Gûr Gweriant [Inner
most feelings betrayed.]
'
Believe! I assure you it does not
benefit me to reveal to you that two of Imladris' most respected
citizens are lurking about Mirkwood! I have no reason to place myself
in jeopardy by granting such knowledge to the son of our enemy!'
Legolas recalled these words with the
full realization of the actual events themselves. The sound of the
rain, the feel of the cold water pouring over him endlessly, the marrow
deep weariness and hunger threatening to subdue him, his unexpended
rage and barely suppressed desire jolted to life by Berenaur's
invasive, unwelcome groping. He could detect the smell of the wet earth
mixed with the odor of exotic blooms, into which was woven the specific
scent of Erestor's musky male allure.
I should never have taken such an
admission at face value!
He could see Erestor wrapped loosely in
the woolen blanket, allowing a glimpse of toned and supple pectorals,
his long black hair pulled, wet and heavy, over his right shoulder.
There was the stern arch of his brows, softened by mild amusement at
Legolas' surprise and obvious awe in the presence of so renowned yet
mysterious a legend. That dangerous glint in the Noldo's dark and
bottomless eyes, so sharp and cunning and yet somehow admiring Legolas
as they bore into his, demanding knowledge of the wild elf's soul. A
slight upturn at the corners transformed his thin alizarin lips into an
almost-smirk as he regarded Legolas. Those long and exquisite fingers
so casually gripped the loose ends of the covering; healer's hands that
would paradoxically cause the archer hurt and harm.
He called me full of contradictions!
Legolas instantly knew he could not give
such a description without also allowing more of his true feelings to
show through the words than he intended these two to comprehend.
Mithrandir understood about the revelation regarding Malthen, and
Legolas feared he had thought far enough into the matter to guess at
the rest of the betrayal. The closeness of their bond since the night
of his grieving made such perception that much more probable.
The Man, however, could have no such
ability to gauge the situation. He hoped this was so; Aragorn's healing
gift was strong for one not of elven blood, yet surely he could not
read the hearts of those he touched, as Erestor had delved the
Tawarwaith's.
No, there is no doubt the Noldo is a
physician. Legolas thought, recalling how easily his hopes and
fears had been discovered and turned against him, flung back upon him
to inflict new strife, forcing him to acknowledge appalling doubts as
facts. The healer had done this, he realized, whenever the archer had
begun to feel at ease with the two spies.
That thought renewed Legolas' anger, for
this was a severe perversion of such a gift.
"I assure you, Aragorn, that this elf is
a healer, whatever his name is! Are there so many in Imladris that I
need to detail his appearance?" the sharpness of these words sliced
through the lethargic mere-fumed air with enough vehemence to cause the
two travelers to exchange their concern across the fallen prince's
head.
Aragorn, still crouching beside Legolas,
reached out and lifted the swollen ankle to inspect it in an effort to
distract his friend from the open distress this conversation was
causing.
"How did you do this?" he asked quietly,
gently palpating the bruises to make sure no breaks were hidden within.
"The skin is seared, almost! Here is also a deep cut; I know not how
you walked upon this foot!"
"Ai!" Legolas jerked under the pressure
and tried to pull his leg away, but Aragorn held firmly to his calf and
continued the examination. "I was caught by a silk web as I was jumping
from one branch to another, and it ended my forward motion rather
abruptly so that the full weight of my body was yanked to a halt in
mid-flight. To free myself, it was necessary to shear it off my skin,
thus the abrasion you see, and the puncture was incised because I had
not the luxury of taking my time about it!"
Aragorn merely gave a non-committal
grunt as this was said, reaching instead for his pack and a strip of
linen bandaging to bind the ankle firmly.
"Legolas, please tell us of this healer
from Imladris," Mithrandir's words were softly spoken but demanded an
immediate response nonetheless.
The wizard did not think there was any
use in prolonging the misery this retelling was certain to bring
Legolas. He leaned over and squeezed the elf's shoulder supportively,
and as before the physical contact invoked the internal merger. The
mental image of the Lord of Imladris flashed across the Istar's
awareness, the vision overlaid with all the wild elf's loneliness and
longing, desire and despair, wrath and regret. Gandalf gasped and
stared into Legolas' eyes with shock and dread, snatching back his
fingers as if the flesh of the elf scalded him. And the archer turned
away as he closed his eyes against the wizard's visible aversion.
"Oh, this is, that is just, it is
unspeakable! How could he be this vindictive?" the wizard nearly roared
as he attempted to fit the foul realization into some logical
framework, stalking back and forth a few turns across the sucking muddy
clearing.
"What is it, Gandalf?" Aragorn rose
also, alarmed. "Who is it?"
"Ah! How can I speak the words?" the
Maia was distraught, but not more so than Legolas, who was now fully
cognizant of his former lover's true identity, for the open-ended
communication allowed dual exchange of awareness.
The fallen prince sat still, eyes shut
tight, absently fingering the wrapping on the injured ankle as the name
swirled through his mind:
Elrond. It was an empty acuity,
devoid of any sensations, detached from all meaning, removed from his
reality. Legolas found this vaguely interesting; his mind must be so
scandalized that his heart had extinguished all emotions, hiding them
away to prevent any reaction to this new addition to his calumnious
existence.
His sensitive fingertips ran along the
overlapped edges of the linen binding, revealing to his abstracted
brain the comforting repetition of the pattern formed by the
herringbone weave. The design faded and then he could no longer feel
the cloth beneath his touch.
It seemed as though he was beyond his
own being, outside of his vital flesh and bones, watching a cornered
animal desperately scrambling to get away from a converging barrage of
lethal arrow fire, aimed not to kill but to penetrate and incapacitate
body and limbs. The creature resolved into a hazy caricature of
himself, the attackers none other than his Noldor acquaintances. The
futility of such flight lent the imagined scene a bizarre humour, a
galling, gagging mirth caused by the frantic turning and scurrying of
the hapless prey as the arrows continued to pierce and slice, for the
foolish beast in its ignorance was at one and the same time running
from the assault towards the very predators assailing him.
'
Legolas, do you know who those two
elves are?' Aiwendil's words drifted through the little play,
underscoring the grotesquely mocking images.
A harsh blast of laughter broke from him
as he watched the internal struggle. The sheer hilarity of the
situation was all he could encompass.
'It
has been five years since we initiated the contingence, and our
informants lost track of him over two years ago.' Elrond's
explanation for his presence in the
Greenwood replayed through Legolas' consciousness
. So, that was
right after Naneth left for Valinor. He took time to plan out this
escapade carefully.
He could imagine it, the great Noldo Lord plotting with his comrade,
arguing over who would be first to taste the spoils of their victory,
leaving the comfort and security of their own lands to hunt down and
take possession of the last remaining shreds of Legolas' hope and
innocence, immolating both in the mercurial heat of their carnal acts.
It was astoundingly ridiculous that he had been the center of all
Elrond's activities yet had not gained the sort of importance he had
hoped to have in the noble Elda's life.
"Elrond! He hates me far more than Thranduil ever will." Legolas
managed to speak, answering in Gandalf's stead, amazed with the
recognition the words represented even as the sounds were formed and
floated free into the still and rancid air.
"What did you say?" demanded Aragorn, turning to stare at the elf,
who still struggled to contain the brash peals of laughter that kept
sneaking out between his lips and past his nose.
Suddenly he stopped laughing and opened his eyes to look at Aragorn,
and the next words from his mouth poured out the story of his
encounters with the two Noldor elves, admitting his impassioned
intimacy with both, for why bother to withhold what Mithrandir already
knew? Legolas spared them only the explicit descriptions of the
couplings, for he could not bring himself to admit to them his body's
responsiveness to these seductions. It was enough to acknowledge that
he had allowed these things to occur. He was completely debased and
despoiled, better for the human to understand and thus decide if he
should wish to continue his association with such depravity incarnate.
And in the speaking, the events became lacquered with the fine
varnish of the Noldo Lord's deeply held abhorrence for him, so obvious
now, so clearly evident in those terrible phrases and cruel caresses.
It was as if the power of his own being left Legolas' body with the
phrases, imbuing them with vitality and giving them form and substance.
The memories took on life anew and the days he spent with the two
Imladrians insinuated back into his universe, warped with the ugly
veneer of his lack of intrinsic value in their world. Thus Legolas' own
voice wounded him, and the full impact of the truth forced itself upon
his mind, a rape of the soul far exceeding the brutality even
Ailinyéro had conjured.
The Man sank down onto the spongy, peaty ground next to Legolas,
unable to tear his eyes away from the feral elf's as this sordid tale
unfolded, incapable of covering his ears to prevent the knowledge from
becoming his own, powerless to stop his mind from generating graphic
images to accompany the recitation. He simply could not reconcile these
scenes with the concept he held to be Elrond of Imladris, his father in
all ways but blood, kind and honourable counselor to everyone that
sought him, generous and welcoming benefactor to any in need of shelter
and respite from the woes of the darkening world.
Yet neither could Aragorn deny the ruthless honesty in the wild
warrior's recount, so fraught with anguish, splintering the bright
immortal spirit with every declaration. Aragorn glanced up to the
wizard seeking some repudiation, some sense that this was not what his
father had become, and failed to find it.
Gandalf looked old. It was not the physical representations of age,
wrinkles and grayness, the washed out cast to skin and hair, that gave
him his years this day, but the comprehension of the complete
destruction of the fallen prince occurring even as he watched, impotent
to stop it. When this day was done, the Legolas he knew would be no
more, and he could see the fragments of the Tawarwaith's personality
falling away with every syllable uttered like leaves from a dormant
beech in autumn, only the stark, naked structure of the
being left to survive the icy emptiness of winter's season to come.
Coupled to this loss was joined the simultaneous alteration of one
the Maia had held in high regard. Never again could he look upon Elrond
and see anything but the wreck he was accomplishing in this innocent's
life, already so far from wholesome without his egregious interference.
And what of Aragorn, for how could the Man come to terms with this
aspect of his foster father's character when Gandalf, removed from
bonds of affection and fealty, could not?
The Istar stood, a dim glimmer of the dynamic intensity he usually
personified, considering how to treat the raw, calamitous wounds of the
two in all of Arda he most dearly wished to protect, how to salvage
something clean and good from the harrowing and repugnant mess. He
could find nothing redeeming in this fate and silently cursed
Vairë.
All was silent and Aragorn realized the elf had stopped speaking,
all his words exhausted and the narrative completed. He turned back to
gaze at Legolas. The mortal felt some action was expected from him, as
a representative of the Peredhel House, yet paled at the idea of
mouthing insufficient terms of apology and regret. Aragorn physically
flinched at the tangible emptiness clothing the elf, a garment made too
expertly to fit him, designed to expose all the weaknesses and
vulnerabilities no one should ever have to reveal.
"Legolas, I know not what words to say; I believe your account is
accurate and honest, yet I cannot bring myself to accept its
conclusions," he began, shaking his bowed head.
"Well, it is not your choice to accept or deny. This is what I am,"
the Wood Elf responded acrimoniously, "so despicable a thing that I
have lain in lust with my mother's lover; one who might even be my
father, one I longed for centuries to claim me as his child!"
Both his friends experienced not for the first time Fearfaron's
constant frustration: Legolas interpreted what he heard with an
entirely unique set of personal definitions, all of them self-defeating.
"Do not say so!" Gandalf admonished as he knelt down next to them
both. He reached again for Legolas; firmly resting his palm against his
chest over the heart, knowing the elf could not doubt his sincerity if
he felt it through an internal link to the wizard. "You did not know,
or have any means to learn, who this Noldo truly is. The fault for
these actions does not lie with you."
"Aye," added Aragorn quietly. "I meant only that my horror stems
from this abominable abuse my father has done you, and I am loath to
know these things, for I love him dearly."
Ah, that is an unnecessary blow! Legolas mentally cringed,
as he comprehended Aragorn's admission.
The Man had been raised under the Elf Lord's care, had known his
loving concern and thoughtful instruction. Elrond had shared the gift
of healing with his human foster son and taught him the ways of elven
lore, clothing him and feeding him, shielding him from harm through his
young years, treating Aragorn with the same love undoubtedly granted to
his blood offspring. A love Legolas had yearned for and been denied.
"I would have been satisfied with kind regard," he said aloud.
"You have more than that, Legolas! I have not changed in my opinion
of your worth. I count you a most valorous friend," the Man protested,
not privy to the interior rambling.
Gandalf knew the thoughts behind the statement, though, and
encircled Legolas tightly, drawing him forcibly close. "Nay, it is not
enough! Love you do deserve, and from many you have it, myself not the
least of them, Legolas. Fearfaron holds you in his very center, right
beside Annaldír and no less in importance; do not forget this."
"I wanted him to love me." This sentence reached decibels only
scarcely within the auditory range of Legolas' friends, but they caught
it none the less and knew he was not referring to the carpenter.
"When I was young," Aragorn sighed, "I often wished the same. I
wanted him to bring you to live in our home."
This surprised the Wood Elf, that he had been known to the human,
and it seemed odd to him for Aragorn to have been aware of his
existence while he had never imagined the mortal's. His amazement must
have been apparent for the Man offered a sad smile and continued.
"Yes, it is so. You were the subject of much gossip during my
formative years, Legolas. My brothers and I argued for hours about what
you might look like and how you would act. Elladan said Thranduil had
named you his own and that was the end of it, but Elrohir was convinced
you were a virtual prisoner in Mirkwood, treated more like an
interloper than an heir."
From the agonized expression that passed across the wild elf's
features, Aragorn discerned the younger twin's assessment had not been
too far from the mark. He regretted the impromptu comment and
floundered to soften the impact.
"Elrohir and I devised elaborate schemes to infiltrate the Woodland
Realm's guard and spirit you away. He was quite convinced they would
succeed, but Elladan would never let us act upon our wishes,
threatening to tell Ad…to stop us."
Legolas could not help feeling warmly towards the human, who put
aside his love and loyalty to his own father and accepted Legolas'
words. The Wood Elf could sense that Aragorn closeted his
disappointment and sorrow over the entire fiasco in order to attempt
lightening the weight these events had deposited upon his friend's soul.
The mortal's frustration over inadvertently adding to the burden,
despite his sympathetic intentions, was evident. Legolas gave Aragorn a
faint smile that was more of the eyes than any facial expression. For
it did help; somehow, to know that he had been of interest to someone
in Imladris, and Legolas felt saddened for the hurt Elrohir would know
when the Man retold this saga.
For his part, Gandalf was pleased with the distraction the Man's
reflections offered Legolas. Obviously, life at Imladris had been an
imaginary plane in the wild elf's dreamscapes for centuries, and he
would be unable to resist having his curiosity satisfied. The wizard
gave a strong comforting embrace and disengaged from Legolas, rising to
gather up their belongings as the two talked.
"And the other Noldo?" Legolas needed to know, for he wanted to
forgive Berenaur. He could see now that the advisor had desired to tell
him everything, but could not manage it.
"That is Erestor; he has an infamous reputation for such -
activities. He is one of only two my father would trust in such a plot.
The other is Glorfindel of Gondolin, who would never be party to
anything so base," said Aragorn and with an unpleasant jolt realized
these were words he would formerly have used to describe Elrond's
character.
Legolas slowly nodded.
Such a clever ploy; applying truth to
clothe deception.
They were all too fatigued from the physical strain of battle and
the emotional turmoil of the unpleasant revelations to travel any
further this day, but the wizard welcomed the limits of their physical
forms. The fallen archer's raucous outburst of laughter earlier had
been unsettling, for the situation was not comical in any manner. The
Maia was convinced that lassitude was the only reason Legolas was yet
so calm in the face of another treacherous infidelity against his
encumbered spirit. It was a state he was sure would falter before very
much time passed.
"Did he ever speak of me?" the elf was quietly inquiring, and
Gandalf noted the refusal to utter the Elf Lord's name.
"Nay," was all Aragorn could say, and no more would he venture, for
every thought he voiced served only to injure his friend more. Indeed,
that single word fell as a weight of stone upon eggshells and Legolas
withdrew inward, drawing up his knees and bowing his forehead against
them.
"Legolas, this ground is damp and oozes. Is there any drier spot
where we may set up camp and rest?" Mithrandir walked over to them, his
arms full with packs, wet clothes and weapons, and looked down kindly
at the elf.
Legolas lifted his head and stared at the Maia blankly. Mithrandir
repeated his request with just the faintest of concern tinting both his
tones and his smile. This time the archer nodded and hauled himself up,
hopping a bit to steady his balance without placing too much weight on
the injured ankle. His stilted lurching carried him a few paces closer
to the pond and he gestured to a noble elder among the wood-clad folk
of the fen, all its limbs hung with magnificent gray curtains of
cloudy, ghostly moss.
"Here, there is a small talan up that hemlock, but a good ways high
amid the branches. Give me those things; I will carry them up and you
two may follow me. I am sure with care you both will manage well
enough."
"I do not think so!" Aragorn rose also and quickly placed himself
between the elf and the wizard, earning a deeply irritated scowl from
the former.
"It is perfectly secure, as well as warm and dry. I built that flet
myself!"
"No doubt it is a fine talan. I mean that you, who can barely stand,
are not the one to be toting weapons and packs. Take your own things
and we will see to ours."
"You are not skilled in this sort of climbing and the packs will
hinder you. Better for me to drop something than for you to fall and
break your back."
"I am not that incompetent, and Gandalf carried you down from a far
greater height just hours ago. Lead, Legolas, and we will be right
behind you," Aragorn said kindly and reached over to grip tightly
around the elf's left arm, giving the simple words the underlying
intent: his avowal to stand by the wild archer and face the
aftermath of Elrond's acts against him.
Legolas gave a single nod and looked away, for he could not stare
long into the mortal's genial visage without being overwhelmed by
sorrow for what his life might have been. He limped his way to the tree
and scrambled up with less grace and more heaviness in his limbs than
was normal for one of the Eldar, and waited for them to join him. As
they came within arm's length of the platform, he reached down to
relieve them of their baggage and offer a hand up.
When all three were safely alite, he stood and made his way over to
the little chest and pulled out a finely woven mat of river rushes and
thin blankets as soft and light as silk but warm to the skin. A small
wave of nausea moved through him and he sat down quickly, remembering
the last time he had shared a talan with two companions, and he
scurried to the edge to dispel the malignant rancor from him.
Before he could right himself and face his friends to explain, he
found Mithrandir at his side, cautiously helping him sit up as Aragorn
calmly handed over the water skin. They said nothing, and he was
grateful, for he thought if they showed him pity he would lose all
self-control and his mind would break.
Aragorn mixed another draught of the stomach cure and handed it
over, but his face crinkled up in unrestrained revulsion as he did so.
He covered his nose and mouth with his hand.
"I am sorry, Legolas, but now that we are up here and away from the
odor of rot in the water below, the stench from the battle emitted by
your clothes has become quite strong," he said apologetically. He was
starting to feel the need to retch as well and grabbed the mug back
from the elf, finishing the last of the tonic himself.
"Yes, it is bad," added Gandalf and affectionately patted the
archer's knee as he observed the dismay clouding his eyes. The wizard
took up one of the blankets, opening it out. "Wrap this round you and
hand me those filthy things; I will hurry down and see what a scrub in
the black water pond may accomplish."
Legolas rose unsteadily and backed away from him, stricken eyes
trained upon the proffered covering, and turned to the tree's trunk,
fully intent upon escape when Aragorn's firm grasp clamped round his
wrist, determinedly pulling him back. The wild elf's rage swept through
him in a flood of crimson from eartip to toes and he strained to rip
his arm free, toppling the Man backward to the floor upon his rear.
Gandalf moved with a speed that belied his aged appearance and
pinned the squirming elf to the tree trunk.
"Leave off!" the exiled prince finally shouted but Mithrandir did no
such thing and remained calm, staring warily down upon his captive
until he stilled, giving way to panting and violent tremors in the wake
of his fleeting ire. Legolas gradually raised his eyes, feeling the
Istar's upon him, and encountered there Mithrandir's generous empathy.
"I am sorry," Legolas mumbled, for he realized they did not
comprehend the significance of this scenario and had only meant to make
their stay in the close confines more tolerable. He allowed himself to
slump into the wizard's arms, leaning his head against the soft, singed
mass of the long grey beard and willed the Maia to have the
understanding he could not speak of aloud.
"No apology needed, Legolas," Mithrandir pulled him tighter as he
drew in a sharp breath, for the scenes were unbearable to witness even
in the abbreviated form the archer condoned. He labored to control his
emotions, determined for Legolas to comprehend that his disgust for
Elrond was not a personal denigration of the wild warrior's character.
"Let us reverse roles then; I will have the blanket and you can wear
my outer robe, at least until those leggings are clean and dried. Will
that serve?" the Maia asked gently, satisfied when Legolas finally
raised his head and nodded.
Aragorn watched with compassionate amusement from his spot on the
floor as the two made their wardrobe exchange, and even chuckled a
little to see the elf swamped in the thick flowing robe of the Istar.
Yet Legolas did not smile, and when he lowered himself to the mat he
stretched full out; in seconds his eyelids dropped down and he fell
into uneasy repose.
Gandalf frowned and took up the leggings, leaving the blanket until
his chore was finished. Clad in only his thin, thigh-length chemise and
a simple loincloth, he descended through the branches. When he returned
he draped the dripping breeches over a nearby branch, wrapped himself
in the blanket, and took his seat next to Aragorn.
"What are we to do?" Aragorn queried. "I am torn between forcing him
into a deeper sleep and fear that should I do so he would not wake
again."
"I will yield to your skills in the matter, for I have no advice to
offer. Aiwendil, perhaps, could confer with you on herb lore and make
appropriate suggestions. As to the rest of it, I can see no other
course than to bring this before the Council of the Wise. Elrond must
be held accountable, even though you love him devotedly and I have up
to now looked upon him with friendship," the wizard said.
Aragorn recoiled from this eventuality, for he dreaded to see his
foster-father thus exposed in what he felt must be some form of
grief-born insanity.
"I do not understand how no one suspected what was happening to
him," he murmured dejectedly.
"Elrond is not a victim!" Gandalf said sharply. "These are choices
he has made, Aragorn, not some unforeseen force manipulating him. Even
if we may acknowledge the tragedies of his long life, none of those are
in any way associated with Legolas. There is the one who has been
unjustly punished and used!" The wizard pointed at the unconscious
archer. The Maia wished he could make the truth easier for the Man, but
was unwilling to allow Aragorn to excuse the Lord of Imladris.
"This is a hard fate, Gandalf!" the mortal cried. With potent
clarity he suddenly envisioned the impact this disgrace would have upon
Arwen, who idolized her father, refusing even to admit to knowledge of
his long affair and Legolas' existence.
Gandalf grimaced appreciatively and reached for his pack. Removing
his pipe and tobacco he filled the briar, offering the pouch to his
comrade. Aragorn graciously accepted and delved into his belongings for
his own bowl. A murmured word of command from Gandalf raised sufficient
spark in both pipes to light them well, but Aragorn did not so much as
blink at the wizard's highly selective use of his abilities.
Legolas shifted in his sleep, briefly opening his eyes and sounding
a very unpleasant moan before curling up tightly and sealing his lids
back down.
The human did not like this response and shook his head. "No, he
must not dream just now, I think," he said and set aside his smoke to
search for the sleep elixir he had concocted the night he had met the
woodland warrior.
Going to Legolas side, he shook his shoulder carefully to wake him.
"Legolas, wake up now, just for a moment," he called. He had to do this
several times before the archer raised his groggy eyes to the Man's.
"Legolas, drink this and you will rest easier for a time." The elf
merely stared at him, disoriented in his half-conscious state, and so
Aragorn repeated the statement.
Legolas' vision cleared and he glanced at the small bottle the human
held out. He raised up on his elbow, reaching for it with eager hands.
With a convulsive swallow he forced it all down and then thrust the
vial back into Aragorn's hands, fighting the urge to cough the medicine
back up.
"Thank you. If there is enough for yourselves, you might wish to use
it, for I am through with this game. I am weary of manipulated paths
and will bear no more treacherous infiltration of my home. No more!
Tomorrow, we go to battle and finish it," he said with grim
determination. He did not wait for discussion or arguments. Legolas
turned his back to his friends and welcomed oblivion.
Tbc
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