Thranduilion [Son of Thranduil]
"Legolas!" Fearfaron yelled and shook him hard, desperate to force any
type of response, even a return to the screaming. "Do not
die! He is not worth this!"
"Calm yourself, he lives!" Aragorn snapped, trying to keep the bloody
limb still against the carpenter's heedless jerking. "Just hold
him steady; he will regain consciousness soon enough."
Fearfaron stared at him dumbstruck; he had not even noticed the Man
come into the room. He turned his attention to the seeping wound
and was gratified to see the flow was sluggish. The worried elf
watched the human work, pleased to see his competent hands carefully
removing the soaked bandaging in order to cleanse and rebind the jagged
gash. The mortal obviously had cared for such injuries before.
"What happened? He was fine when we left you," Aragorn complained.
"I told him Malthen is here. Better to hear it from me than find
out by meeting him in the courtyard; so I thought," Fearfaron's
guilt imbued the simple words with morbid despair.
"Malthen? What do you mean, that cannot be so!" the Man was
completely confused.
Movement at the doorway caught the carpenter's gaze before he answered
and he watched Gandalf hobble into the room and over to the bed.
Their eyes connected and locked as the wizard lowered himself onto the
mattress next to the unconscious archer. Without preamble the
Istar placed one hand over the old wound on Legolas' chest and began a
low, murmured incantation, flooding the weakened elf with a fine stream
of his own immortal essence. Almost at once, the grief stricken
warrior twitched and drew a deeper breath, exhaling a shaky sigh that
was between acceptance and anguish.
"What are you doing?" Fearfaron demanded. He knew exactly what
the wizard was attempting and did not like the idea at all. "You
have no right to lay such a claim upon him!" he hissed dangerously as
his hand darted over and snatched the Maia by the wrist. He
yanked the wizard's hand away and pulled Legolas closer onto his lap
when the fallen archer whimpered.
"Do not be a fool!" Gandalf growled. "I can help him; this was
effective before and thus was he able to make it through the trials of
battle to reach your side. I make no demands upon his spirit in
this. Legolas owes nothing in return."
"So you say, yet it cannot be avoided!" the carpenter rejoined tightly,
and then startled as the rest of the Istar's words settled into his
perception. "What do you mean 'before'? Tell me you have not you
done this to him, Mithrandir? Are you ignorant of what Legolas
will do when he understands how you have managed to aid him?"
"He has already pledged his eternal allegiance to the wizard," said
Aragorn softly. He had harboured his own misgivings about this
very issue, and now that it was out in the open he felt no need to
restrain his opinion. "The wizard shared with him thus for many
hours when Legolas was overcome with the grieving during our journey."
"Ah! So it is true!" this reply originated from the doorway as
Gladhadithen entered with Lindalcon at her side. She halted by
the bedside and crossed her arms, glaring pointedly at the Istar.
"What is it?" queried Lindalcon, slipping between the wizard and the
human to plant himself on the foot of the bed where he could see his
strife-laden friend. He reached out and patted the archer's knee
through the blanket. "What is happening to Legolas?"
"Mithrandir is infusing him with the elemental power of the Maiar,"
said Fearfaron. "The other known occurrence is the joining of
Elwë and Melian."
"This is not the same thing at all!" countered Gandalf irritably.
"I am only trying to strengthen him through this grieving malady,
nothing more."
"Your intentions may be thus, yet I think Legolas has already
established that the impact went much deeper. You communicate
with him through mind and thought freely, something he does with others
only via Tawar in times of great danger. It is to you he turned
after that horrendous nightmare, and it is for you he took that arrow
wound," Aragorn reminded his powerful friend.
"Valar! Whether you admit it or not you have stolen his right to
choose a mate!" Fearfaron was angry.
"That, I believe, was taken from him long ago!" barked Gandalf.
"Are you saying Legolas is enchanted? Will he become bound to
Mithrandir?" demanded Lindalcon in outrage.
"Nay!" shouted Gandalf. "Never would I claim him thus!
Legolas is unhindered by this; no advantage would I take of one in so
weakened a state, nor ever abuse his trust."
"Enough!" ordered the healer. "It is too late to change matters,
Mithrandir; you have done this thing and the effects cannot not be
altered now. Fearfaron, I know it is hard but you must allow the
wizard to resume his efforts. Whether we like it or not, he has
given Legolas a way to combat the grief. If we wish him to live,
Mithrandir will be involved henceforth."
"That is a very high degree of approbation to give one whose fealty is
unknown and unstated," came a solemn voice from the hallway. None
of the room's occupants had noticed the Woodland King's approach.
He entered the suite and surveyed them all, resting his eyes last upon
the deathly figure draped across the carpenter's knees. The screams
that had drawn him to this chamber were too horribly reminiscent of the
death cries of Oropher at the Last Alliance. It was with a
strange mixture of emotions that Thranduil regarded the outcast.
He was nearly convinced now that the elf before him was indeed his own
progeny, and the guilt, sorrow, and shame this acknowledgement
engendered was overwhelming. It galled him that he had been so
easily and cleverly manipulated, even to despising his own child before
it could be born.
And what has that child become, to foster such urgency in this Istar?
"What say you, wizard? For whom are you doing this most
unprecedented and selfless action?" The subtle overtone of
sarcasm was not lost on the gathered company.
"I am not involved in any of the petty disagreements you elves waste so
much time maintaining!" Gandalf gruffly replied. "My interest is
in Legolas himself. He is unlike any I have met since leaving
Aman and, although I am uncertain as to exactly how, he will be of aid
to me in the future. He will be important, not just here in the
Greenwood."
"I do not like this! It was you who convinced him to leave for
the Southern Regions. Now that I have seen him, it is obvious my
worries for him were more than justified. He lies in this state
because of the Noldor he encountered there. What other dangers
will you set against him?" Fearfaron countered.
"You know of this?" Gandalf was flabbergasted.
"I do not really believe Gandalf means to put Legolas in harm's way,"
said Aragorn in the wizard's defence. "I, too, am concerned about
the depth of the bond Legolas has formed, but I am confident the Istar
would not misuse that gift.
"However, I have to add that this warrior placed himself in jeopardy in
order to ensure that Gandalf and I made it here intact. Legolas
could have fled through the trees out of range of the Orcs had we not
been with him. More than once, he offered himself as lure to draw
off the majority of the enemy and give us time to escape."
"Thus Talagan reported," concurred the King.
"I suspected as much," said Gladhadithen with a sigh and a sad shake of
her head. "He will protect you foremost, no matter the cost to
himself, Mithrandir."
"A nice body guard you have acquired, wizard!" Thranduil's bitter words
rang out. "Such excellent timing! You choose to ensnare the
one elf that is fast becoming a hero of legendary proportions within my
lands. I consider that entirely too much influence for one
supposedly unconcerned with the 'petty' objectives of my regency."
"Thranduil, I assure you I have no designs of interfering in your
governance of these lands!" fumed the wizard. "I only want
Legolas to live."
"I want that, too!" Lindalcon spoke up boldly. "I say let the
wizard do what he can for Legolas. They can sort it all out
later, once he is healed. What is the grief for; is it because of
the Lost Warriors?"
"Nay, it is much more complicated," said Fearfaron wearily.
Despite his concerns, he had to agree with the young elf. He
wanted Legolas to survive, and if the wizard could pull him out of this
slow, horrendous death then he must be allowed to continue. "Very
well, Mithrandir; help him."
"Wait. Is it certain this is the only means to assist him?
Might he not arise from this morbid sleep of his own will, in time?"
the King spoke, his eyes once more settling on the insensible features
of the wild warrior.
"I did not even think the wizard's gift would have any effect, to be
honest with you," Gladhadithen shrugged as she passed her healer's eye
over the prone figure in the carpenter's lap. "He is fighting as
hard as he can, however he is so depleted I doubt he has the reserves
to pull out of it alone."
The assembled occupants fell silent upon this prognosis and all waited
for some sign from the King or the Maia that the cure might proceed.
"What assurance can you give me, Mithrandir, that you will not unduly
influence Legolas against the interests of the Woodland Realm?"
demanded Thranduil again, but at this Fearfaron became impatient.
"Nay, that is irrelevant! Never could anyone force Legolas to act
against Tawar! What I want is your promise that you will not
torment his heart any further than has already been done. And you will
not take advantage of his early…" the carpenter caught himself when
with a quick toss of his head Lindalcon cleared a stray wisp of hair
from his face, "…early physical conditioning," Fearfaron finished
elusively. He knew Mithrandir would certainly understand him
while with any luck the young usurper would not.
Indeed, Gandalf was furious at this suggestion that he would use
Legolas for sexual gratification, and only Lindalcon's perplexed
countenance prevented the Istar from bellowing back his enraged protest
at such a slur upon his character.
"Fearfaron, I have only the wish to reduce the pain Legolas endures,"
the wizard spoke through clenched jaws. "No other motive marks my
willingness to strengthen him. How could I seek to harm one who
has risked his life to salvage mine? I am appalled you would
consider for even a second that I am capable of adding to the toll of
woes exacted by Legolas' abusers."
Fearfaron held the wizard's fiery gaze a few seconds and then turned
away with a brief shake of his head. In the end, there was no
other choice to make; he would not defy the Maia's will nor reject
Mithrandir's gift of life.
"What guarantee can I offer, Thranduil, that you will recognise?" the
Istar turned to the Woodland King. "I can swear upon my oath to
my Order, if you like, for by that vow am I forbidden to coerce any to
my desire, even if my only ambition is to render good upon Arda, and
thus are my actions guided."
"Well, some of the time," Aragorn could not help interjecting wryly,
and shrugged when the Istar sent him a frown of such heated wrath as to
boil tree sap.
"I will accept such a pledge, Mithrandir," Thranduil said, "and remind
you that you have of your own free will bound yourself to the interests
of the Greenwood through this association."
"Oh, now who seeks an unlooked-for spy, one that comes and goes among
all the free peoples of Middle-earth, no less!" thundered Gandalf,
rising from the bed and looking more Maia than old Man. "My bond
with Legolas does not make me subject to your interests or your
bidding!"
"Peace! Enough bickering, this solves nothing!" admonished the
healer.
"Legolas will not be party to any political manoeuvring anyway,
Thranduil," Fearfaron reminded him. "Please, Mithrandir, I find
your intent to be honourable. If you can succeed in this cure,
please do not delay any longer."
With this directive the wizard resumed his contact with the fallen
prince and the air in the chamber immediately became animated, humming
with the understated puissance contained in the Istar's voiced
supplications to the Powers on Legolas' behalf. Gleaming as would
a faint mist rising upon the river at dawn, a shimmering veil of
charged ether surrounded them while Gandalf lent as much of his own
life force as he could to Legolas.
No change seemed evident, yet everyone remained fixed where they were,
hoping for a dramatic indication that the grieving was once more in
remission. An attendant to the Royal Consort arrived at the
chamber and after brief discourse with the King led away Thranduil and
the healer. Worried for his mother, Lindalcon rose from the bed
and followed them.
Aragorn watched the carpenter. The kindly elf had begun to weep
silently as he held Legolas and gently smoothed his fingers across the
ghostly pallor of the warrior's brow. Fearfaron spoke
continuously and softly, his voice too quiet for the words to carry
beyond Legolas' ears, interjecting faint kisses upon the crown of his
foster-son's head. It was plain the older elf was torn over this
situation, desiring Legolas have life and also retain the freedom to
mold it, and Aragorn was moved by the carpenter's distress.
The Man transferred his vision to Gandalf. When they had met,
Aragorn had been surprised to learn of the Istar's true nature, finding
his disguise as an elderly human male bizarre. The Istar had
cautiously explained about the possibility of attracting the First Born
on too strong a level, should the true beauty of the Maiar be made
visible through the physical form chosen to house their innate
glory. By his own words, Gandalf had claimed his mission too
dangerous and important to justify entanglement on such a personal
level.
Yet Aragorn wondered if perhaps it was not the other way round.
Mayhap it was the Istari who were drawn to the First Born, bright,
exquisite Children of Iluvatar, examples of the Music beyond the
knowledge of the Ainur. The distraction was apparently enough to
cause the powerful beings to shift aside whatever duties their service
to the Valar impinged.
The story of Melian and Elwë, known perhaps to no other Man,
illustrated Aragorn's premise perfectly. Who had been spell bound
in the woods of Doriath? Surely, the majestic Istar could have
freed the Teleri elf from such enthralment, yet she did not.
Whatever Melian's original cause might have been, she completely
immersed herself in the concerns of her beloved's people.
The consequences of her choice for a mate were far reaching. What
alterations of Elwë's character her presence made were debatable,
yet upon his death so changed was she that she fled back over sea at
once. Great was the suffering of the elves of Doriath upon her
abandonment and the collapse of her protective magic.
With a heavy sigh Aragorn got up and moved to the basin, belatedly
cleansing the sticky, drying blood from his hands. The more he
considered it the more the human became convinced; Gandalf was the one
enchanted. What that might bode for the dread purpose of the
Istar, should Legolas not survive, the mortal could not imagine.
I cannot say I entirely blame the King for his fears. It may be
perilous to claim the wizard as a relative by law, no matter how
removed Legolas is from the throne.
The mortal's impressions of Thranduil were not altogether derogatory,
though he found him rude and haughty. Not once had the Sinda Lord
even acknowledged the Man's presence in his stronghold! Still, he
had opened his home to the wounded travellers, even though the former
prince was exiled and outcast. It could not have been easy to
openly assist someone that had brought such dishonour to his
people. Aragorn even suspected his bargaining with Mithrandir was
induced by a strange sort of possessiveness towards the wild Wood Elf,
a grudging pride that Legolas had somehow captured the Maia's
sympathies.
Who could not feel for the suffering that one endures, he
thought
sadly.
And with this thought the Man returned to the cause of Legolas'
terrible grief. There was so much of the puzzle missing that he
dared not speculate on the identity of Malthen. It was apparent
this was not merely a lover's nickname for his foster father; Malthen
was a unique entity. That raised anew the nature of the nightmare
the fallen archer had so grotesquely acted out. Nor had it
escaped Aragorn's notice that Fearfaron was already aware of the
Noldor's presence and impact upon Legolas. He found himself
wishing for Lindalcon's return so that he could question the youth on
some of these mysteries.
Hours passed, Aragorn lost count of how many. He was aware of the
wizard's continuous chanting and the faint counterpoint of the
carpenter's pleas for Legolas to rouse himself. The Man stirred
the fire in the grate, wondering absently why no retainers or servants
had arrived to check on such things, and added fuel.
Not wood, the black rock that burns, used by the dwarves, he
noted
with great surprise.
He settled before the hearth in a wondrously comfortable leather clad
chair, the twin to the one he had dragged near the bed earlier, and
leaned his head back against the cushioned support, closing his eyes to
welcome sleep.
The candles' guttering near extinction met his gaze when he startled
awake, uncertain at first what had garnered his notice, for the room
was utterly still. The silence was complete for neither the
wizard's prayers and spells nor the carpenter's imploring exhortations
sounded through the space. A glance to his right showed the cause
of his wakening. Lindalcon was stretched out on the settee; legs
draped over one arm while his head was propped against the other.
The youth had returned to check on his friend's condition and was fast
asleep, cuddling something against him in his arms, and the Man smiled
at this endearing example of innocence.
Aragorn looked to the bed and found the Maia had returned to the chair
and was apparently sleeping sprawled out as though completely drained,
his injured leg resting on the ottoman. Fearfaron sat with
Legolas still over his lap, a glazed and glassy cast to his eyes as he
protectively cradled his foster son.
Aragorn heaved himself from the chair and approached them. A
quick inspection revealed no new aggravation to the invalid's injuries
and a healthier caste to his fair features. His eyes were still
shut, but at least his respiration was more regular and he did not
outwardly show indications of severe discomfort. Legolas seemed
to once more be slumbering in a healing torpor.
Satisfied, the Man returned to his warm spot by the fire and lounged
back, resting his heels upon the grate where the coals smouldered in
acrid fumes and iridescent glow. He returned to sleep almost as
soon as his head dropped down upon the upholstered cushions.
A burning, sharp sensation of searing pain stabbed abruptly through
Legolas' side as though an arrow pierced him there anew, and yet just
as swiftly dulled down to a ponderously irritating throb. On the
very farthest edges of awareness, he floundered against the thick and
muffling cloak of oblivion to comprehend the intermittent discomfort
and make some sense of the incongruous sound accompanying the jarring
paroxysm.
It was laughter, clear and sweet, sounding high and ringing elegantly
in the early morn, more akin to the sound of a songbird's warbling than
a mirthful voice. The sound was accompanied by the slight
pressure of something warm and fluttery dancing over his face, brushing
at his eyelashes, of all things! He turned his head a little to
get away from the strange nuisance.
The injury in his side flared up once more, and Legolas could not
prevent a small flinch as he squirmed away from the hurt. His
movement produced a sympathetic readjustment of the form against which
he was closely held. He recognised Fearfaron's comforting clasp
around his arm and the steady, calming cadence of his heart thrumming
rhythmically against his back. The carpenter did not awaken
however, only tightened his grip around his foster son's shoulders.
The laughter erupted again, and then the poking at his eyelid resumed,
and Legolas impatiently brushed his hand up towards the offending
irritant. Another high-pitched giggle broke free when his fingers
connected with the intrusive, touching digits and next something
pinched down on his nose, blocking his nostrils quite effectively.
"Bah!" the archer whispered as his mouth opened to take in air, and
again the tinkling peals of merriment met his ears. He forced his
eyes open a minuscule amount and found himself staring into a set of
hazel-rimmed green depths filled with childish joy and curiosity.
Legolas pried his lids up further and gazed fully at the dainty face
regarding his, barely inches away. There was an elfling perched
on his chest, a very small elfling, and he was finally able to pinpoint
the source of the flashes of pain emanating from his side. Her tiny
foot was lightly prodding him, as if he was a horse being urged to get
moving.
Legolas stared in amazement, and suddenly felt the urge to laugh as he
realised how silly he must look with this little one straddling him,
the fingers of one hand firmly attached to his nose while with her
other she duplicated the procedure on herself. He smiled and the
child smiled back, letting go of both nasal protrusions, and calmly
stuck one thumb in her mouth, hospitably offering her new friend the
other. Legolas shook his head, still smiling in astonishment.
"Are you a dream, little one?" he whispered. Something about the
babe's features struck a chord of recognition within him, but he could
not bring to mind whose offspring he beheld.
The child gurgled out more laughter and clapped delightedly, shaking
her head of curly nut-brown ringlets.
"Gwilith!" she piped out suddenly in her baby voice and put both her
little palms against his cheeks, gently squeezing them to make a
fish-face of the archer's features.
Legolas did laugh then, though it hurt his side to do it and the sound
died away as a low moan.
The elfling stilled and assumed a pensive expression of deep
concern. She turned about and slid down, landing on the floor
silently, and trotted gracefully away as Legolas watched.
Approaching the sitting area where Aragorn and Lindalcon were quite
obviously in deep repose, the little one grabbed Lindalcon's hand and
tugged at him urgently.
"Lind'on!" her bell-voice broke into his reverie and he stirred,
smiling at her.
"What is it, Gwilwileth? I thought you were sleeping?" he
whispered so as not to disturb the others. He reached down and
pulled the child up and held her against his chest with every intention
of returning to his rest, but the toddler was not co-operative.
She wriggled about in his arms relentlessly as he shushed and cajoled
her to be still. Her insistent fussing the older elf ignored,
paying no head to her pleas of indistinct babbling though her meaning
was anything but vague. At last the child squeezed out of
Lindalcon's grip by inelegantly biting down on his chin. The
words he hissed were truly not meant for such young ears.
"What is it?" the wizard awoke in an instant, staring around for the
source of the indignant curse the youth had uttered. Mithrandir
instinctively reached out to grasp Legolas' hand, which he found
already extended to meet his. Their interior connection was just
as instantaneous.
"Lindalcon," Legolas called softly from the bed and instantly the youth
bolted from his seat and grabbed up the elfling, hurrying to his
friend's side.
"Did Gwilith disturb you?" the younger elf asked. Legolas just
shook his head.
"You are awake! That is wonderful," spoke the carpenter gently,
fully roused by the commotion as well. He smoothed back the
tangled hair from Legolas' wan countenance, examining the tension in
the fair features wrought by chronic duress. Their eyes met and
Fearfaron carefully hugged the injured elf, placing a gentle kiss upon
his forehead, to which attentions Legolas grinned happily.
Fearfaron's gaze fell upon the Istar's hand wrapped securely around the
fallen archer's; he sighed almost imperceptibly. How could he
object, seeing his adopted child so improved and the anguish much
diminished?
"I am sorry she woke you, Legolas, but I am also glad. I feared
you would not, and everyone was asleep when I got back so that I could
not ask how you fared," Lindalcon spoke in hushed tones, for the human
was still asleep, and propped the infant up on his hip. The child
stared wide-eyed at Legolas, thumb securely in her mouth as she grasped
a lock of Lindalcon's hair between her fingers.
Seeing them together, Legolas had no doubt they were brother and
sister, and the shock of this caused the archer's eyes to open hugely
and his mouth to fall agape in a most undignified manner.
The elfling laughed at him around her thumb and pointed with the other
chubby hand. "Lim [fish]," she cooed.
Hearing this, Legolas could not resist the desire to encourage more
from the light-hearted elfling. He pursed his lips and his brows
went up, causing another round of giggling to spill out of the
impetuous elfling. Even Lindalcon could not suppress a small
snicker. The wizard and the carpenter beamed in amused pleasure
to see Legolas distracted from his trials.
"Nay, Gwilith! Legolas, this is Legolas. You can say it; I
know you can," Lindalcon coaxed her, eyes darting from the child to his
friend gleefully.
"Limlas [fishleaf]!" the child blurted and was overjoyed at the chuckle
this earned from the injured elf and the snort that escaped her
brother's nose. "Limlas, Limlas!" she repeated in her singsong
voice, encouraged by their attention.
Gandalf could not suppress a deep belly laugh any longer and the
rumbling guffaw rolled through the room, joined by Fearfaron's burst of
giggling.
"Oh no, I believe that is rather final sounding, Legolas. I am
sorry!" the youth lied as he smiled widely.
Legolas' grin was enormous as he reached out and cautiously patted the
elfling's head while she yawned and snuggled into her brother's
shoulder.
"Your sister? How old is she?" he asked softly, still amazed this
could be so.
"Yes, she looks just like Nana, doesn't she?" Lindalcon said as he
settled on the edge of the bed, adjusting the child onto his lap as he
pulled himself carefully up. "She is almost two years old."
"Why did no one tell me when last I was here?" Legolas demanded, more
than a little insulted not to have been let in on this startling event.
"I did not even know myself until Naneth was nearly due to
deliver. You had already left by then." The younger elf answered.
"I wrote you about it," added Fearfaron. "Did you not receive the
news?" Legolas shook his head silently.
"Nana and I had been at odds, and I have avoided both her and the
King," Lindalcon continued. "She did not seek me out to tell
me. That is mostly my fault because I was still angry that she
joined with Thranduil." Lindalcon was clearly not finished
feeling bitter over both the relationship and the child's creation
being withheld from his knowledge.
The little one tensed under his change in tone and he relented at once,
soothing her hair and kissing the soft downy strands until she relaxed
and drifted back into reverie.
"I could not stay away from Gwilith, though, and she has brought Naneth
and me closer. It is still not the same as before we came
to the stronghold; I will not pretend Thranduil is part of my
family. But Gwilith is my sister, and I am the only one Nana
trusts to watch over her, other than herself," he stated proudly.
"She is beautiful!" Legolas said and his joyous smile flowed over the
two. A supportive squeeze to his fingers drew his attention to
the Istar, whose gleaming eyes yet burned with strong concern for how
this would affect the forest champion. Legolas returned the
pressure to reassure his benefactor, silently renewing his pledge to
Mithrandir at the same time.
"Her name is Gwilwileth [butterfly], but she cannot say that so we have
all taken to calling her Gwilith. I am Lind'on; Iarwain is
Arwain; Fearfaron is just Faron, and now you are Limlas."
Lindalcon hesitated; watching Legolas carefully as though trying to
decide if he was fit enough to continue the conversation.
"There is more to tell," he said as his eyes travelled over the
battle-weary body, down to the clasped hands, and returning to gaze
with questioning concern into the archer's pain dulled orbs. "How
are you, truly?"
"I am in some discomfort," Legolas' reply was barely whispered, and
Lindalcon was startled by the admission. "But it is better than
before, thanks to Mithrandir."
"What has happened to you? Why has Mithrandir intervened; is
there really no other means to keep you alive?"
"Please, Lindalcon, do not ask me to speak of this!" Legolas groaned
and turned away, huddling against Fearfaron and burying his face
against the carpenter's shoulder.
"Ai! Do not bring these things up now, Lindalcon! There is time
enough to discuss it all once Legolas has recovered," he scolded the
younger elf.
"True, but what is it you are not revealing, Lindalcon? Is it so
terrible?" Gandalf demanded.
"Nay, not bad so much as rather shocking. I know I was shocked,
and I am not even really affected by it, at least not in the same
way. I do not want to make Legolas relapse!"
"Valar, Lindalcon! Now I am worried! Tell me this dread
knowledge at once!" Legolas propped himself up so he could stare
the younger elf in the eye. "Do you know what he is hiding,
Fearfaron?"
"I can guess. Whatever it is can wait until you are more rested,
Legolas. You have been through enough stress as it is," the
carpenter stated. "Lindalcon, I would rather you had waited until
Legolas is more fully recovered to bring these tidings."
"I would have, but I just needed to tell someone, and he seems much
better now."
"Lindalcon, if you do not tell me I will have to go and find out for
myself! Obviously it is important or you would not have hesitated
to speak. I insist; if this concerns me I have a right to know."
Legolas stirred and made movements suspiciously similar to ones
required to get out of bed, but Fearfaron held him firmly in place.
"Nay, be still! You are worse than that elfling there," scolded the
carpenter. "Very well, Lindalcon, I suppose he will hear soon
enough, if it is what I suspect."
"Alright. But you must promise not to let him be overcome by it!"
This aside he directed to the Maia with a glare partially imploring and
threatening at the same time.
"It is just that Naneth has been in labour all day and night, that is
why I have charge of Gwilith now. She woke up in all the noise
and bustle in Nana's room; the healer told me her crying was a distress
to Naneth, so I took her with me. Just an hour or so ago my baby
brother was born."
Legolas blinked, dumbly staring at his friend, trying to make the
statement sensible to him. The words just did not seem to belong
in the same reality where he existed.
Thranduil had a son, Lindalcon's brother, a true prince of the Woodland
Realm.
Tbc
Contents Previous Next Comments
