Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Arcane Land	By : alpham31 Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2529 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is not mine, and neither are its characters. I make no money with my writing. This story was written for the simple pleasure of it.

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CHAPTER FOUR: The Fortress and Beyond

Legolas walked through the main entrance, leaving behind the hustle and bustle just outside the guarded entrance, the joyous sounds of homecoming as friends and family embraced once more slowly faded and finally ceased as the solid oak doors thudded closed. The warriors stomped to attention as he passed, trying and failing to suppress the faintest hint of a smile on their otherwise stony countenance. He smiled genuinely and nodded at them, although he knew the gesture would not, should not be returned, yet they were his friends, had been since childhood together with Galdithion, Llyn and Henian; they would play warriors and damsels together, get into trouble, skip school to watch the patrols arrive as they giggled in the bushes. So many memories he had shared with these elves and he was so very glad to see them.

His father stood in the shadows, visible only by the light he emitted, and the glint of his eyes and jewels. He emerged as Legolas approached him, silent and intense as he glided towards his son and placed a ringed hand on his shoulder, bidding him follow.

It never ceased to amaze Legolas how much his father could impress him. Every time he came home and saw him once more, he would be struck by his imposing figure, his commanding aura, his virile beauty. He could be dressed in simple leggings and a shirt, and all would hail him as king, there was no mistaking him, for he was a most singular elf, one that left none indifferent.

As they walked down the corridor bound for the king’s offices, the house elves bowed as they reached to touch him, staring at his hair. Most had known and served him since he was a babe and wished to stop and talk, he knew; he would have happily obliged, yet there were priorities now, and so he smiled kindly to them but did not stop, for the truth was, he wanted to sit down, rest, be with his father and relax as he could nowhere else in the fortress, except in the loving presence of his only parent.

Arriving at the suite of rooms the king used for his daily duties, Galion appeared before Legolas, bowing to the elf he had seen grow into a warrior, a commander, a king. Legolas smiled at this most enigmatic of house masters, unbuckling his quiver and sword and placing them reverently into his outstretched arms, watching as Galion nodded dutiously, his face sporting a well-concealed expression of surprise at the object that had been encharged to him. Swiveling deftly on his heel, he made his way to his Lord’s chambers, not once daring to touch the imposing weapon that sat over his palms.

As the doors thudded closed behind them, Legolas let out a mighty breath as he turned, startling somewhat as he found himself face to face with his father and his open arms – into which he fell eagerly, their faces mirroring each other – for here was an elf that had missed him much, that depended on him, that revered the very earth he walked upon, his only offspring, his sole parent – his son – his father. They held each other, clutched at each other’s clothing as if they would disappear should they let go – so necessary was the one for the other – so alike in all things save the offices they possessed.

They broke away then, and Legolas moved his hand to his hair ruefully, picking out the flowers that had been placed there, entwined in the strange, twisted locks that covered the softer, silky mane below. His father helped him, smiling as he extracted the daisies, bluebells and honeysuckle that stuck inside it so well, marveling at how dense and long it was.

The task was fulfilled in silence, until Thranduil stood staring at his son, his eyes moving from one inch of his face to the next, over his hair, his ears, his eyes, until he finally faced him once more.

“You have changed, my son.”

Legolas smiled at this father’s understatement.

“Yes, I have changed, the Lady Yavanna would say for the better, for this is her doing, Father,” he said, gesturing to his hair and eyes, “and then everything has changed, yet where to begin?” he murmured as they both sat on a comfortable sofa before a magnificent, coloured window that glowed from the candle light that lit it up from within.

Thranduil handed his son a glass of wine as he sat back, still unable to wrench his eyes away from this strange, exotic elf – his son, he had to remind himself once more.

“I have heard many wild and wonderful things of what has come to be known as ‘The Demonstration’, is it true? Did Lady Yavanna reveal herself?”

“It is true, and there is much to tell, Father, for I can scarcely believe it myself. You know the extent of my abilities – I can touch a plant and make it healthier, cure blight or some such thing – but that is not what happened. I created life where there was none, and I cannot explain how, only that it happened.”

“Would you be able to do it again? At will?”

“I know not, perhaps. Aiwendil suggests that I can, and that he would teach me to harness it. He plans to visit in the not too distant future.”

“Good. I have not seen the old man for many years. You will be a mage then?” asked the king with a mocking smile on his handsome face.

“I believe I may already be one,” replied Legolas, somewhat flummoxed at the thought and deciding not to continue down that path for the moment.

“And you are king;” said Thranduil proudly. “Were there any adverse reactions?” prodded Thranduil, watching his son carefully from over the brim of his goblet.

“Nay, Father. The truth is that there has been no antagonism at all, we are now on extraordinarily good terms with all the Elven realms.”

“And the military alliance, it is complete, just as we drew it up?”

“Almost. We had to negotiate a few terms, but the essence of it is highly favourable to us, Father, we will stand alone no longer against the Dark One.”

“It seems you are in good favour with the Lords…” said Thranduil, somewhat flatly, which immediately raised Legolas’ suspicions.

“I am in very good favour with them, father. Is there anything specific you would like to know?” he asked, sipping his wine and watching his father’s schooled features.

“Well you see, it is like this; the Festival was a success, by all accounts, yet there is an undercurrent of sadness about you. You have left someone important behind, have you not?” he asked as he sat on the edge of his seat, anticipating his son’s words.

Did Legolas really think he could hide it from his father? Probably, yet now that he thought about it, the notion was absurd. His father was the single most cunning, astute elf he knew; he could read the thoughts of an elf by simple observation, an expert in semiotics, he was almost never wrong.

Smiling, he glanced at his father, who held his gaze, willing him to speak.

“I have struck up a singular – friendship – with the Lords of Imladris,” he conceded.

“Who?”

“Elrond, Erestor – and Glorfindel of Gondolin,” he said a little more softly, a dead give-away to his expectant father.

Thranduil said nothing, he simply stared, his stunning blue eyes slightly wider than they had been but moments before.

“Glorfindel of Gondolin. He knew your great grandfather, Legaelair.”

“I know,” he said, wondering if his father would disapprove. He had not anticipated that - had rather thought that Glorfindel would be considered a good match. Yet his training told him to bide his time and limit himself to answering his father’s questions.

“And you love him?”

“I do.”

“Have you sworn fealty?”

“No, neither of us would be capable of such a thing, Father, you know me.”

“Indeed,” smiled the king, for his son was more than a little promiscuous, had been since before his majority – but then, who was he to talk?

“Well, he is handsome enough if my memory does not fail me. Have you made – plans?”

“No, the time is not right. I, Father, there is something important you need to know. Something I could not disclose in my letters. It is something only my witnesses know, and it cannot be disclosed, not until the events come to pass.”

“You have my complete attention, my son. I have arranged for a private lunch today. I think it best we talk as much as possible now, before alternative explanations obscure the truth, and then – I have missed you so,” he said, as his eyes misted and his brow furrowed, and Legolas embraced him once more. “I too, missed you, Father - at the most significant moments of my life, I missed you, too.”

Legolas had, of course, omitted the fact that there was another whom he missed just as much, but who he would never be able to embrace, at least not here, on Arda, not until his purpose was fulfilled and he was free to leave, if indeed, he ever had the inclination to do so.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

While Legolas sat with his father, informing him of the highlights of his journey, Elladan was marveling at the suite of rooms he had been provided with.

When they had arrived, he had wondered what the fortress would look like from the back. Indeed there were none of the impressive spires visible at the front, but there were numerous windows with wooden balconies that hung out over the sheerest vertical drop Elladan had ever seen – unfortunately he had found that out the hard way.

When he had first approached the doors, he had flung them open impetuously, and promptly swooned, grabbing the carved wooden railings tight as he realized that he was, quite literally, hanging off the side of a mountain. Far below, was a steep hill which blended into an evergreen wood of spruce and pine, fir and cypress. The aroma was fresh and crisp, just like the light breeze that blew about his face. There were numerous lakelets and meres dotted around the forest floor for as far as the eye could see; this forest, he knew, was untouched by the darkness, perhaps the last bastion of the wood elves - no wonder they protected it so fiercely, who wouldn’t? - it was a paradise of greens, blues and browns, and every shade between, textures of wood and water, earth and mist, each with its own characteristic aroma that reached his senses and set his head reeling.

Straight ahead of him, he could see a mountain range in the distance – the Lonely Mountain, he thought. The view was quite literally breathtaking, dramatic even. He had never imagined the Greenwood like this, and only now was he beginning to realize that there was much work to be done. He would suggest his father send historians, scribes, and artists - mapmakers and botanists, for this marvel should be proclaimed throughout Elvendom, documented for posterity.

A knock turned his attention indoors once more. Opening the heavy oak leaf, a dark-haired elf stared back at him. It took him a few moments to realize it was Melven who stood there.

“Ai, Lieutenant, forgive me, I – I did not recognize you for a moment – come in, please,” he invited, watching as the attractive male walked into his rooms. The change that had come over him was nothing short of striking. He had dressed his hair more informally, leaving most of it to hang about his shoulders, only a few discreet braids adorning the back. Even his face was less taut, less strict, less – disapproving. He seemed happy, enthusiastic, full of life, and it suited him, for he was well-favoured, something Elladan would never have thought back in Imladris.

“My Lord – is it not – surprising?” asked Melven, as he looked around him in awe.

It took Elladan a moment to understand he spoke of their quarters, and not his own personal transformation.

“Indeed, I am perplexed that this is not described in our history books in the Valley, it is truly – unbelievable.”

Another knock, revealed Galion, who bowed to the visitors, although not before taking in the open balcony and the look of wonder on their faces, his deduction was both quick and correct.

“Good afternoon, my Lords. The King and his son beg your pardon, but matters of state keep them from accompanying you this afternoon. I have been asked to see to your well-being in their absence. I am Galion, House Master,” he reintroduced himself in is quaint woodland accent.

“Good afternoon, yes, I remember, Galion.”

“Would it please you to allow us to serve you your lunch in your quarters?”

“Of course, we would – take it together if that is suitable, Galion?” asked Elladan, looking at Melven for his consent.

“Of course, my Lords. The feast will begin at the twentieth hour. Protocol will be in place this eve, for your information. I can provide you with water for bathing, tailors should you require fitting, and I will require your full titles in order to hail you in the Great Hall.”

“Well, we will accept the water of course, although I do not think we will be requiring anything more. Melven?” At a shake of his head, he smiled once more at the housemaster.

“Do you like the Evergreen Wood, my Lords?” asked Galion softly.

“We were just discussing our impressions, Galion. We are both most pleasantly impressed with your home, this wood was – unexpected, as was the drop from the balcony if I may add! He said somewhat sardonically.”

Galion smiled enigmatically at Elladan then. “Indeed, my Lord, more than one elf has been reported to have swooned on first opening the doors – I trust this was not your case?” he asked, and Melven swore he saw a half-smile on the house master’s face – he was sure of it.

“Nay, thank Elbereth!” He had lied, and he had the uncomfortable impression that he had not been believed.

“Then I will leave you to the views, my Lords.”

After he had left, Melven glanced at Elladan from the corner of his eye, smiling mischievously, “I do not know about you, my Lord, but I did very nearly lose my balance!”

“Yes, well, we don’t want Galion to know about that, Melven, we would never hear the end of it if it got back to Legolas.”

“Well, my Lord, I really do not think he believed you anyway…”

Elladan gave him a sour look, before smiling and beckoning Melven to sit, for both were eager to talk of their impressions thus far. The place was of a natural beauty that surpassed anything they had seen, dreamed even. They had not quite realized that it would be as mountainous, and it seemed to them that there were two worlds encompassed in this forest realm. The thick woodlands before the fortress, fiercely protected by all accounts, struggling to cleave to the light that still dominated but that was under constant siege, and then the wood that was behind the fortress, the Evergreen Wood Galion had called it, the impollute forest, the impressive heights and open mountain, it was almost as if this stunning panorama were a constant reminder for this warrior society – they could look out of their windows and remember what they fought for, what they died for.

The architecture was also remarkable. The carved spires of the façade were a masterpiece, and both had been left wondering if they were inhabitable, or whether they were purely decorative. They had found false windows everywhere, a novel idea that gave a warmth to the cool rooms by illuminating panels of painted glass with candles that stood behind them. The rooms were carved out of the mountain rock, and the craftsmanship was, they guessed, dwarvish - testimony to the once healthy relations between the two races.

The elves themselves were mostly of brown colouring, with light chestnut being the most frequent hair colour, although Elladan had counted quite a few red heads. They concluded that these would be of either Sylvan or Avarin heritage. The blonde elves were few to count, probably the Sindar, like their sovereign, Thranduil. They were of a happy disposition, very richly dressed and adorned, and sported a delightful lilting accent with a somewhat peculiar set of intonation patterns that had both Noldor bewitched, for at times, they had thought a question was being asked, when in fact the sentence had been affirmative.

Tapestries and carpeting covered almost every inch of floor and wall space, presumably to take away the chill of the stone. It was, indeed, quite cool in the rooms, which should not have been surprising, given the height they were at - not from the front, but over the sheer drop at the back.

There were large fireplaces, all alight, the smoke wafting up into shoots which neither dared to guess where they finally came to rest; and the bathing room was nothing short of opulent. There was no tub, but a carved hole, for want of a better word. A stopper revealed the existence of a shaft of some sort, which would be opened to release the waters – ingenious indeed.

Towels of all shapes and sizes were neatly folded along the edge of the bathing area, rich oils and soaps stood in earthen jars and bowls, perfumes wallowed in decorative glass bottles, cloths for washing were piled beside the towels, there were even robes made of an absorbent material they did not recognize, obviously designed to be worn fresh from the bath. It seemed to them that bathing was an important part of this society, for the detail was impressive, their courtesy stunning.

Their conversation was interrupted as a knock revealed two elves, carrying large trays which they deposited on a table near the hanging balcony. They then proceeded to unload and prepare their contents, carefully setting out the cutlery and polished glasses, opening the wine they had brought and presenting the dishes with an artistic flare that showed the delight they took in their work.

Bowing to the guests, they left quietly, shutting the door behind them.

“Shall we?” asked Elladan as he gestured to Melven to join him.

“Well, who would have thought, my Lord,” said Melven as he made himself comfortable.

“Please, call me Elladan, if you will.”

“Very well. I mean, who would have thought, not two months past, that we would be sitting at this table together, in a foreign land, on the brink of a fascinating adventure – it seems almost, a fairy tale – “

“Yes, you are right,” considered Elladan. “You have synthesized it most efficiently, my friend. I, for one, feel enthusiastic for the first time in many years. I feel that I can finally finish my warrior training somehow. I always had the impression, nay knew, that I had not performed to the best of my abilities, and yet as lord of my own homeland, it is my duty to be better than most. I do not mean to boast, but it is expected of me, Melven.”

“Aye, I understand, Elladan. We are both lieutenants, yet I know we could be so much more, given the right circumstances.”

“Then let us toast to that, Melven, Lieutenant of Imladris, soon to be Captain of the Elven Guard!”

“And to you, Lord Elladan Elrondion, mighty warrior and commander of the Noldor!”

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Thranduil was speechless. His son had been chosen for a task he had never guessed at. He was to play some pivotal role in restoring the king of men on the throne of Gondor and Anor, thus uniting the free people of Middle Earth. Yet how? For this to come to pass, the Dark Lord must be overthrown, vanquished not temporarily, but forever more. He liked not the notion, for it stank of battle and death, suffering and sacrifice, and he wanted none of those things for his son.

They had remained silent for some time, Legolas starting on his food and giving his father time to digest the information he had just revealed to him.

Yet once the questions started, they did not stop, and they were now sitting before the fire hours later, a glass of mulled wine in their hands.

“Now tell me of you, Father? How have you coped in my absence?”

“Oh, well enough, Legolas. It did me good to get back into the fray, I missed the camaraderie, the sense of being at the fore of our people’s protection. I will admit, however, that I am somewhat out of shape – I have become complacent,” he remarked, sipping his wine as he regarded his son’s form. “You, however, are fitter than I have ever seen you. How so?”

“Well, the Lady Yavanna gifted me with a sword, Father…”

“What kind of sword? You are already grand master, that tells me nothing…”

“I was trying to break it slowly to you,” he explained, deciding that his best bet was to just come out with it. “You see, this sword was forged by Lord Aulë himself.”

“What?” he exclaimed, almost spilling his wine as he battled to regain his equilibrium, yet his eyes remained huge and round.

Legolas chuckled then. This is what Celeborn and his father had in common, they could be the most imposing of elves, and yet they had a boyish, mischievous streak in them that made them such excellent and endearing company.

“It is – a large sword, Father – better you see it than I try to explain. Suffice it to say it is called ‘Yaavan’.”

‘What a peculiar name for a weapon of death’, thought Thranduil. Yet in light of what his son had revealed to him over lunch, he could see some sense in it.

“The fact is, it is so large, and so heavy, that I asked Glorfindel to perform adjustment training.”

“Oh…, I see. He is famous for being a slave driver with his pupils!”

Legolas laughed hard then, for that is exactly what he had thought on that first day, yet had never said.

“Indeed, they were some of the longest days of my life, yet the results are, I believe, satisfactory,” he said somewhat smugly, to which his father simply snorted.

“You must show me this Yaavan…”

“Of course,” he answered, glad he had not talked of the crown just yet.

“Good. Ah, but I have missed you, my boy. With Aradan gone too, I was left with Galion and your aunt, and you know what she can be like, thank the Valar for Lainion and Bercalion.”

“Oh aye,” chuckled Legolas. He had suffered his aunt’s presence during his childhood, but had mostly been sheltered from it by his mother, until she had been taken from him. “And Barathon, has he – progressed?”

“What? Nay! He is as obnoxious and useless as ever he was. Yet what to do with the boy? He is royalty, I cannot send him to work in the stables now, can I? My brother’s son, yet I cannot use him, Legolas. His mother spoiled him forever, and your uncle is incapable of restoring him to normalcy, I tell you!”

“Did he try to sway you again, take advantage of my absence?”

“Oh, aye – he has sung his own merits most diligently, telling me of how he has the metal of one of The Company, appealing to my sense of family and honor – he suggested that it was embarrassing that as a warrior, my nephew and the cousin of the commander, he was still not a member of The Company – a captain, even!”

They both chuckled then.

Thranduil looked long and hard at his son, then, as a surge of love and pride washed over him and his eyes moistened once more.

Placing his arm around the strong, muscled shoulders, he pulled his son close, watching as he smiled and rested his head on his father’s strong chest, allowing himself this small moment to feel, to open that part of his mind he so deftly hid, lest the monsters escape. They sat there for long moments, together once more, rejoicing in the love they held, the one for the other.
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Arcane Land