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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6313 -:- 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 VI: Transgression

Lothron FA 121

The journey back was dolorous for the most part even for the stern warriors of Gondor. They had left behind their beloved queen, there at the borders of the once-enchanted woods of Lothlórien. They knew they had seen their last of her.

For the brethren Elladan and Elrohir, it had proven even more grievous. The Golden Wood of yore was no more. There was no sign of the light and song that had once lit its very core. That Arwen would live out her last days in the sad and silent former heart of Elvendom in Middle-earth weighed heavily on them.

They had known Lórien in its noontide, lived many a happy day amongst the fierce yet merry Galadhrim. But now, as with Imladris, this other part of their childhood and youth was but a myth to mortals of this day and age.

They had lingered only long enough to ascertain that she would be safe and cared for. Not all the Galadhrim had forsaken their home. A stubborn, hardy few had remained and they welcomed their former lord’s granddaughter with much love and respect.

At least, her brothers could find comfort in the knowledge that she would not be utterly alone when the end came. That loving hands would lay her to rest and tend her grave. And that word of her passing would be duly sent to them. But even this knowledge could not still the sorrow of loss and longing in their hearts.

It was simply too much to bear. It was time to join their kindred in Aman. In Elvenhome.

In company with a party of humans and a party that included women at that, they had been compelled to set up camp nightly to allow the others rest. That did not change on the pensive trip home. While the ladies were accorded the one large tent, the men-at-arms and the Elves slept beneath the stars. And as always, Elladan and his sons stayed close to Elrohir.

The Elf-knight had told them of Legolas’ forebodings. Just as he had not scorned those apprehensions, neither did they. And they thus took measures to prevent anything unseemly from happening.

None of them believed that Gilwen would attempt anything so brazen as to try and seduce the warrior in full sight of everyone else. And so Elrohir had simply remained in the bosom of his family at all times, making it impossible for Gilwen to even approach him. And his brother and nephews surrounded him at night that she could not get to him without rousing the others first.

It was not that they feared that Elrohir would succumb to temptation. That was an impossibility. But none of them wished for a scene to occur now of all times. They did not desire for tales of indecent instances to reach Eldarion and mar his happy memories of them. And so they took care to keep their distance from her at all times.

It was with relief that the company finally crossed into Anórien. Minas Tirith was but days away and they would soon reach their homes. They encamped with higher spirits that very night.

Elladan thoughtfully regarded his twin as the latter sat back against a tree staring up at the stars above. Elrohir seldom fared well when he was apart from Legolas. And Legolas was oft beset with a burdened heart as well when he was without his darkling mate. It was telling evidence of the strength of their bond, one the older twin could not recall seeing the likes of in all his years.

He and Nimeithel shared an intensely intimate connection and they, too, were not happy to be parted for long. It was the same for every happily bound couple he personally knew of--his own parents as well as Legolas’ sire and dam, Celeborn and Galadriel, Glorfindel and Erestor, Iorwen and Ailios, Daurin and Enedrion. All possessed that intangible yet potent link that marked the relationships of wedded Elves.

But the connection between his brother and his woodland spouse was special. It was so intense, so vibrant, that Elves could readily sense it without trying. One look was all it took for any and all Edhil, even babes and younglings, to tell that they were indeed binding-mates.

He’d oft wondered if this had occurred because of the one-sided binding to Legolas that his brother had undertaken ere he won the archer’s love. Could that sacrifice have enabled the forging of a deeper connection between them than had ever happened before amongst Elf-kind?

His brother’s sacrifice.

It struck Elladan then that only once before had he sensed this same intense bond. It had been between Arwen and Aragorn in that time between the plighting of their troth upon Cerin Amroth and Arwen’s formal declaration of her choice to be of mortal-kind. It was only then, when Arwen had been shorn of her eternal flame, that he had ceased to feel that wondrous connection between them. Because she was no longer of Elf-kind.

Could that be the key? Elladan mused. A great sacrifice in the name of love? And Elrohir had made not one but two if one considered it. The first had been to choose immortality not for his sake but for Legolas’. Because the prince had begged it of him. The other had been to bind himself in love without certitude of it ever being returned.

Mayhap ‘tis a blessing one receives in return for one’s willingness to endure come what may for love of another, Elladan thought. He rose from his pallet and joined his brother under the tree. His sons ceased their discussion and hearkened to their elders’ instead.

“You brood overmuch, muindor”—brother—Elladan reproved. “You will be back in his arms before long,” he added soothingly as his twin continued to gaze wistfully at the stars.

Elrohir glanced at him. “Is my yearning so apparent?”

“Always,” Elladan replied. “But now, even the men of Gondor know the reason for it.”

Elrohir grinned a little. All through their journey he had been aware of the surreptitious glances at him and the whispered exchanges regarding him and Legolas. They had grown so blatant that during the final leg of the trip to Lórien, Arwen had roused herself enough to chasten her people and give them a brief but thorough lecture on elven nature.

That had stilled their tongues but not their shock. If anything, that had increased and the warriors and ladies had grown even more curious about their Elven companions. One could almost hear their thoughts. What else were Elves capable of?

“Whatever possessed Legolas to be so open about the two of you?” Elladan remarked.

Elrohir sighed. “He only wished to balm his fears. No harm can come of it any longer, gwaniuar.”—older twin. “We are leaving the company of mortals forever. And truth be told, it pleases me that he loves me well enough to set aside his reservations even at this last.”

Elladan chuckled. “Everything Legolas does pleases you.”

“Aye, in the same manner that Nimeithel can do no wrong in your eyes,” Elrohir retorted good-naturedly.

Elendir and Elros listened to their banter with wide grins. The younger twins had been doleful since parting from their aunt. Her loss had served as an acute reminder of what the choice of the Peredhil had once portended. They had both chosen to be immortal and would join their parents when they sailed forth from Middle-earth and thus had brought to an end that which had been both gift and bane to their family. But this event had recalled to them that there were those of their line who were forever lost to them and Elf-kind. Their foremother, Luthien. Their grandsire’s brother, Elros. And now, Arwen.

This light-hearted interlude was just the comfort they needed.

Yet they remained ever aware and wary of the woman who could not keep her eyes off their uncle. Would that they could go off and leave the humans to make their way back to Minas Tirith on their own. But an implacable sense of duty held them to this path. None of their mortal companions save Gilwen had even been born during the War. They knew next to nothing of the little-travelled roads outside of Gondor. And the road to Lórien had been a secret one even at the height of the Golden Wood’s flowering.

*********

The sight of the Tower of Ecthelion rising high above the Guarded City had never looked so beautiful to the Elves, their keen eyes espying it ever before the rest of the company. They urged the rest to hasten down the road until they came to the fork where they would finally take leave of their human companions. It was just the hour after sunset. The younger twins grinned as they noted their father and uncle’s preoccupied expressions. There was no doubt about what or who filled their thoughts.

But just as they made their formal farewells to the captain who had led the men-at-arms, he made an unexpected request. They had not seen it coming, not a one of them.

“My lords, the Lady Gilwen has informed me that she is not returning to Minas Tirith but proceeding to Osgiliath,” he said diffidently. “Would it be too much to ask that she be allowed to ride on with you?”

Elladan glanced at Elrohir in consternation then looked at Gilwen as his twin was now doing. But the widow only looked back at them impassively in the manner of one awaiting and ready to accept their decision.

This left them in a quandary. They had no good reason to turn down the request since to cross into Ithilien they would have to take one of the three bridges within Osgiliath that spanned Anduin. The only other bridge was several leagues further southeast of their present location. Well out of the way.

Gilwen quietly spoke up. “My house is close to the first bridge into Ithilien,” she said. “I will not take you out of your way.”

In the end, they had no choice. It would be blatantly discourteous to deny a lady their services. One did not leave a woman to travel by herself particularly in the deeps of the night. Concealing their reluctance as well as they could, they acceded to the request. Showing no other reaction beyond the normal relief of a female who would not be left to fend for herself, Gilwen joined them as they at last turned down the road to Osgiliath.

They were silent most of the way to the river-cloven city. Only Elendir made an effort to speak with her and that was out of politeness more than anything else.

“You have a home in Osgiliath, hirilen?”—my lady?—he inquired.

Gilwen said: “My mother’s family owned a house within ere the city fell into ruin. It has been restored since.”

Elendir nodded and said no more.

It was well past the midnight hour when they entered the former capital of Gondor. It was silent and not a man or woman could be seen on the streets. Gilwen led them down a narrow cobbled road to the very walls of the city. As she had told them, they saw that the first bridge was but another street beyond hers.

Her house was located in a still hardly occupied section of Osgiliath. Dark windows and boarded up doors bespoke vacant residences waiting to be filled once more. They could not help some curiosity as they rode into a tiny courtyard fronting a small two-level building. This was not a permanent residence they realized but merely a place where her family had stayed when in Gondor in days gone by. The courtyard reached to the wall itself, which at this point was no more than a low stone parapet that overlooked the swift-running waters of Anduin. One could hear the rushing river just beyond.

Surprisingly, no servant came to greet his mistress and Gilwen herself lit the torches at the porch of the house and unlocked its door. Elladan frowned.

“Have you no servants to assist you?” he asked.

Gilwen shook her head as she opened the door. “We do not keep any when we are not in residence here. Do not worry. This house is small and I only plan to remain a short while.”

Elladan and Elrohir remained outside, leaving it the younger twins to help her bring her baggage in. They had no desire to linger but to be on their way soonest.

To their surprise, when the three emerged from the house, Gilwen had a large tray in her hands. It bore a bottle of wine and four drinking cups. Before they could protest, she earnestly beseeched them to hear her out.

“‘Tis the custom in Dol Amroth to see travellers off with a farewell cup of wine,” she explained. “You will soon be travelling further than any in Middle-earth ever will. I would honor your departure with my land’s ancient tradition.”

Elladan glanced at his sons. Elros shook his head marginally, indicating that he and Elendir had inspected the cups and found them clean and that the bottle of wine was an unopened and untampered one. The older twin looked at his brother. With a sigh, Elrohir consented.

Gilwen laid the tray on a stone table on the porch and opened the bottle of wine. She filled the cups then began to hand them out herself. Elendir watched her keenly, wondering how anyone could become so obsessed with anyone or anything that she would invite scorn and suspicion from all and sundry.

He frowned when she handed a cup to Elrohir. Instead of holding it by its base, she placed her hand atop its rim and lifted it in that awkward manner before passing it to his uncle. He wondered that so well born a lady should be so graceless in such a common task. But then she did not do the same with Elladan’s cup but held it properly. As she did with Elros’. Elendir’s frown deepened.

It was when she gave him his wine that he saw it. A thick gold band on the middle finger of her right hand. It was oddly turned over so that its stone faced down. She let go of his cup as he took it. His sharp elven eyes espied it then. The stone was set in a ring of delicately carved gold and the entire setting had been pushed aside revealing...a tiny chamber within the band itself.

At once, his mind made sense of her earlier lack of grace. That finger – the ring itself – had been directly over Elrohir’s cup!

He cried out frantically: “Uncle! Do not drink the wine!”

Too late. Elrohir had already taken a deep draught of the sweet liquid. For a moment he stared in bewilderment at his distraught nephew. A second later, his eyes widened and he gasped and flung his cup aside. Elladan was by his side in an instant, alarmed by the sudden pallor of his face.

“Gwanneth!”—younger twin! “What ails you?” he exclaimed.

Elrohir gripped his supporting hand and stared at him with horror-filled eyes. “Mandrake—in my wine,” he rasped.

Elladan stared back at him, eyes as wide and fearful. He whirled about and glared at Gilwen in fury.

“What have you done?” he snarled.

Gilwen backed away, found her way blocked by Elendir. “I did nothing!” she protested.

“She lies!” Elendir said. He grabbed her hand and revealed the treacherous ring. “She added the poison through this!”

She snatched her hand away. “‘Tis not poison!” she objected. “The old lady said ‘tis but a few drops of a—a love potion!”

“You fool!” Elladan snapped. “Mandrake is indeed a potent aphrodisiac, but to bound Elves, it is fatal!”

Gilwen gaped at him in shock. “Nay, it cannot be. She said—”

“You have killed my brother!”

“Adar!” Father!

He spun around to see Elros catch Elrohir in his arms. The Elf-knight was clutching at his chest; his breathing had turned labored. Elladan swiftly helped his son support the warrior.

Gilwen sobbed in remorse and shame. “Forgive me,” she implored. “I did not know—did not mean to—”

Her reaching arm was angrily batted aside by Elros, the force of his buffet causing her to lose her balance. She fell to her knees before them.

Elrohir gripped Elladan’s hand hard. “Muindor, take me...to Legolas... before...”

Elladan, eyes beginning to blur with tears, nodded. Elendir quickly fetched his father’s steed.

Gilwen, hearing the name of the Elven prince, seeing at last what she had refused to see before, felt an overwhelming wave of despair, guilt and grief wash over her. She did not merely break; she shattered.

Scrambling to her feet with a hoarse cry, she turned and ran to the low wall overlooking the river. Realizing her intent, Elendir raced after her, grabbing at her as she clambered up the wall. She managed to elude his hand, teetered a moment on the edge then cast herself into the dark waters below. Anduin swallowed her almost at once as her heavy skirts dragged her down into the river’s cold embrace.

Elendir could only look on in dazed horror at this, his first witnessing of an act of self-destruction.

“Elendir!” He started and glanced back to see that his father had mounted his steed and had pulled Elrohir up before him with Elros’ help. “Come, ion”—son—“we have no time to lose!”

The young Elf nodded, took one last shuddering look at the spot where Anduin had claimed Gilwen, then hurried to his own horse. Seconds later, the Elves fled into the night, their steeds galloping down the main street and across the wide bridge into the fairest province of Gondor.

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

Glossary:

Lothron - Sindarin for May

Edhil - Elves

A/N: Mandrake is a plant of the nightshade family. It’s forked root was once believed to possess magical properties and was consequently used to create potions for reasons as disparate as relieving insomnia, curing a variety of bodily ailments, promoting fertility and, yes, inducing love in its capacity as an aphrodisiac.

To be continued…
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Greenleaf & Imladris 29 - Aduial: Soul of a Knight