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Greenleaf & Imladris 9-Melethron: The Ancient Path	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 2645 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter IV: Impasse

Legolas painfully pondered what he could possibly say to Elrohir when he caught up with him. If he caught up with him at all. The Elf-knight was running along the perimeter of trees on the border of the woods. He had a large head start and was as swift a runner as Legolas and was as tireless. It would not be easy to catch up with him.

He finally lost sight of Elrohir and stopped to search for any clues as to his friend’s passage. It was then that he heard the sounds of metal clashing against metal and harsh guttural cries amidst the trees. Orcs! His mouth grim, Legolas sped towards the sounds of strife.

He burst onto a scene of carnage and chaos. Elrohir was fending off more than a dozen Orcs. Several corpses lay at his feet. Even as he plunged into battle, Legolas had the presence of mind to sound off a shrill birdcall to summon aid. Then he was in the thick of the fighting, bow singing and knife slashing.

He swore under his breath as more Orcs appeared. He knew that he and Elrohir were in great peril. Skilled and valiant as they were, they were greatly outnumbered. Sooner or later they would be overcome if help did not reach them in time. He chose not to think of the consequences of capture. What sport these brutes would have with the sons of the king of Mirkwood and the lord of Rivendell he dared not even imagine. He would not allow himself to be taken captive. Better to die out in the clean air under the eaves of the forest than to endure protracted torment deep in the noisome dens of the Orcs.

He was on the verge of despairing when suddenly a figure in green and brown crashed into the Orc before him taking it down to the ground. He had a second to recognize Elladan before the Rivendell Elf plunged his sword into the writhing creature. Arrows whizzed through the air, finding their targets with deadly accuracy. Legolas felt great relief. They were no longer alone.

Reeling from the rapid change from imminent victory to certain defeat, the Orcs began to retreat. But the Elves had no intention of letting any escape to spawn once more in the darkness of the Misty Mountains. They pursued the fleeing Orcs and hemmed them in. Faced with certain death, the creatures fought back with a ferocity born of desperation.

Legolas turned to look for Elrohir just in time to see him stumble, a long deep gash marring his right thigh, blood drenching his leg. Yet he battled on though the Orc he fought had forced him to his knees. The Orc viciously kicked Elrohir’s wounded leg. The twin fell back, pain jarring his injured limb. Fear lent Legolas speed as he grabbed an arrow and fit it to his bow.

Elrohir looked up and saw the Orc raise its black sword. Certain he had fought his final battle, he braced himself for the killing blow.

It never came. The Orc cried out in shock, its body arching toward Elrohir. He quickly rolled away as the creature toppled over. An arrow protruded from its back.

Elrohir glanced up in time to see Legolas wending his way to him. Around them the battle dwindled as the Elves systematically slaughtered the last of their foes.

Legolas dropped to one knee before the stricken Elf. As he bent to examine the wound, he heard Elrohir murmur, “My thanks.” Legolas simply nodded his acknowledgement, all his attention on the gash.

Elladan hurried over, worry limning his fair face. Legolas grabbed his water flask as the former knelt beside him. “‘Tis deep,” the older twin said. “We must stop the bleeding. I pray ‘tisn’t poisoned as well.”

Elrohir confirmed that there was no poison at work; though the wound throbbed and stung atrociously, there was none of the burning pain associated with orkish poison. Elladan washed the injury then bound a strip of binding tightly around his brother’s thigh to constrict the steady crimson flow.

The Elf-knight was not the only wounded though his injury was by far the worse. The Elves tended to their comrades before piling the carcasses of the Orcs into a mound far from the woods and setting it afire. Then they applied themselves to the problem of getting their wounded back to safety.

Legolas and Elladan constructed a litter for Elrohir despite the latter’s protest. “I can walk,” he said. “I have no intention of slowing everyone down.”

“Your wound will bleed again,” Elladan reasoned with him. “Do not let Legolas’ timely rescue be for naught.”

At the mention of the archer’s name, Elrohir flushed and fell silent. That something pained him besides his wound was readily apparent to anyone who took the time to observe him. It was fortunate that the other Elves lacked the time to indulge in such matters thus sparing him the humiliation of coming under scrutiny. He already knew that the others were wondering how he and Legolas could have possibly been taken unawares.

It stood to reason that they would find it difficult to consider their prince at fault; he was too experienced a ranger to make such a mistake. Elrohir was fairly certain they thought he’d been careless. And they would be right considering his state of mind at the time.

As he lifted the litter along with Legolas and two other warriors, the older twin glared at the prince.

“What did you say to him?” The hissed words filled Legolas with guilt. “I should never have told you. You swore you would not hurt him.”

“I...I tried to help... I am sorry,” he murmured.

Elladan blew out his breath angrily. "‘Twould have been better had you not than to have him so distraught now,” he bit out.

To this the archer could offer no reply.

They came to the Wood-elves’ abode after two days of long marches. By then Elrohir was able to walk short distances albeit with a limp. His wound was deep, almost to the bone but his determination not to be carried into Thranduil’s halls gave him the wherewithal to bear the discomfort of getting on his feet earlier than might be expected of so grievous an injury.

Legolas saw the brothers to Elrohir’s chamber but the coolness of the older twin and the remoteness of the younger discouraged him from lingering. Dispiritedly, he whiled away the rest of the day in his chambers, mulling over his dilemma. A part of him ached that he might have lost not just one but both of his friends. Elladan had barely spoken to him during the long trek back. Legolas could not blame him. The former had taken the risk of confiding his brother’s secret to him trusting that the prince would help Elrohir. Instead, the problem had only worsened.

In need of counsel and comfort, Legolas headed for his father’s study. His people saw Thranduil as a stern and undemonstrative man. Few knew of the Elvenking who softened in the presence of his youngest son so long as there were no eyes to witness that softness.

Legolas knocked softly at the study door. His father’s voice soon bid him to enter

“Ada?”—Papa? “May I have a moment of your time?” he asked as he stepped in. The king was standing at his table bent over numerous scrolls.

Thranduil pushed the scrolls aside and looked up. It did not take him long to discern the distress in his heir’s eyes. “What troubles you, ion nîn?”— my son?—he queried gesturing for Legolas to take a seat.

“I need your advice.” Legolas sank into a chair. “Do you remember what happened with Sirgon?” he tentatively started.

Thranduil started at the name. It was many years since he had even thought of the incident that had disturbed him so deeply. He looked at Legolas closely.

“One can hardly forget such an event,” he remarked dryly. “Why do you bring it up?”

The prince sighed. “Because it has happened again,” he quietly replied. “And I do not know how to deal with it.”

Thranduil’s eyes widened then narrowed ominously. “You dealt with Sirgon well enough,” he pointed out. “Why should there be any difficulty now?”

Legolas raised bright eyes to his father, confusion and hurt in their depths. So like his mother’s eyes, the King thought with a pang. "'Tis no common Elf who suffers for love of me, Ada,” he said tightly. He hesitated then took a deep breath before saying, "'Tis Elrohir.”

Thranduil’s reaction was essentially the same as his son’s had been. His mouth dropped open and he was rendered speechless for a moment. When he finally found his tongue he could only exclaim, "Elrohir? Our Elrohir?”

Legolas nodded. Thranduil stared long at him, nonplussed. “How can that be?” he questioned. “He has never shown more than the love of a friend for you. Granted that your closeness is greater than any I have ever known yet I would swear he never displayed any unseemly feelings for you.”

“I know not how it happened,” Legolas admitted. “I only know that he is hurting.” He rose from his seat and began to pace aimlessly around the chamber. “He kept it a secret from me. ‘Twas Elladan who finally revealed it and ‘twas only at my insistence.” He stopped at the window and fingered the tassel on the drapery distractedly. “Elrohir did not want to lose our friendship. He chose to keep silent for that reason even when it was tearing him apart inside.”

Legolas suddenly turned his head and looked beseechingly at his father. “Why must I be the cause of such pain, Ada?” he implored. “Why should Elrohir turn to me? I do not understand!” He shuddered with the effort to calm himself. “I want to help him. I cannot bear to see him suffering because of me.”

Thranduil’s anger had started to build but at the sight of his son’s unhappiness, it subsided. It was Elrohir they were talking about after all. Elrohir, who along with his brother, were almost like sons to Thranduil despite all the mischief and mayhem they had oft wreaked on his household. Besides, the twins had been reared in the Noldorin-drenched culture of Imladris and Lothlórien. Thranduil could hardly judge Elrohir on something the younger Elf knew as natural to Elfkind. What had held him back was not social sanction but his fear of ending a treasured friendship.

He made himself regard Legolas not as his son but as another Elf might. There was no denying the beauty of his countenance for handsome seemed too tame a word to use when it came to the youngest prince of Mirkwood. He had his father’s fair coloring and tensile strength and his mother’s comely features and slender build. He was a child of elusive light and solid wood. Ethereal one moment, all too real the next.

Thranduil shook his head. Sirgon’s desire he could easily fathom. That one had always been inclined to his own kind. But Elrohir’s desire was totally unlooked for. Though he knew the twins had dallied with Elf-males, both had always been such hot-blooded pursuers of female-kind to suggest that either could feel anything more than mere lust for the males they had bedded. Yet here was Elrohir languishing from want of a male Elf. It simply seemed impossible.

The King stopped at the thought. Unless that male was Legolas and Legolas alone? Love and desire did not follow predictable patterns. All unbidden surprising turns could appear and often did, to the frustration and bewilderment of many a soul, Elf, Man or Dwarf.

"'Tis not your fault, Legolas,” he said at length. “Do not blame yourself for what you are.”

“And what am I?” Legolas asked bitterly.

Thranduil neared him and with a finger under his chin, tipped his son’s face up so that he could look upon his face. “You are gifted with great beauty even by the measure of our people. Beauty always draws admiration and desire.” He released his son from his gaze.

Legolas let his breath out. “But why should that affect him now? We have always been as close friends and brothers to each other, nothing more.”

“Perhaps ‘tis that very closeness that has brought things to this pass.” The King walked away, putting his thoughts in order. “I warrant he has always appreciated your comeliness even from the start of your acquaintance. Certainly, his regard for you has always been more profound than most but I doubt he thought his feelings anything more than the natural affection of one friend for another.”

Thranduil looked back at his now attentive son. “But affection is not unchangeable. It can evolve, alter in depth or nature. Mayhap Elrohir’s desire for you should not surprise us. In hindsight, it seems inevitable.” At his son’s perplexed reaction, he pointed out: “The twins’ appreciation for beauty has always been keener than what we deem usual and they oft express that appreciation through physical means. Their considerable reputation in bed-play did not come by accident.”

Legolas felt his cheeks burn with discomfort. It was strange to hear his father speaking so frankly about something most children rarely discussed with their parents. But what Thranduil was saying was very enlightening for there was the ring of truth in his words. He looked back upon his relationship with the twins.

He knew they were acutely aware of his uncommon beauty. They had teased him mercilessly about it throughout their early acquaintance. And when they had grown into full adulthood had been gracious enough to even compliment him for it albeit with much jesting on the side. Of course, that had not discouraged them from competing with him or his older brothers for the attention of every female Elf from the Woodland Realm to the Hidden Vale. But the twins’ carnal pursuits had also encompassed the Grey Havens and Lothlórien, included male Edhil of all persuasions and extended even to mortal women much to their parent’s dismay.

In one thing his father was right. The brothers didn’t merely enjoy physical release. They reveled in it. They rarely contented themselves with admiring beauty or grace from afar. Both had often had to depart for Mirkwood or Lórien to cool their heels while Master Elrond and Lady Celebrían soothed the ruffled feelings of vengeful fathers or scorned females as well as the occasional heartbroken ellon.—male Elf.

Enlightening. But it did not solve the problem at hand. He glanced thoughtfully at his father, wondering at the king’s relative lack of unease.

“You do not seem as disturbed by this as you were with Sirgon,” Legolas observed.

Thranduil smiled faintly. “Because ‘tis Elrohir we speak of,” he conceded. “I can trust him as I would not trust another Elf.”

“Trust?”

“Not to take advantage of your closeness for his own ends. He has already proven his honor and valor in this. As you said, he endured in silence rather than spoil your friendship.”

“Yet now he will end it,” Legolas scowled. “What use have I for an unspoiled friendship that exists only in memory?”

Thranduil sighed. “If ‘tis the only way for him to find peace, I cannot blame him for taking this measure,” he said.

They tried their best to make me forget but how could they when they were not you?

His friend’s anguished words flashed through Legolas’ mind. He felt great sorrow settle in his heart. Elrohir would indeed leave Mirkwood never to return. Their long friendship would end and everything they had ever shared would be mere remembrance. The very thought of an eternity to come with no further contact with the Elf-knight made him desolate. No longer would he know Elrohir’s sage counsel and gently voiced praise, hear his infectious laughter or see the veritable play of emotions in his argent eyes. Already his heart ached at the imminent loss of the gallant Edhel who had so enthralled him from the start and made him feel whole.

Legolas rebelled at the thought.

His circle of close and trusted friends had always been small by choice. And the twins were the closest of all. By the grace of the Valar, he had been blessed with the friendship of two souls who offered their love and loyalty absolutely and unconditionally. Elrohir’s willingness to put aside his own happiness to prevent Legolas from becoming entangled in his problem was testament to that love.

Legolas knew he could not bear to lose the Elf-knight.

“Do you think it will pass if he were to find release?” he softly asked his father.

“I do not know,” Thranduil replied. “Sometimes a thing that we want but cannot have grows in significance precisely because we cannot attain it.” He stopped and stared at Legolas suspiciously. “Why do you ask that? What are you thinking of, Legolas?”

“Elrohir needs me,” he quietly replied. “If ‘tis the only help I can offer him…”

Thranduil gasped at the implications of his son’s reply. “Surely you cannot mean that! Elrohir would never allow you to make such a sacrifice!”

“I do not intend to give him a choice and have him make an even greater sacrifice!” Legolas replied somewhat heatedly. “He is dear to me. I will do what I feel is best for him; what will heal him.”

“And how often do you think will you have to effect this - this cure?” Thranduil said harshly.

“As often as needs be,” Legolas retorted. “I will not lose my friend. I will not!”

Thranduil halted on the verge of a scathing response. His son’s loyalty to Elrohir was touching, as was his willingness to take upon himself so strange a burden. Thranduil had no personal animosity toward Elrohir and even sympathized with him. But he was a father and possessed all the protectiveness of a parent towards its young.

“If you do not truly desire such a coupling he will know it,” he bluntly informed the prince. “Then you will have caused him even more pain.”

Legolas was taken aback. His father’s words effectively reminded him of the nature of the task he sought to undertake. A coupling. He recoiled mentally and emotionally from the images the term conjured. But that was what Elrohir needed from him. There was no going around it.

“Do not rush into this, pen neth”—young one—Thranduil pleaded with him. “You may only do grievous harm. I say this not only for your sake but for Elrohir’s as well. He is dear to me, too.”

Legolas nodded slowly. “I will give serious thought to this, Ada. Thank you for your counsel.”

The King watched his son as he left the study. He sighed, worry etched on his face. There was no knowing what Legolas would do. Nor was there any stopping him when he did decide what to do. Silently and with not a little exasperation, he invoked the Powers who watched over headstrong Elves and children.

************

Glossary:

Edhil – Elves (singular – Edhel)
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Greenleaf & Imladris 9-Melethron: The Ancient Path