for the tastefully opulent front of the jeweller's store, and finally Thranduil balked.

"Oh, we are going in there?" he asked with obvious disappointment as realisation dawned. "Mellon, your gift for Legolas cannot be found in there." He offered a smile to the exasperated countenance focused upon him and continued. "I know you want to present him with something unique and memorable to mark this special day, but he has no love for jewels." Thranduil's fingers reached for the fine mithril collar about his neck and lovingly touched the faceted blue gem set upon it: Elrond's Ant-en-Govódiel (welcoming gift) to his new law-father. "He does not share my tastes."

"No," Elrond agreed with a grimace and a shake the head. Of course he knew that, but what was he to do? Having forgot the gift he must now acquire something spectacular to assuage his mate's disappointed affront. Immediately he took himself to task; the purpose of the token was not to keep him in Legolas' good graces but to commemorate this historic day. The present should honour his hervenn and indicate the depth of his love for Legolas. Elrond eyed the King in wary speculation. It had occurred to him before that Thranduil knew more about the intricacies of sylvan bonding customs, having courted and wed a sylvan Lady, than anyone else in his immediate circle, including Lindir. That the Sindarin ruler was now included in that exclusive group of friends and family no longer gave Elrond pause to wonder and he did not hesitate to seek advice. "What did you give Rhûn'waew?"

"Nae, I was so very young the first time," confessed Thranduil, eyes twinkling as Elrond's brows rose, "that I chose something dear to my heart, never thinking of what would please her best. It was a beautiful jewel, a creamy blue-green stone carved to resemble a beetle suspended on a silver chain. This was among my most cherished possessions, a gift on my twenty-fifth begetting day from Galadhel, Celeborn's adar, who was my Ada's cousin.

"As it turns out, this was not an insult, for the bonding day gift is supposed to be a symbolic exchange between mates of something which each one's heart holds dear, an opportunity to give one another a small part of the life lived before they met. It need not be expensive or rare at all and Rhûn'waew's gift to me was a carefully preserved linen kerchief brought by her paternal forebear out of Beleriand. Her father's people came over from Ossiriand with the caravan escorting the princes of Doriath." Thranduil watched Elrond's reaction to this and waited to see what questions would arise. The elven Lord looked dumbfounded and it took a moment for him to find any words to speak.

"The first time?" he queried, recalling again the fact that Rhûn'waew was born here in Imladris after the debacle of the Last Alliance. "She was at Dagorlad, then, and perished, but her parents must also have been there. Why did they not return to Greenwood and undertake her rejuvenation beneath the trees?" He had a suspicion he knew the answer but would not dare voice it for fear of offending.

"Aye, it is the same tragic tale so many families have to tell," averred Thranduil. "Her naneth was not at Dagorlad, being disinclined to war and violence after the manner of Elril. Her adar, however, was there and between us we sought to shield her from the worst fighting. She is not one to be directed in any undertaking, as you may have guessed, and counts her bloodline fraught with nobility unsurpassed. She was ever at my father's side, even at that fateful charge. You know what happened; it was a massacre. We all became separated in the melee. When it was over, I found that she had died while her adar was mortally wounded and failing fast. He was reclaimed in the sylvan way."

"Elbereth!" exclaimed Elrond. "By whom? Is she, or he, here now?"

"Nay, she is not here," Thranduil's words became hesitant, not wishing to impart any additional worries upon his son's mate. "She and Orbelain (Day of the Powers) conceived Rhûn'waew, for Laeross' (Summer Rain) fate upon learning of the battle's horrendous conclusion was not a good one." Here Thranduil stopped and had to turn his face away, not from sorrow, though there was plenty of that within the tale, but to hide from the gifted healer his anxious soul.

He could not tell Elrond the truth. How could he? First, it was not even his story to reveal, but second and more importantly, he had no desire to add to the difficulty his son's situation entailed. Thranduil could not explain to Elrond that Rhûn'waew's mother had come to Imladris to confront the new addition to her marriage bond, demanding she return to Greenwood and leave the care of Orbelain to her as was her right. Yet it could not be, no matter that all three might want it so, though it was clear that Orbelain did not want his new mate to part from him. Too much of his light had dimmed and he was dependent upon the lady warrior. That her own soul was just as encumbered there could be no doubt. He began to fade at once when she tried to obey the command of Laeross, the primary mate. Seeing this, Laeross was herself heartbroken and embittered. She recalled her rival to her husband's side, love for him sufficient to save him but not to remain in the triad, and left for Aman.

"Laeross was Rhûn'waew's naneth?" coaxed Elrond, eager to understand the Winter Queen's past. "What happened?"

"Nae, is it so hard to divine?" sighed Thranduil, choosing the most plausible lie and turning to face Elrond with aggrieved dismay. "The news that reached her was not correct. She believed her mate and her daughter both lost, submerged in the foul waters of the Dead Marshes. It was more than she could endure and so she hastened to the Havens. She dwells now in Aman and awaits her kin there." It was not, after all, entirely untrue.

Elrond shuddered; this was too near his reality to take the conclusion easily. Thus might his sons have been forced to do had not Lindir intervened. Once he might have wished them to go, but now he understood what they were to Legolas and would never risk his sylvan mate, nor Tinu Mín. Hard as it was to bear, he would not let selfishness and jealousy tear his family from him, regardless the strange permutations that word assumed when applied to the five of them. He looked to Thranduil and noted the almost apologetic caste to the bright emerald eyes. It was not a pitying expression at all but one of commiseration born of like circumstances and Elrond was suddenly very glad to have someone else who understood what he was going through. A new thought arose in conjunction with that assessment.

"Yet Rhûn'waew still claims the heritage of Laeross? Then, the warrior maid must have been in some manner kin to her?" he asked.

"Aye, you have guessed it," Thranduil confirmed. "She is Lhoss'waew (Whisper Wind), Laeross' elder sister and thus Rhûn'waew not only retained that lineage but became the heiress to the titles passed down through Elril."

"I see," breathed Elrond, astounded and relieved at the same time. Here was a situation as convoluted as his own, yet he and his sons had mastered the hardship and thus spared Legolas additional guilt and emotional strain. It was not difficult to imagine the young prince assuming responsibility for the breaking of Elrond's family had the Twins been forced to depart.

"I am sure you do," intoned Thranduil, left brow arched above a sideways smile, "and before you ask why my wife's parents did not come to take part in this celebration, let me finish the tale. Orbelain and Lhoss'waew left for Aman once their daughter was grown to maturity, knowing I was waiting for that day and would care for her thereafter. Rhûn'waew has no doubt the hurts of all three have long since been healed there in the Blessed Realm.

"No less do I believe that you fully appreciate that the topic is rather delicate," he continued. "Legolas does not know and it is for his mother to reveal. What I have said you must not share with him, Elrond. They both face difficult days ahead as the pregnancies advance, for all Rhûn'waew tries to hide her burdens from me. Let us, as good husbands should, alleviate as much of this distress as we may."

"Agreed, on all counts," said Elrond enthusiastically and the two husbands clasped hands to signify their new alliance. The child of Elwing and Eärendil squelched his curiosity over whether or not the Winter Queen had memories of both her mothers and recalled a doubled account of her childhood days, or what she thought of the changes in Thranduil she must have seen. Ever the astute lore-master, he understood that failing to reveal her past to Legolas indicated hurts that had not yet healed. The mystical elleth, he realised with a sizzling burst of commiseration, probably felt Laeross had abandoned her. He and Rhûn'waew had more in common than Thingol's bloodline.

"Now then," Elrond returned to the subject of the moment, "as to this gift, what did you give your hervess the second time you wed her?" Just speaking this query gave his soul a wrenching jolt; Thranduil's lot could not have been easy after the war. He suddenly found his heart filled with new respect for the Sindarin King and could not help but smile at the obvious delight Thranduil took in revealing the offering he'd presented to his beloved mate.

"A grand gift, unsurpassed by her until the conception of Legolas," he boasted, preening faintly as he adjusted a ring or two and smoothed his fingertips over the sapphire gem once more. "The mantle of mesh she wears over her luxuriant hair was that gift. The article is unique to my mother's people and it was knitted by her own hands. She gave it to me and bade me present it to my daughter when the time came for her to wed, but I wanted Rhûn'waew to wear it. My Nana would understand and was gone long before the second bonding, killed in one of the many skirmishes with Orcs during the early years of the Second Age."

"Aen he gâr sîdh (May she be at peace)," Elrond murmured the traditional commemoration for those in Mandos. "The mantle is a wondrous thing indeed. Every elleth in the vale has attempted to reproduce it with varying success, even Arwen." He gave a brisk nod and fell to thinking what he possessed that would be right for Legolas on such an important day. What did he have that Legolas would find valuable and cherish? "I know not what I have that can compare. There are the letters exchanged between my parents, yet these belong not just to me but to my children as well."

"Yes, but even were that not true, those letters were not written from your parents to you, Elrond. The item needs to be of special significance to you personally," Thranduil attempted to explain.

"They are special to me," argued Elrond, frowning. "Fine, I agree that is not appropriate." In silence he pondered the problem. "The scroll of genealogy falls into the same category," he complained and sighed.

"No, no," Thranduil scolded, "you aren't thinking about this the right way at all. It should be something that belongs to you, something important."

"Well, they do belong to me and are very important," huffed the Lord of Imladris. He paused again to think and after a moment his eyes brightened. Almost immediately his features clouded over anew.

"What?" asked Thranduil. "Tell me!"

"Nay, it was a terrible idea."

"Perhaps not."

"There is an atrociously pretentious circlet Elros had made for me, but Legolas would never wear it."

"Valar! Of course he wouldn't," Thranduil frowned at his law-son, thinking Elrond was rather dull-witted when it came to gift-giving. "Is there nothing you possess that you cherish because of the person who gave it to you or the circumstances under which you acquired it?"

"I have lots of things like that," retorted Elrond and his fingers went briefly to worry the concealed jewel on his right hand. Thranduil saw and his eyes bulged.

"Absolutely not!" he barked, pointing even as Elrond hid Vilya behind his back.

"I wasn't going to!" growled the dismayed husband. "There is a dagger Círdan gave me on my coming of age." He glanced at Thranduil and noted the less than impressed expression on the comely face. "Right, I know Legolas only carries the one Galbreth gave him to mark the same event."

Silence descended once more, Elrond combing his recollections for something unique, special, and personal; Thranduil eyeing him intently as though the mere weight of his penetrating gaze would help enlighten the confused ellon.

Elrond thought of the Twins' first tiny shoes, stored away wrapped in soft silk, but cringed when he imagined giving that memento to his beloved Aearen. None of them needed reminders of the bizarre nature of the relationship between them. He had a painting Arwen had made when she was just six years old, a still life of a pot of flowers, the colours too bright and the perspective all skewed. Remembering her happy face when she presented it made him smile, but whatever was between her and Legolas turned him from it and again he frowned. An expression of intense concentration contracted his brows and compressed his lips with grim determination. There had to be something suitable. He wanted the article to have the same depth of meaning as the dagger Galbreth had given his brother.

Memories of Elros filled his mind as he contrasted the relationship he shared with his twin to Legolas' adulation of his sibling. It was a feeling the elven Lord could not reproduce, for he and Elros had been both equals and rivals, friends and foes, always one another's staunchest defenders. It was true, he supposed, that he was more the thinker and Elros more the doer, daring and bold, but rather than one compensating for the other, their separate strengths combined and complimented each other and the roles were interchanged freely and frequently. Neither viewed the other as superior, a figure to emulate. That level of deference was tendered to Maedhros and Maglor.

Beyond this, there was a bond that superseded even that of twins: the shared horror of being abandoned and orphaned, their worth measured against the pale gleam of a small, white gemstone. Everything in their world changed that day and the mark left upon them was irrevocable. Indeed, for Elros it had become his doom. That set him to reliving his childhood days with his twin beside the sea, the years before the Silmaril stole away his family and everything about his life he loved, save Elros. It was a simple, care-free life and like all children they failed to appreciate it, taking as given that the world was theirs, the seaside a vast golden ribbon laid down solely to amuse their questing minds. All at once the perfect item arose in his memory and a bright light of joy lit his grey eyes.

"What is it?" asked Thranduil eagerly, leaning forward as he caught the mood of hopeful excitement abounding in the lore-master's beaming face.

"Nay, nay," Elrond begged off. "Let it be a surprise, mellon, and permit me to prepare this on my own. Forgive me, but I must leave you and hurry home."

"Oh?" Thranduil tried hard to hide his disappointment and failed. "As you wish, Elrond." He made a rather formal half bow and was preparing to return to the woods when his law-son reached for his arm.

"There is something with which I need your help, if you would consent," Elrond said, hoping to alleviate the King's displeasure.

"What is it?"

"The new talan has not even been begun, but I know Legolas hopes to spend our bonding days within the grotto at Lanthir Fân. As you know, he would be content to sleep on the ground, but I would have him rest in comfort. Is there any way that you could arrange to build a bonding bower there?" Elrond was gladdened to see Thranduil's eyes shining with delight again and that readily cancelled the slight embarrassment he felt to ask so personal a favour. Yet he and Legolas had been together over ten years and had conceived a child; surely Thranduil knew what intimacies were shared between them.

"Of course!" he announced grandly. "I have but been awaiting your request. It is customary for the father to do this thing, but only at the insistence of the law-son. Some prefer to manage the construction personally, you see. Leave everything to me." So saying, he parted from Elrond and hastened away to fulfil his new assignment.

Elrond watched him go, smiling with real felicity and wondering why he'd failed to note the genuine warmth and child-like ebullience in Thranduil's personality, a trait shared with his younger son. Perhaps, he thought, it would not be so difficult to forge a real friendship with the Sindarin King. With the bonding bower taken care of, Elrond continued on to Aegas Mirdan's shop, for there was something he had to retrieve that he had commissioned many days ago when the council had finally ratified his new marriage. This, too, was a surprise for Legolas and one he hoped would be fitting, an heirloom to pass on to their descendants through Tinu Mín.

Elrond was busy sorting through the contents of a storage room in the attics of the Last Homely House when Lindir found him, Thranduil having revealed where he'd last seen him. The monarch had begged the minstrel to ensure Elrond's gift would be adequate, bragged about the trust placed in him to create the perfect bonding bower, and then hinted without any subtlety at all that he would like to learn what the present could be before Legolas did. Lindir tactfully evaded making any promises and deflected the King's curiosity by wondering aloud if Thranduil had enough helpers to complete the bower before the ceremony. He smiled as the Sindarin ruler abruptly excused himself and verily raced back to the Wood Elves' enclave.

Lindir, at first frantic and upset as to the healer's reasons for abandoning the secluded woods where the bonding rites were to commence at sundown, instead was smiling and misty-eyed as he gazed upon the object Elrond held out for his inspection. This, of course, was the present the husband-to-be had forgotten to obtain prior to leaving the estate. That it was not something new designed especially for Legolas did not bother the minstrel at all. For the first time, Elrond was thinking about his life with the young prince of Greenwood in real terms and this more than made up for the make-shift quality of the present. Indeed, the humble copper box and its even humbler contents indicated Elrond's commitment better than would the most precious of jewels.

"What do you think?" Elrond asked, but he was already smiling, seeing Lindir's heartfelt emotions plainly in his pale green eyes.

"I think I'm going to cry," sniffed Lindir and suddenly hugged Elrond close. He had, after all, had the raising of the mighty Lord and could not help but be moved. "Miren Dithen has at last grown up. It is perfect, Elrond." Lindir let him go and grinned to note the sheen of pride and joy in his ward's grey eyes. "Legolas will adore you for it and this will become his most cherished possession. But do not forget the babe!"

"Ah, do not worry, I haven't. For Tinu Mín I have something unique. Come and see," Elrond led the way back to his apartment and opened the doors of his wardrobe. Shoving the robes aside, he knelt and pressed a corner of the flooring, revealing a hidden drawer beneath it. He withdrew a velvet wrapped parcel and held it out for his old mentor's inspection and approval.

Lindir took it and revealed an exquisite leather covered box, the hide dyed pure white and embossed with a new crest, an artistic compilation of the Swan's Wing of Eärendil and the Beech Leaves of Greenwood. His brows lifted as he looked up to Elrond's eager visage. "Your design?"

"Nay, Arwen's. Is it fitting, do you think? I don't want anyone to think I find the House of Oropher lacking and sought to reinvent the crest."

"Nay, this is a tribute, very much so, and none will think otherwise, especially considering the source. Arwen has not had an easy time adjusting to the changes in her family."

"Yes, I know there's tension between her and Aearen, but neither will divulge the cause. I fear it is due to feelings of hurt on her Nana's behalf and told Legolas so. I hope he will be able to accept her offering with genuine goodwill; she means it from the heart. She dearly loves her new baby brother already and tells me she has the highest respect and admiration for Legolas."

"I don't believe Legolas will hold her former attitude against her in light of this," encouraged Lindir. He opened the box and gasped aloud, for there within the subtle folds of ivory silk rested the smallest, fairest, and most delicate circlet he'd ever beheld.

It was formed of mithril but the precious stuff was wrought into long thin fibres that were then woven together in a fine, flexible braid, the design just like the plaits signifying Legolas' House. Worked within the band were the downy white feathers of a signet while the clasps holding them to the circlet were little pearls, carved to resemble tiny acorns. Lindir lifted it out carefully and the metal draped over his hand, cool and liquid against his skin. Reverently he touched the soft fluffy fronds of the feathers and laughed aloud, raising wondering eyes to Elrond. Never would he have imagined such a thing, but now that he held it neither could he conceive of anything more appropriate.

"Well? Do you think he'll approve?" demanded the expectant father impatiently.

"How could he not? This plainly exhibits what the child's place in Imladris will be. Legolas is going to be pleased beyond words and Thranduil, why, he'll puff up like a noble peacock and simultaneously feel jealous that he didn't think of it first. His respect for you, however, will gain immensely. Well done, Elrond!" Lindir enthused. br>

He was about to envelope his friend in another hug when his sensitive nose caught a most unexpected and unpleasant scent. He withdrew just the smallest amount as he returned the delicate crown to its case, curbing his shock. It was not surprising that sylvan sweets from the party might disagree with Elrond's constitution and the excitement of the occasion no doubt made controlling such bodily exhausts difficult. Politely, Lindir declined to remark on the foul aroma and handed the box over.

"I am pleased you find it suitable," Elrond said, stepping back discretely. Lindir had just released the most ghastly miasma he'd ever smelled. While not unheard of, the First-born were not normally given to such bouts of digestive gas-letting and expulsions of that nature indicated a seriously aggrieved body. Generally, only those ill from wounds or poisons generated the noxious fumes. Ever the healer, Elrond was concerned and could not remain silent. "Are you well, Lindir?"

"Of course I am well," Lindir arched a brow. "Are you?" He took another step back and mastered his desire to pinch his nostrils shut. The odour was getting stronger; he was sure of it.

"I only ask out of concern," continued Elrond. "Flatulence is not common and usually indicates a more serious underlying condition." He was used to all manner of vile displays of physical infirmity, being a healer, and while repulsed by the intensity of the odious emission, he would not desert his friend. "Have you consumed anything unusual of late?"

"Me? It is not coming from me, Elrond, and well you know it. Trying to blame someone else for the smell will not work; there are only the two of us here." Lindir could no longer suppress the need to block the foul stench and clamped his nose shut tight.

"There is no reason to feel embarrassed," soothed Elrond, finding he had to imitate his old mentor's action and shield himself from the olfactory assault. "We need to determine the cause."

"Determine the cause for what?" asked a new voice and both elves turned to find Erestor in the doorway, smiling benignly from one to the other. Seeing them both holding their noses made him laugh.

"Oh no," groaned Lindir, for the aroma was by now quite overpowering and definitely coming from his beloved seneschal.

"Can't you smell that?" asked Elrond, taking his kinsman by the arm and drawing him into the room.

"Smell what? Do you mean the delightful scent of roses clinging to Lindir's hair? Yes, I quite like that," grinned Erestor and chuckled again at their little joke. "Come now, you two, do not tease. I bathed this morning."

"Valar!" exclaimed Elrond, gagging as he was forced to retreat from Erestor to the other side of the room, where Lindir was already pressed against the wall, eyes watering from the pungent fumes permeating the air. By this point Erestor understood it was not a jest.

"It's That Sylvan's Naneth!" he hissed, backing to the open alcove of the balcony. That at least made his presence bearable. "She confronted me last night and gave me quite the interrogation. The subject of sylvan magic came up. She has cursed me!"

"Nae," mourned Lindir, "I cannot deny you deserve a real example of that power, but the timing is horrible. Did she say anything about how long the spell will last?"

"No. There wasn't any chanting or arm waving or charms applied. I had no idea until this moment that anything was amiss. Valar! I won't be able to attend the ceremony like this," Erestor complained. He was not so interested in observing the rites of bonding particular to the primitive forest folk as much as worried over the sense of mischievous anticipation which suffused every meeting he'd attended about the event. There was something afoot and he feared Elrond was being set up for a monstrous prank of some sort, something that would reveal him as foolish and trifling to the people of the valley. "Lindir, these are your people; can't you reason with them?"

"My people? Beloved, these are Legolas' people and somehow I doubt he would be concerned with salvaging your dignity," Lindir reminded.

"Indeed," droned Elrond, "and Legolas is not to be bothered with your troubles, Erestor, especially today."

"Did I suggest such a thing?" Erestor demanded, indignant and irritated. "There must be something we can do."

"I don't know," Elrond was highly doubtful. "Perhaps Mithrandir can alleviate the stench."

"Aye, excellent idea," agreed Lindir. "I'll go find him at once, Meleth." He darted from the room, eager for personal reasons to have the spell broken. Much as he cared for Erestor, he simply could not imagine enjoying an intimate evening with the seneschal in his present state. He was half-way to the Hall of Fire when Elrond's voice halted him. The minstrel peered up to see the Lord of the Valley leaning over the banister of the stairwell. There was a sad apologetic expression in his eyes that worried Lindir tremendously. "What is it?"

"Find Arwen, mellon, and bring her as well." No more did he say, retreating to his study in grim displeasure. He knew more about his daughter's mystical abilities than she thought he did and hoped for her aid in breaking the enchantment.

Erestor was sunk into the sofa, head buried in his hands, the picture of dejected misery. Elrond felt terrible for his kinsman, yet there was a part of his heart that felt the punishment just and fitting. He went and laid a comforting hand on Erestor's shoulder, no longer afflicted by the hideous scent for it had begun to lessen as soon as Lindir left and now had vanished completely. The implications were terrible. "We'll find a means to lift it."

"Yes?" mumbled Erestor, peering up with little hope in his tear-bright eyes. "When will that be? What if it lasts ten years, Elrond? I can't abide separation from Lindir for ten years!"

"Of course you can!" snapped Elrond. "What are you saying? Do you believe Lindir will not wait for you or that you cannot remain constant? You know him as well as I; once decided his heart is stubbornly true even when that fidelity wounds his very soul."

"Yes, yes, I know," moaned Erestor, "but to have at last discovered my feelings for him and accepted them, to have them returned so fully, only to be stymied by this dratted curse! It is cruelty on a level I would not have ascribed to the fair Queen of Greenwood. We are distant kin!"

"You have no children; this is the reason you cannot understand. She is not being more cruel to you than you were to her son. Legolas is very important to her. She believes his birth was ordained by the Powers, or more likely by Eru himself. There is a tremendous number of centuries between her sons, originally; who knows what manner of signs she observed that foretold the moment had come to conceive Legolas." He fell silent, pondering about that, finding it strange that now Legolas would be the elder brother and that he and Galbreth would be contemporaries for all intents and purposes. He wondered where Aras would fit in the new family order, hoping the morose nephew would finally learn to appreciate Legolas.

"Yes, yes, I brought it on myself. That knowledge does not comfort me. I agree punishment is deserved, but to have the vile stench arise only when I am in Lindir's proximity is too harsh." Erestor looked up, realising his cousin was not paying any attention to his anguish and woe, and rose indignantly. "Don't tell me you believe all this nonsense about the Queen's child being Galbreth. It isn't possible and to burden the new child with someone else's identity is unfair, in my opinion."

"Erestor, you have no idea what you're talking about." Elrond turned, mildly annoyed at his kinsman's close-minded attitude. "Again, it is your own knowledge that is lacking. You have never been wedded to one of these Telerin folk. Celebrian was half Sindarin and even you cannot doubt her gift for reading souls. I tell you now, she informed me Arwen was destined to be born and would play a vital role in the future of Middle-earth. Are you going to gainsay me?"

"Nay," Erestor accepted his chastisement, resigned to the fact that he would receive little sympathy for his unique situation from Elrond. "You will not be so fascinated by it all should you become the focus of Rhûn'waew's wrath." Recalling that sense of devilish excitement permeating the population of Legolas' extended family, Erestor brightened a little. "If the spell cannot be lifted, you must ask Lindir not to attend the ceremony. I need to be by your side, cousin, in case something untoward occurs." He said so with perhaps more relish than respect.

"There is nothing unpleasant planned for the bonding ceremony," Faelon announced his presence by stating this opinion. He slunk into the room, his fair features contorted in a pained expression, one hand pressed against his forehead. He did not bow to his Lord nor greet his former employer with his normal formal adherence to proper protocol, but instead issued forth a low groan and collapsed in an armchair. "The woodland elves adore Legolas and will have nothing disturb his happiness, especially now that he is with child. They are all eager for the birth of the new little prince solely because he is Legolas' babe. Except Aras, of course. What a royal pain in the arse he is!"

Elrond's brows rose high; never had Faelon voiced such familiar speech with either him or Erestor. He made a swift evaluation of the ellon's rumpled appearance and detected the faintest tinge of sour wine about him. His conclusion was correct; the valet was still recovering from a night of overindulgence. "That is good to hear," he said and approached his servant with a compassionate smile. "You do not look well, Faelon."

"Nay, I am horribly ill, Hîren," moaned the valet. "I have tried so may remedies I can't remember them all, including a sickening mixture of honey and eggs Faron swears by, a shot of some clear, dwarvish liquor Glorfindel promised would fix everything but instead seared my throat so I can barely speak, and a handful of some herbs Mithrandir said ought to do the trick. Tasted like onion grass and mint leaves. All this made things worse, so I went to the kitchens and Meribel mixed me some kind of licorice concoction. That has given me frightful pains, Hîren, and I've come to beg your aid. How will I attend Brannon Neth like this? My head feels as if it will explode and my stomach rumbles and sloshes with every move I make. I've been belching out huge eruptions of vile fumes and if anyone struck a flint at such a moment I swear I'd exhale flames like any common fire-drake."

"I have a cure for all, mellon," Elrond did not conceal his amusement over the descriptive account of the symptoms. "Come along to the infirmary; I'll prepare the potions you need. Next time, be more judicious in how much fey wine you consume."

"Fear not; it will never happen again. I have been more fully punished than you realise; the after effects of the wine are the least of my woes," groaned Faelon as he struggled to rise, grateful when Erestor came and helped him up.

"How so?" the seneschal asked. "You've done nothing to harm Legolas; why would the Winter Queen punish you?"

"What? Nay, I have been treated with the utmost courtesy by Legolas' naneth," protested Faelon, eyeing his former boss askance. "She told me how happy she is her son has friends here in Imladris. I was not referring to anything to do with the Royal Family. It's my personal life that has suffered. I have lost all hope of ever finding lasting love, at least with Gellam. Apparently, I vomited all over her new party dress while making vulgar suggestions as to why removing it was a good idea."

"No!" exclaimed Elrond in shocked glee. "Alphdal's daughter?"

"Aye. It took me years to talk her into just joining me for tea in the courtyard and I was rather hoping the bonding ceremony might give her ideas of doing the same. With me." The lowly valet clearly felt any chance of such an outcome to be impossible.

"But, Gellam?" Erestor's words came forth coated in that mixture of incredulous awe heard when he couldn't decide between sneering disbelief or envious admiration. The Lady was beautiful and a scholar of botany specialising in viticulture. "Mellonen, Alphdal is quite protective of his daughter and most formidable. He's a survivor of Beleriand. He's fought in every war ever waged against the various evils afflicting Middle-earth. He can wield more than a garden rake."

"Indeed, and he can wield a hoe with sufficient force and accuracy to assure you never reproduce," warned Elrond. "Perhaps this is all for the best. She's Ages older than you and has never shown the least interest in an eternal bond with anyone." Faelon's audacity and courage impressed him nonetheless. He suspected, but could not prove, that Gellam was, or had been, involved with Glorfindel but the two kept the affair secret for fear of Alphdal's reaction.

By now the elves were descending the main stairway, Faelon supported between the valley's lords, when the nasty stink once more began to make its presence felt. Faelon balked, turning sharply to Erestor.

"Elbereth! Are you ill, too?" he asked. Before either lord could answer, Mithrandir, Arwen, and Lindir came into the broad hall below them.

"Alas," Mithrandir mourned. "It is far worse than you described, Lindir."

"Nay, I can't get any closer," Arwen insisted. "I'll swoon from such vapours." She tried without success to exit the house but the wizard had a firm grasp on her elbow and refused to let go, dragging her toward the stairs.

"Lindir!" From above, Elrond was attempting to get their attention while keeping hold of Faelon, who was squeaking and squirming in a most peculiar manner, trying to get loose and flee. "Go back, mellon; it's only when you are near that the odour presents itself."

"What?" the minstrel gazed upon them in horror, comprehending what this meant for him and Erestor. Their eyes locked and the couple shared a mournful moment of affirmation. Then Lindir's ire exploded. "It isn't fair!" he shouted. "All this time I've been alone, miserable and heart-broken, and now when I finally see hope for happiness it is stolen from me. I won't stand for it!" He made for the main door, which was the quickest way out of the house but which also brought him closer to his smelly paramour.

"Nay, wait," exhorted Mithrandir, pausing beside the elegant curve of the broad steps. "You must stay, Lindir, else we won't know if the spell has been broken."

"Valar, he's right," Erestor groaned.

The singer halted at the foot of the stairs and looked upon his unfortunate lover. He ascended a couple of steps in Erestor's direction before the immensity of the ghastly reek halted him, nose pinched shut as he breathed through lips parted in a teeth-baring scowl. Faelon gave a particularly voluble squawk, for the aroma assaulting his senses was now beyond all endurance, particularly since his constitution was already suffering, and the valet realised he was about to regurgitate the churning contents of his stomach all over Elrond and Erestor. His horror of repeating such a vile display gave him sufficient strength to tear free of his kindly captors. He lurched to the banister, gripped it tight, leaned over, and disgorged nearly a pint of sputum so nasty it gave Erestor's disgusting emanations staunch competition for the dubious honour of most odious odour in Arda.

This stream of acidic bile, raw eggs, honey, mint, onion grass, licorice liqueur, and various gastric juices obeyed the natural laws of the universe, falling through the open space and plastering itself all over the first obstacle it encountered, this being, in fact, Arwen Undomiel, Evenstar of Imladris, Mithrandir having released her and leaped back at precisely the correct moment to ensure 1) that he was not touched by the digestive residue and 2) Arwen did not have time to make a similar adjustment in location.

By this grotesque ballet it may be inferred that at least some of the unseen but ever present Maiar working for Vairë the Weaver of Fate were not devoid of sympathy and compassion for all that Legolas had endured and were pleased to put their services at the disposal of their kinswoman, Rhûn'waew of Greenwood.

Glorfindel was resplendent, the image of epic heroism for which the Edalië of the First Age were lauded and lionised. His golden hair flowed in shining waves, tossed artfully by the light breeze, tamed by a fine fillet that gleamed across his clear brow. The modest crown was more like a beam of the sun captured and bent about his head than an object wrought by elvish hands. He wore it without haughtiness or hubris; it rested there as naturally as did his thick and vibrant tresses. In his eyes was such wisdom as only one who has walked among the Powers possesses; the clarity of the azure gaze permitted no pretencions and allowed no disguises. Before Glorfindel, one could but hope to have a soul of sufficient calibre to meet his high ideals and thus few were the elves with courage enough to hold his eyes for more than a brief glance.

He stood tall before the dais of the King and Queen of Wood Elves, garbed in armour made for him in Aman, identical to that in which he had died, created by the very smith who had crafted the original metal suit. Glorfindel only donned it at the highest of feasts and memorials, and to commemorate alone Ennyn Laer. In his gloved hands was a sword, a blade as ancient and regal as he, though this was not the one he had kept belted to his hip for all the long days of his service to Turgon. This sword was none other than the one wielded by Tuor himself, handed down to his son Eärendil who in turn passed it to his eldest son, Elrond. He held this relic across his palms as an offering and bowed his head to Thranduil.

"The might of Imladris is as the might of your own arm, Aranen. Command it and Imladris obeys. Henceforth and until the world changes, we are not merely allies nor confederates but one people. There shall be no distinction between the needs of Greenwood and the needs of Imladris. Accept the sword of Tuor as a symbol of this new accord."

"Nasan," said Thranduil quietly while Rhûn'waew gave the faintest dip of her fair face in assent. The royal couple looked fittingly imposing and regal, Thranduil in his much scarred battle armour over fine silken clothes, his Lady majestic in a gown of violet satin dotted with dark red jewels, her wondrous raven hair free of its tressure falling loose about her shoulders. She wore a diadem of pearls, Thranduil a crown of green ivy.

Glorfindel knelt and laid the sword before them. Rising, he took three steps back, bowed, and resumed his place behind and to the right of Elrond.

The Lord of Imladris sat proudly beside Aearen, the two unabashedly clasping hands, Legolas trying hard to be solemn as befitted the formality of the occasion but failing utterly. His joy kept breaking out in brilliant smiles shared with his parents, his old friends, numerous relatives, and his beloved Nín'ódhel. He even had smiles for Aras. Elrond had better success maintaining a dignified and serious countenance, except when Legolas trained one of those glorious smiles upon him and he could not hide the happiness in his heart. All who saw him who knew him before this day could not help feeling glad to note the radiance in his aura and the contentment in his eyes.

The couple were housed on a separate and smaller dais across from the King and Queen; their seats small, low stools carved from wood and covered in plush silk. Between the raised platforms the ground was covered in a tapestry of woven Morning Glory vines, the heart shaped leaves and pale blue trumpets ever-fresh and bright regardless the feet tramping over them. Indeed, it seemed more that the unusual rug had been grown in this configuration than manufactured by clever elvish hands. Over both couples and the intervening space stretched the branches of four trees, two on either side to stand as representatives of Tawar, witnesses for each pair, though it is doubtful any resident of Imladris understood it, beyond Lindir and Legolas. The trees' limbs entwined gracefully and created an artful canopy and from it the sweet and heady scent of wisteria blooms permeated the air, the grape-shaped sprigs hanging down between the boughs and twigs above the royal heads.

Dressed in simple but elegant clothes made in the sylvan style and manner, the newly-bonded pair were magnificent to behold though Elrond wore neither circlet nor crown and Legolas had only a woven ring of ivy atop his head, long tendrils of the dark green leaves trailing down behind him. Their tunics matched, silvery cloth embroidered with symbols of swans and oak leaves worked in thread of the same colour, the sleeves long and wide, the sashes binding them at the waist a deep indigo. The pants beneath were not the form-fitting leggings meant for travelling amid the branches but softer and fuller and gathered at the ankles in wide cuffs so that the ivory fabric billowed out atop their feet, which were bare. The costumes were traditional for a sylvan bonding and with his hair plaited in the braids of Legolas' House, none could claim that Elrond looked out of place or that the design was anything but appropriate.

At a separate spot stood the Councillors of Imladris, noble Lords all, many of whom had opposed Legolas' permanent addition to their Lord's life. All were dressed in formal attire: robes of heavy velvet and brocade, billowing pantaloons beneath, posh shoes, lots of jewels and medals, and a smattering of circlets here and there. In contrast with the Wood Elves, who greatly outnumbered them, they looked gaudy and even ridiculous, posed beneath the trees in all their frilly finery. There could be no doubt of their discomfort, for each of them had been invited personally by Thranduil and given a part to play in the unfolding tableau.

This segment of the ceremony was nothing less than an oral rendition of the tenets laid out in what had become known as the 'dowry document'. In it was listed in detail the compensation Thranduil expected for the honour of claiming his unique son and the price exacted for treating him so abysmally for so many years. Each Counsellor had to come forward and formally, humbly, offer that which had been demanded of them, begging the King of Greenwood to accept it. While some had been blessed with a change of heart, others were bitter and made no effort to hide the rancour such abasement generated.

Ranged behind Elrond and Legolas were the Noldorin Lord's family. Arwen stood between her brothers and all three were dressed in their finest, graciously refined, elegant, and dashing. All three were openly pleased and focused many an indulgent and gentle glance upon their beaming Adar, though Arwen was perhaps a bit pale and peaked while the Twins' rigid stance belied an edge of strain troubling their hearts. It was not easy to watch this formal joining, but they had witnessed a far more jarring union between Elrond and Legolas before. Above all, the children of Elrond were united in their determination to permit nothing to spoil the day.

Erestor, blood kinsman to Imladris' ruler, was noticeably absent from the group. Lindir was there but his harp was silent and he watched over the rites with eyes shadowed in sorrow. Mithrandir stood beside him, hoping to alleviate the minstrel's distress, and Elril likewise chose to stand with the long-suffering singer.

Galion stepped forward from his spot beside Aras, scroll in hand, and cleared his throat. "Hîr Badhor od Imladris, Master of the Stock-keeper's Guild," he announced, sending the named elf a truly evil grin as he stepped back again.

Badhor came forth boldly, a haughty smirk upon his face, and barely dipped his head to the King and Queen of Greenwood. "It falls to me to offer to Greenwood one hundred head of the finest cattle grown in the valley, along with five bulls; fifty bred sows and five boars; fifty sheep and five rams; and fifty goats with a five bucks that the forest dwellers may have an abundant source of meat to feed them."

Thranduil's brows rose and his people murmured darkly, shaking their heads at this insult. No sylvan elf would ever keep Yavanna's creatures enslaved to be slaughtered for meat. The King waved a dismissive hand.

"The tribute is unacceptable," he said gravely. "We do not imprison animals in this manner. You would give us more beasts to compete for the limited resources available to the native wildlife living beneath the eaves. Additionally, these domesticated creatures would quickly fall prey to wolves and Orcs. The entire offering, small though it is, would be gone in one season. Render the value of the stock one hundred fold, paid either in gold or gems, your choice."

Badhor's visage clouded over with rage. He had said exactly what he'd been told to say, leaving out all the conciliatory bowing and scraping expected of him, and had thought smugly that the price exacted from his Guild paltry, the King of the Wood Elves ignorant of their wealth. Now he realised he'd been made to stand for this humiliation and a earned a fee for his foolishness to boot. His gaze flickered to Elrond; there was no reassurance there. If he expressed any dissent now he'd be banished from the valley for treason, all his holdings confiscated. With effort Badhor mastered himself and bowed.

"Let it be as you say, Hîren, yet my Guild does not have so vast a sum ready to hand. I beg leave to meet the debt in thirds, the first part now and the second and final portions paid in yearly increments."

Aras gave a rude snort of contempt though his gaze fell not on Badhor but on his uncle. Galion kicked his ankle to divert him and tendered the prince a searing glower. Aras noticed the same expression trained upon him almost universally, even among the guests from Imladris, Glorfindel most menacing among them. A covert glance at Elrond revealed a truly murderous expression raking him and Aras decided to back down. He lowered his eyes and kept them on the ground, holding his ire for later.

Yet his displeasure with Badhor's terms was shared by many, not the least of which was Rhûn'waew. She shook her head and pierced Badhor to the core with a look of such perspicacity that he cringed. "Unacceptable," she spoke the word quietly and then simply waited, watching the noble herdsman the while.

Badhor glanced over his shoulder at his fellow lords and found none willing to meet his eye. Incensed, he felt his face grow hot anew and was forced to abase himself again. This time he bowed low to the imposing Winter Queen. "Hîrel, I cannot produce what does not exist. My Guild does not keep riches as a King would do. Our wealth is in our herds and Mwaaaawaaa…" Badhor voice eroded suddenly into an incoherent lowing sound typical for any bovine quadruped. His eyes bulged and his heart plummeted as his hand flew to his throat. Wildly he looked around and tried again. "Mahaaawaaamooooh," came forth.

Snickers and giggles began arising among the folk of the woods. Horror transformed the features of the Noldor. When Badhor tried again and more bellowing and mooing resulted, outright laughter took over the sylvans, Legolas chuckling right along, Elrond smirking, and Thranduil not holding back a bit. Rhûn'waew's smile was cool and triumphant.

"It has come to my attention that you, Lord Badhor, were curious about the nature of sylvan magic," said she. "I thought perhaps you might like a more in depth comprehension, one you will be unlikely to forget. Rest assured, your voice will become your own as soon as you learn to speak with the dignity and grace Eru granted the First-born. The first words you utter must be a true and heartfelt apology for the harm done to me and mine. Sorrow not, let me make it plain, for yourself and your misery, but genuine contrition for evil done upon one who never even thought to cause you a moment's irritation. You are excused from Our presence."

The ellon raced from the woods amid raucous laughter as the remaining lords and ladies looked on in dire dread. They had good reason to be terrified. Each one watched Galion and his ominous scroll, waiting to hear the next name announced. The aristocratic Sindarin seneschal raised the document and grinned as the haughty Counsellors flinched as one body. "Hîr Fennas, Master of the Weaver's Guild." He purposely left out any reference to the ellon's claim to noble lineage as a cousin of Turgon.

Having seen what befell his colleague, Fennas held little hope for mercy and thus made no attempt to beseech it. He came forth with his head high and refused so much as a bob of his head in deference, sweeping the amassed sylvan contingent with a look replete in both contempt and fear. He spoke freely, abandoning the prepared speech given him by Galion.

"So this is deemed just?" he scoffed. "I was within my rights as a citizen of Imladris and an elected member of the Council to challenge the marriage of the Lord of my realm, a descendant of both Thingol and Finwë, to a lowly woodland archer. Nothing was told us of Legolas' heritage and esteem, yet for this ignorance I will be punished." He gave a careless shrug. "So be it. I would prefer to relocate to Lindon than pretend remorse I do not feel, mouthing offers of compensation and apologies to bolster the paltry eminence of this 'prince' of mixed ancestry."

A collective gasp of furious outrage vented from the Wood Elves and the warriors among them, which is to say almost every single one, reached for bows that thankfully were not present else there would have been a fourth kin-slaying. Thranduil leaped to his feet, but Aras spoke before him, raising his hand and pointing not at the objectionably rude Fennas but at his uncle.

"This is what you have brought upon us!" he raged. "Condemnation and denigration! Your stubborn and wilful nature has earned us shame and ruin!"

Elrond gave a low growl and sprang up, fists tight and face contorted in fury, brushing Legolas' hand from him where it grasped his arm to hold him fast. Behind them, the Twins started forward together, equally infuriated on their mate's behalf, but Arwen snatched at their hair and held tight, proud that they wished to intervene but deeming it their father's place to act. They came to their senses and hastily returned to their sister's side, sharing silent vows to add their own punishment later.

"I warned you about such slurs against my mate," bellowed Elrond, now nose to nose with the tall Sindarin prince, who had eagerly strode forth to meet him.

Faron and Galion had made to grab Aras and haul him back, but a silent command form Thranduil halted them. The sylvan people understood; the anxious father would have this test of his law-son proceed, and saw that it was also a test for his grandson. Their King stood grave and still, one hand resting on Rhûn'waew's shoulder, and none of the Wood elves doubted he was praying fervently for both ellyn to do the right thing.

Abandoned on the dais, Legolas stood aghast, fearing the two to come to bloodshed. No love had he for his nephew but neither could he stand and watch his beloved Nín'ódhel give in to violence. Yet he could not make himself move and there was no question that his heart was glad to see Elrond so quickly take his part. He jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder and looked back to find Glorfindel and Elril there, come to stand with him, Imladris and Greenwood united in his favour. His attention quickly returned to the escalating contention.
"Your mate?" Aras jeered. "Legolas is your bed-mate, nothing more, and got himself with child to force this marriage. Now you would show us honour only to spare yourself and your offspring shame. What gall! After what you did to us, rendering impotent the gift of Eru to remake our lost ones, you parade your pregnant catamite before our eyes!"

"Aras, I knew nothing of the tragedy that came to pass because of my efforts to give aid," answered Elrond, "and much tolerance have I showed you in light of this sorrow. Yet you know nothing of my life with Legolas and your assessment is not only wrong, it is insulting to your uncle. Never would Legolas abuse the gift of bearing life as you describe. You will fall on your knees and beg forgiveness, retracting your harsh accusations, or depart from my lands at once!"

"I would rather kneel to Sauron!" spat Aras, glaring not at Elrond but past him to Legolas. Again he raised his damning finger and aimed it at the ellon who had stolen his place in Galbreth's heart and his peoples' esteem. "Daer Nana Rhûn'waew was wrong; you are not a blessing but a curse. Death and degradation follow in your wake and I hope you and that cross-bred bastard you carry perish before Yule!"

The sound that issued from Elrond's throat at this horrendous denouncement was almost lost in the unified cry of outrage arising from both the Wood Elves and their Imladrian counterparts. There was no more cowardly or nefarious an act than attacking an innocent, whether in word or deed, and not a single elf would come to Aras defence.

He was currently face down on the ground, his nose broken and bleeding from the force of the blow as it struck the earth, Elrond having decided it was a good time to use some of the tactics learned from Maedhros regarding defeating an opponent with bare hands and raw rage. His knees and his weight held Aras down, one planted on the prince's neck, the other between his writhing shoulders. Just a quick adjustment and he could break that neck and cripple him for eternity. His hands had the ellon by the ears and subjected the sensitive cartilage to pressure sufficient to rip the appendages from his head should Aras persist in resisting.

"Despicable, vile betrayer!" hissed Elrond, voice barely recognisable so extreme was his wrath. "You dare defame my child and discredit my beloved? Let me hear your foul tongue again that I can summon the fury required to ensure that organ is the only one that will function from this day forth!" He pressed harder with his knees and Aras stilled beneath him.

The folk of Greenwood and Imladris stood transfixed by the ugly scene, afraid to breath, frozen in fascinated horror, both dreading to see Elrond maim the culprit and desiring it. Sylvan, Sindarin, and Noldorin, all were united in their abhorrence of Aras.
The prince's muffled cries of rage soon turned to frantic and garbled pleas for aid. None moved a muscle in his direction, not even Thranduil and Rhûn'waew, who was silently weeping. Legolas went to her, Arwen trailing him, and wrapped his arms about her.

"I am so sorry Nana," he said quietly. "I never meant for any of this to happen."

"Nay, it is wrong for you to accept the blame," said Thranduil, turning to join his wife and younger son. "Aras' unreasonable jealousy is long-lived while your change of fate is but little more than ten years old. He may choose to hold you to account for his Adar's death, but the babe had no part to play in that. The child is his blood kin and to renounce an innocent, despising him even before birth, reveals the warped and irrational nature of his anger."

"Aye, do not apologise, Legolas," Arwen added. "I did not know Galbreth, but I do not believe he would condemn you for the fate that befell your party that day. You did not place Orcs in ambush to waylay your comrades and to disobey an elder brother is fairly standard, something everyone who has one has done."

Legolas looked at her, noting her encouraging smile and no small amount surprised at her depth of knowledge. He was too distressed to give it much thought and turned to his father, the mixture of compassion and pain in the King's eyes openly revealed, before focusing anew on his mother. "Nana?"

"Be at peace, Iest nín," Rhûn'waew offered him a watery smile and wiped her tears, accepting graciously the handkerchief Arwen held forth. "I am well, but it pains me to do what I now must." She gently put Legolas from her and rose. "Leitho Aras, Ion An'wedh," she commanded, her words rich with the ancient power endowed upon her through the heritage of Melian her forebear.

Elrond could neither resist nor protest but rose at once and stepped back, blinking at her in stunned amazement, eyes travelling to Legolas. Immediately he opened his arms and Aearen fled into them, the couple forming a protective barrier of love to surround their tiny babe. "Alas, Legolas, I should have demanded his removal the day he trespassed upon our apartment. Forgive me, beloved," the aggrieved husband pleaded, the words not too low for all to hear in the sudden absence of Aras' wailing and moans.

"Nay, nay," Legolas refused the apology. "It was Aras' choice to invite your rage. Let his punishment commence." There was no pity in his voice for his nephew, though he knew what his mother was about to do.

The Winter Queen, fair descendant of Dior and Thingol through Elril, third generation granddaughter to Melian the disciple of Yavanna, stood looking down upon her grandson in bitter regret, Aras peering at her with round eyes above fingers closed over his gushing nose. "I have not failed in my duty as your father's mother," she addressed him, "nor did he err in his obligations as your Adar. Your naneth, may she be freed from Mandos soon, did what any mother should: loved and cherished you. Whence comes this flaw in your soul, Aras?"

Not even the wind moved as all awaited the prince's answer, the Wood Elves watching him in severe concentration, willing him to do right; the Imladrians knowing not what to expect and fearing some potent magic to fall upon him; every heart hoping he would see his error and let contrition cure his ailing faer. Yet it was not to be. Aras' back stiffened and he lowered his bloody hands, fumbling for a cloth to hold against the lessening flow.

"I do not consider it a flaw to mourn my father and demand redress from his murderer," he seethed, ignoring the gasp this brutal charge elicited and the low cry from Legolas. Elrond gripped him tighter and whispered loving reassurances. "How can it be right to welcome the progeny of this illicit union as family?" Aras again jabbed the air, indicating the huddled couple. "I renounce my uncle and his child; we are not kin despite the shared blood between us. Let them stay in Imladris and never taint the sanctity of Tawar by coming to Greenwood."

"Nay, Ada!" one of Aras' daughters cried.

"Nasan," intoned Thranduil, the depth of his sorrow and distress plain for all to hear. He reached for his wife's hand and their fingers entwined. "You have spoken your own doom. The Queen of Greenwood demanded your justification and you have offered none, instead disinheriting yourself from our people. It grieves me," he faltered, unable to actually speak the words, turning tearful eyes to Rhûn'waew.

"Will you banish me, then, and deny my right to be with my father when he returns to Greenwood?" demanded Aras, angry and bitter for he knew the answer.

"You have insisted upon it," growled Galion, "fool that you are. Did you expect Thranduil to disown his younger son in favour of you? Verily, not even Galbreth would do so."

"Far!" cried Thranduil, face flushed as he glowered at his loyal councillor.

"Enough indeed," sneered Aras. "So has it been since the wretched day he was born. I go of my own will, as you say, and not by your command. Yet it will not be the last you see of me, Legolas." He turned to leave, shoulders straight and head high, glancing here and there among his progeny to demand allegiance. Yet he was stalled by his grandmother's voice.

"I pray that is true," said Rhûn'waew sadly. "You are loved, Aras, and shall always be. When your heart learns to accept that love it will carry you back to your family."

Aras turned and stared at her for long minutes in silence and it was clear to all the war within his soul. How he resisted her none could guess and many thought it sad that one with so strong a song should tune it to such dark notes. The disinherited prince broke from Rhûn'waew's gaze at last and hastened from the clearing, many of his daughters and their families departing with them, yet again they were stopped. This time the voice of Elrond rang out.

"Hold! You have not heard the doom of the Lord of Imladris, the son of Eärendil, and the descendant of Turgon, High King of the Noldor and King of the realm of Gondolin." Elrond handed Legolas into the protective shield of his secondary mates, for his sons were close at hand, ready to demand vengeance for their unborn brother as well as their fair Luthadron, seething under the sting of Aras' slurs against their noble house.

Each settled a firm hand on Legolas' shoulders and poured through this contact their support and love; it was the first time all three of Legolas' mates acted in concert on his behalf. Despite the tense and anxious atmosphere, he felt a warm glow of peace, pride, and above all safety.

"You have offended my beloved, my people, and my lands, denounced an innocent, nay, sought to curse his life and steal him from us. There is little a person may do that is more despicable," Elrond continued, his wrath held in check to spare Aearen further distress.

Aras turned and scrutinised him from crown to soles and back to meet the blazing grey eyes with contempt upon his aristocratic features. "I tremble to hear of it," his mocking words rang out.

"As you should," spoke Glorfindel dryly. His armour creaked as he shifted into a menacing stance of combat readiness only an idiot would ignore.

"Let it be known: Aras of Greenwood is banned from Imladris. You shall not cross the borders lest you be forcibly incarcerated and deported under armed guard directly to the havens. If you present yourself here, Aras, you forfeit your liberty. This is my decree," Elrond concluded and for once Aras reason asserted itself, realising his danger was acute, and he left without replying.

A collective sigh of relief wafted through the gathered crowd. Too soon.

Legolas stepped free of Elladan and Elrohir and examined the nobles of Imladris. His mouth was set and his chin lifted in that stubborn look so like his father's. Every Wood Elf knew what that expression portended and one or two grinned, eager to see the haughty lords told their real value. Their fair prince did not disappoint them.

"I am grieved that this personal family tragedy has marred a joyous occasion," he began, "yet the ceremony was already tainted by the presence of many who hold no felicity in their hearts for me nor accept my rightful place as Elrond's mate. I would share this day with only those who would share my joy. If you cannot render to me and my child the same fealty you have sworn to Elrond, then leave here. Now."

It was the first time the nobles of Imladris had been subjected to that definitive quality of 'ancient presence' Legolas brought forth from time to time. It was also the first time any of them had been in such close proximity to him for such an extended period. To say they were taken aback was less true than to say they were stricken dumb. As they tried to get their minds around the notion of being dismissed by the lowly archer, they watched as Elrond returned to his mate's side and Legolas calmly set about brushing the dust and dirt from his husband's clothing.
This broke the spell, replacing it with a scene of domestic comfort and fulfilment with which few could find fault. Many found their hearts changed, being near to Legolas and exposed at last to that specific sylvan chemistry at work to ensure his and the babe's safety. Only Fennas and one or two of Badhor's relatives chose to leave. Yet the strain of events was too great for Legolas and his mother, and the healer decided the festivities would have to be postponed for a day. Elrond escorted his husband away to the little yurt deep within the woods, Thranduil led his Winter Queen to a talan to rest, and the guests wandered away to their own abodes.

Thus did Aras ruin his uncle's bonding day and reject his family, packing up and leaving the vale at once. Yet he did not head for Greenwood but instead turned west on the long road to Mithlond, most of his daughters and their families in tow. He had no intention of emigrating to Aman, however, nor to settle in Mithlond. Aras was not content with ruining Legolas' happy day; he wanted nothing less than to ruin his life. He decided it was high time someone informed Lord Galdor that his promised fertile sylvan male princeling had not perished after all.

TBC

Mereth-en-Gwedhel: Bonding Celebration

Ennyn Laer: Gates of Summer

Miren Dithen: My Little Jewel

Aen he gâr sîdh: May she be at peace

hervenn vain: primary husband

Ant-en-Govódiel: welcoming gift

Gellam: Jubilation

Alphdal: Swan-foot

Rhûn'waew: East Wind

Aras: Stag

Laeross: Summer Rain

Loss'waew: Whisper Wind

Orbelain: Day of the Powers

Leitho Aras, Elrond Ion An'wedh: Release Aras, Elrond Son-by-law

Aearen: my ocean

Nín'ódhel: my Deep Elf
© 05/21/2010 Ellen Robey
NOTE: Ugh! Don't you just hate Aras? What a scumbag and I have the same question Rhûn'waew asked: How did he turn out to be such a creep? Well, I guess most families have their Aras in one form or another. If any are confused about Thranduil's reluctance to tell Elrond the real story about his wife's parents, remember Rhûn'waew's statement that she would sunder the bond between Elrond and their son should she deem it best. She is very powerful, as we have seen, yet I think she assumes the bond can be broken because she knows Laeross dissolved hers rather than deal with becoming in essence the secondary mate to Orbelain. Thranduil just wants to protect her, their unborn babe, Legolas, and Legolas' unborn babe. That's a lot of responsibility to bear. Whatever Rhûn'waew thinks is best he is likely to support. Hope it all makes plausible sense in some fashion. Arwen and Erestor finally received their just desserts though poor Lindir is now suffering, too. We'll see what can be done for him soon. This seemed the best place to stop for now. Hope it is satisfactory and thanks to everyone still reading along :D
- 36
- 37
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Aearlinn

Aearlinn - Mereth-en-Gwedhel