A/N: Calenharn, it has been a long wait, but here is the chapter
promised so many months (a year?) ago!
Tangadad Buiad [Establishing Allegiance]
The Tawarwaith watched them go with only moderate misgivings over their
plans, slightly uneasy due to the disastrous result of the previous
scheme generated by his surrogate family.
But Fearfaron was not involved in that; he will ensure the
outcome of this project is as amicable as the talan he built for
us.
The thought made Legolas smile, recalling that he had yet to secure the
hammock, deciding it was the first task to undertake upon returning to
the glade.
Well, second, perhaps. he revised, indulging a vivid
waking dream of capturing the seneschal's sensuous lips in a kiss so
deep and long as to make him swoon. The vision held him spellbound
several moments before reason intervened, reminding that if he did not
acquire a suitable ring and leave the stronghold, never would this
delightful scene come to pass.
He turned from the arched exit and marched purposefully through the
open iron-work portal into the massive treasury, curiosity overcoming
every other consideration for a moment. Save for Thranduil, no elf had
been within the guarded caverns; not even bearers toting new
acquisitions made it beyond the vestibule for the King catalogued his
goods personally and trusted no one. Even Talagan was not permitted
within the vaults.
Legolas stared at the ranks of rugged oaken shelves, befuddled as to
where to start his search. How would he find rings within this
gargantuan haul of wealth? He wandered amid the aisles, peering into
boxes and bins, and was soon diverted by the magnificent collection of
swords and knives, armour and shields and helms all brightly shining
and free of dust or rust.
As if someone cares for them with diligent
regularity.
And that this person could only be Thranduil struck him as amusing, for
he could imagine the mighty ruler on bended knee, wielding a rag and
polishing paste, scrubbing away at the prized possessions. A snort of
jeering laughter reverberated off the walls and Legolas moved to
another section of the room.
Long mahogany cases, four in all, stood closely side by side at the
very back of the immense cave and to these the Tawarwaith drew near.
Each one held eight drawers that spanned the width of the cabinets yet
were shallow in depth. He pulled one open and gave a low whistle of
astounded appreciation, for the bin was lined in creamy silk and packed
with jewellery of exquisite craftsmanship adorned with all kinds of
gems.
Rings and bracelets, necklaces and belts, coronas and circlets ranging
in size from that which might fit an elfling to things only a giant of
a warrior could put to use. He picked up and examined several rings
with magnificently worked precious stones in glorious colours from
fiery translucent red to murky, clouded, mottled sapphire. None of
these were suitable for a bonding ring, however, and he shut the long
drawer, wincing at its strident, rasping snap, and pulled loose the one
below it.
In this compartment, likewise filled with finished gems, the stones
were loose. While cut and faceted with the expert care and creative
distinction for which the children of Aulë were
famous, not one was set into metal of sewn onto cloth or leather. As
before, the kinds were more numerous than Legolas' knowledge of the
terms for such and the vast selection was carefully organised by
colour, grade, and size.
He marvelled over these as well, finding it hard to set aside an oval,
egg-shaped stone exactly the hue of his mother's eyes. It was heavy and
he had no idea what name the gemstone might be called, wondering if
there were books that told these things within the stronghold library.
The hard, smooth weight rolled easily across his palm, pleasantly cool,
perfectly flawless and, though he had absolutely no use for such an
item, Legolas slipped it into the pocket of his leggings.
In the front corner of the drawer was an oblong wooden box, simply made
without carving or decoration, clasped with a loose hook and eye hasp.
Its common form and humble appearance made the primitive container
stand out in the company of so luxurious a gathering of coloured,
ice-bound fire displayed by the jewels and his interest was engaged at
once. Thranduil was meticulous and exacting in his desire for precision
in all things, and this chunk of wood amid the gems was as a scrub oak
in the midst of towering incense cedars.
The Tawarwaith took it up and opened the lid, drawing in a deep breath
at the contents. The humble cask held a fortune in precious stones, the
relics of a legend from the First Age, proof of the verity of the
ancient tale whose principals were long departed from Middle-earth,
victims of the chances of fate and the greedy fingers of death. Legolas
beheld the Emeralds of Girion.
He could do nothing but stare, flummoxed; he had never realised the
priceless ornaments were in Thranduil's possession and wondered at
this, for such infamous objects would have been a favourite topic with
which to impress visiting dignitaries from foreign realms. The King
delighted in story telling and would have made the history of these
gems one such that it would require three days in the narration.
Legolas felt a keen disappointment, for he did not know the real tale
of how the gems came to be as he was certain Thranduil must.
He decided it was likely the jewels came into the Sinda Lord's hands
long after his majority, probably even post-dating his commission to
the Guard and assignment to Talagan's corps. For once this career had
been allowed Legolas seldom returned to his rooms within the fortress.
Only to visit his Naneth did he set foot in the cavernous stronghold
and, while she was fond enough of riches, Ningloriel had no use for the
chronology of their existence.
Yet surely she would have known if these gems were part of her
husband's horde.
Legolas could not deny he felt a bit cheated, for throughout his
elfling days the one enjoyable activity he had shared with his sire he
had been those stories Thranduil told during formal banquets and feasts
for the entertainment of guests. Wistfully Tirno pushed through the
small, green stones of varying size, five hundred altogether, as bright
and cheery as new leaves in spring's earliest moments. They were
unbound; at what point in their history the emeralds had been freed
from the delicately constructed golden necklace into which they had
originally been set Legolas could not guess.
How fine these would look fixed within mithril circlets for
the prince and princess of the Woodland Realm.
There were more than enough to decorate a sword's scabbard and to
create another less ostentatious necklace as well.
And for
Lindalcon a hair clasp, and a ring and matching pendant to give to his
love, whenever he should meet her. A jubilant smile lit
Legolas' sky blue eyes as he snapped the lid shut and tucked the plain
wooden box under his healthy arm. He would see it done, from these gems
would gifts be made to mark his siblings' twenty-fifth begetting day
anniversaries and for each one's Coll o Gwedh.
Humming a merry little tune he had picked up from Mithrandir during one
of the Istar's earliest visits in the Wood Elf's memory, the Tawarwaith
shut the repository and moved to the next case. Surmising only more
gems would be discovered in the first one's remaining compartments, he
set the box of emeralds on top of the cabinet and pulled open the
uppermost drawer. He found what he had been seeking immediately.
Revealed within was an abundance of gold, silver, and mithril bands,
each one plain and free of adornment, lining the bin the way leaves
covered the forest floor in autumn.
"Ah! Herein does my treasure's token lie!" he exclaimed in soft tones
of warm satisfaction.
He set about examining the rings one by one, setting aside those
wrought from the purest gold of the correct size for his Berenaur's
index finger. Many were inscribed on the inner surface, but this was no
deterrent and in fact he deemed it a fair omen to choose a ring that
had graced the hand of someone's beloved from days long past. Even if
the wearer was removed to Mandos, still a true bond would never
diminish, and the physical sign of such a trust would be a perfect
emblem for his devotion to the Noldo Lord. And he hoped, though he
dared hardly even think it, to find one that had belonged to someone
tied to him by blood, perhaps even one of his uncles.
Nay, be honest within the silence of your heart at
least, he chided his hesitant reluctance to admit his goal,
you seek Minya'dar's own bonding ring.
With a sigh he ceased his hunt for a moment and leaned upon the solidly
constructed case, feeling the strain of the last hours return as a
sudden wave of light-headed dizziness swept through him. Steadying his
balance, Legolas gauged the small pile of golden bands set upon the
richly coloured tight-grained surface, considering if he should stop
searching and choose from among these. Before he could answer his
internal query, the sound of booted feet descending the spiralling
stone steps reached his hearing.
The rhythm of the gait, the length of the stride, and the weight of the
tread, all were familiar and recognisable in an instant. He had just
sufficient time to regain his composure and stand straight before
Thranduil paced through the open gates, pausing just a half-step to
note the gore coated key still lodged in the mechanism of the lock
before resuming, a soft curse over the loss of protection for the stash
preceding him.
The King stopped, startled to see his rejected first-born there,
staring in bold defiance, loathing and bitter wrath openly displayed in
flashing eyes of deep indigo. His gaze travelled the elf, rigidly
poised in offensive posture, instinctively prepared to meet the
challenge despite having one arm bound up in a sling and a shoulder
swathed in cotton gauze. Thranduil's brow creased in indignant lines of
disbelief; the cast off warrior was wearing Oropher's panther skin
cloak about his shoulders, clasped at the neck with the Sinda Lord's
Hûn-en-Ûr [Heart of Fire], a
blood red ruby occluded and dark, the gift of his mate's naneth upon
their betrothal.
As Thranduil was processing this visual affront, a casual flick of the
Tawarwaith's wrist cast the right side of the heavy cape of plush black
fur behind him.
"What are you doing here?" the King demanded, but remained just inside
the gaping gates.
"I am looking for something. What do you want?" Legolas sniped back,
sounding more assured than he felt. He was astounded to see the bruises
and lacerations, recently treated and fading but still visible, marking
Thranduil's comely features. He could not hide his astonishment and
gawked at the swollen cheek, now dark purple, and the matching round
knot protruding at the temple. "What happened to you?" he blurted out.
"I will give no answer to you," countered Thranduil, one hand rising to
palpate the tumescent mass carefully, slowly advancing toward the
Tawarwaith. "Do not pretend to concern over my well-being. And this is
my storeroom, every item within it belongs to me. You are trespassing;
leave at once!"
"It is of no consequence; I have no wish to cause you discomfort by
asking you to reveal who gave you such a thrashing. Yet I will stay."
"Hah! Several misguided Wood Elves attempted to avenge your injury, if
you must know, and they have been dealt with appropriately. Your design
to incite mayhem and unseat the House of Oropher failed. Now get out!"
Thranduil, by then less than an arm's length from his first-born, flung
out his pointing hand to indicate the exit.
"I have never enteratined such an aim!" Legolas jumped slightly at the
sudden move but recovered well, holding his ground. "Mayhap the
woodland folk have grown weary of your arrogance and bigotry. And I
will go when I have found what I seek.
"I have every right to be in here; we are the same blood, you and I,
and do not ever tell me otherwise again. Nor anyone else, for that
matter. But neither would I have you announce the fact; it is not
exactly a connection I am proud about." The Tawarwaith's sneering
disdain was blatant and he took a step forward to strengthen his claim.
The words did not come as a surprise to Thranduil and his lips
compressed into implacable lines that emphasised his obstinate chin,
which lifted even higher as he glared down on the outspoken upstart.
The King was not certain which was more objectionable, hearing the
child of Ningloriel demand acknowledgement or his repudiation of the
Sinda's character.
"You comprehend the curse of the lock and key, good! Let it be as a
caution to you; guard your words and reign in your insolent demeanour
in my presence, henellon [boy child]."
"I will say what needs to be voiced and present whatever outward
display of respect, or lack thereof, you have earned. How could you do
something so vile to your own brothers? Do you not fear to face
Oropher's wrath for such treachery?"
"I will not defend my actions to you, and of Oropher you are ignorant.
Do not speak my father's name!" roared Thranduil. "And that cloak
belongs to him; remove it at once!"
"Oropher of Neldoreth is my Miny'adar!" Legolas yelled back and pointed
at the spot between Thranduil's furrowed brows. "He would not begrudge
me its use in such a situation. Indeed, I believe he would have
pummelled you unconscious for stabbing one of his grandchildren."
"Completely inaccurate! He would have struck you down himself ere you
came close enough to pose a threat to me! How dare you presume to know
his mind? He would not be well pleased with your penchant for visiting
violence upon your own family," Thranduil snarled and slapped the
accusing finger out of his line of sight.
But his eldest did not reply, instead standing mute and motionless as
though a new trance had overtaken him, staring into Thranduil's fierce
green eyes with an expression composed of equal parts shock and dismay.
What now? worried the King and his heart gave an
involuntary skip of instinctive fear for the next move the
unpredictable wild elf would make.
Legolas was afforded a moment of clarity, observing his interaction
with his estranged father as though from beyond his body, and the words
of Fearfaron resounded in his thoughts. Memories of his Naneth engaging
in such volatile encounters assailed him; such confrontations had
driven him to hide in the Sentinel throughout his elfling days.
Following these unpleasant recollections, the remarks of his uncles
reproached him. How would he be able to minimise Thranduil's paranoia
and its accompanying isolationist policies if he continued on this
path? Images of his baby brother and sister completed the catalogue of
self-chastisement; the Tawarwaith realised he needed to alter the
established pattern before the construct collapsed into bloodshed anew.
"Aye, Miny'adar would be appalled to have witnessed that scene. I have
not been thinking very clearly since Berenaur's dunking. It is true, I
deliberately bated you, was using you for my own ends." Legolas sighed
and frowned as he flashed a speculative glance at his openly wary sire,
but was not overwhelmed with gloating satisfaction to observe the
evidence of the King's confusion.
Ai! Miny'adar would indeed be horrified to behold this
scenario and Fearfaron would have dragged me out of here rather than
permit a repeat of the Council Chamber episode. Nonetheless, it is
galling to beg absolution of this ogre.
"I ask pardon for the threat and the ruse; and thank you for the
restraint you demonstrated in not plunging that foul dagger directly
into my heart. Then you would have been guilty of a crime Miny'adar
would never forgive and a surfeit of such burdens already bows your
back." Legolas placed his unharmed hand over his heart as he spoke and
bowed just half way. It was enough to make his head spin, however, and
he swayed as he sought to regain his equilibrium.
A strong grip encircled his healthy arm and remained until the
light-headedness retreated. Legolas was shocked to find he was being
supported by Thranduil, an unreadable expression swimming through the
emerald coloured gaze that seemed intent on piercing his very
feä. He blushed and pulled free, stepping back to make
use of the sturdy cabinet to ensure his balance.
"I am surprised," Thranduil began and stopped with a shake of his head,
for he was truly dumbfounded.
Did Ningloriel's child just
admit to fault in this fiasco and ask forgiveness? He cleared
his throat and started over. "I do not wonder that your thoughts have
been in disarray these last many days, even before the troubles the
Noldo Lord encountered. The Erebor situation has been a trying burden
for you; for all of Greenwood." He managed a tight, uncomfortable smile
while his eyes reflected the quandary in his thoughts.
An awkward pause commenced.
Legolas refrained from speaking, holding his breath without realising
it as he awaited the remainder of the speech.
Surely that is
not the whole of it. Yet he was torn, anticipating
Thranduil's apology, not knowing if he could grant forgiveness to this
elf though such Oropher would be pleased to see. His mother's
departure from Arda replayed through his thoughts.
Because of Thranduil's callous demands she is gone.
His uncles' long centuries of torturous enslavement also demanded
repentance, yet no further words fell from the monarch's lips.
Irritation made itself evident, collecting in a controlled scowl that
marred the Tawarwaith's mild features as he exhaled a disgusted sigh
from his nostrils.
Thranduil caught his breath, watching this particular arrangement of
facial muscles transform the youthful countenance before him. It was
Ningloriel's face, ever mocking him with the uncannily beauteous
resemblance, yet Oropher's spirit shone through the azure orbs; the
look presented was one the Woodland King knew all too well. Ever was
that demeanour presented to him when he sought to discuss with his Adar
the many benefits his gift of wealth bestowed and the fierce reputation
his hand-picked forces earned for Greenwood's elves and their first
King.
Thranduil blinked but the haunting similarity did not vanish. He
coughed lightly as a means of removing his sight from the chastising
glare without loss of authority, feeling distinctly the age-old
disappointment Oropher always tried so hard, and failed so fully, to
hide.
"Well, I came to retrieve a suitable bauble for Echuiross. She is
distraught over the proofs of the insignificant scuffle your
precipitate actions incited," he said with his customary haughtiness
and stepped over to the cabinet holding the myriad gems.
"You allowed her to see you like this?" railed Legolas and his frown
deepened into open outrage, quickly forgetting his determination to be
the one among his family able to control his temper. "What were you
thinking? She must have been terrified! You cannot just present her
innocent mind with the notion that her Adar is vulnerable."
"It was the furthest idea from my thoughts at the time, I assure you,"
Thranduil barked over his shoulder as he drew the middle drawer ajar
and leaned down to search its contents. He made an impatient grunt.
"Light!" he called, and of course nothing happened for the trapped
feär were freed. "Ulmo's Balls!" he hissed and
shot Legolas a putrid glare as he straightened up. "I was concerned for
her to come to harm from you, possessed by my brothers' spirits. What
insanity drove you to risk that when you so boldly claim to have my
children's good foremost in your priorities?"
"Ah! I did not know anything about them then! I am not at fault and
when Gwilith learns about her uncles she will be pleased that I let
them go."
"She does not need to ever find out, is that clear?" Thranduil moved
closer to menace his challenger anew. "You will not relate that story,
for you do not understand any of it. I am her father and I will provide
the details for any history of which she needs to be made aware, not
you!"
"Nay, I am not subject to you! I am her brother and if I deem it
wise…"
"You are once more a citizen of the Realm and thus will follow my
decrees. To defy me is treason!"
"Then call me a traitor and be done with it!"
This brought the conversation to a halt again and the pair engaged in a
staring match of such intensity it was a wonder the gold in the small
pile of rings on the case top did not begin to melt. Thranduil was at a
distinct disadvantage, unknown to Legolas, for the Sinda warrior never
could hold Oropher's disapproving gaze of unrealised expectation. He
turned back to the drawer and its dazzling contents to cover his
retreat from the contest.
"Nay, you take things too literally, Tirno. I will not abide
interference in my decisions regarding my children's upbringing,
however," he murmured with a sidelong glance to see how Legolas might
take this indirect apology.
The Tawarwaith's brows shot to his hairline in surprise, having no
means to comprehend how he had won this round, and he was unable to
find any words to say in answer. He watched as Thranduil rummaged
through the drawer, picking up this ring and discarding it, fingering
that chain of diamonds and replacing it, forehead contracted in
exaggerated concentration as if he was studying a report on the
activity of the Wraiths within his woods.
The King was expending this effort in order to appear unconcerned when
in reality he was desperately attempting to find a means to move from
confrontation to conciliation. Legolas had made the initial effort and
he was impressed by the degree of maturity required to openly accept
responsibility for all that had taken place in the Chamber of
Starlight.
An improvement over the usual sulky impudence he
presents. Here is the persona I hoped to gain as an ally, the brave
fighter determined to salvage the glory of Greenwood.
More importantly, Taurant's fits of crying had abated and Thranduil had
no wish for them to begin anew. Besides, he had already promised his
daughter, twice, that Limlas would come to visit soon. She would indeed
be distressed if he went back on his word.
And Meril would
find such a victory far too sweet. The monarch cleared
his throat.
"Why are you still down here, and alone at that?" he queried for the
second time in less a tone of command and more an expression of genuine
puzzlement, and he eyed the jumble of golden bands and the little
wooden box. The sight of the plain container drew him forward at once
and he reached for it. "Why did you remove this?"
"These are mine," Legolas was quicker, being closer, and had the
slender cask tucked under his arm in an instant, defiance blooming in
his vibrant cobalt orbs anew.
"Those are certainly not your property! As I said, everything here
belongs to me," Thranduil's irritation at this obstinacy reasserted
itself. "You truly must learn respect; your Naneth's influence is too
extensive a component of your character."
"Leave her out of it!" Legolas curled his hand into a hard tight fist
and gritted his teeth, desperately trying to focus on the issue rather
than allow the monarch to goad him into another acerbic shouting match.
"I claim these as recompense for my years in exile, by your own decree
unjustified," he was quite pleased with this notion his nimble brain
supplied so swiftly, "and I have plans for their use."
Thranduil peered closely, surprised by the reply, but found it
difficult to counter. He wondered if Mithrandir had informed his
rejected heir of the means by which those gems had come into his horde.
Nothing could he discern but Legolas' determination to hold onto the
emeralds, however, and so he merely shrugged.
He did not care about the jewels, really; they were a reminder of
unpleasant circumstances, marking the ignominious beginning of the
disgraced archer's unexpected rise to power and his own near loss of
the Realm to outside influence. It was fitting for the Tawarwaith to
keep the stones. But Thranduil's hand, already in motion, continued to
the mound of simple bands and casually spread them out. He lifted a
brow in sardonic inquiry.
"And these?"
Legolas' reaction, a bright flush of discomfort, was unexpected and the
King struggled to contain his amazement on seeing it.
"I need a bonding band," Tirno mumbled as he ducked his head to hide
the burning advent of his embarrassment.
"Ah, of course," Thranduil grimaced at the idea of the same-sex
pairing, a concept he thought indicative of moral decay and a
deplorable regression to a status of purely somatic desire, devoid of
the commitment of genuine love.
Cavorting in decadent excess
with wily Erestor of Imladris, no less! The King huffed a
grouchy breath and shook his head.
At least I will have the
satisfaction of Elrond's displeasure over losing so valued an
advisor. "The seneschal has recovered?"
"Somewhat. Fearfaron believes a renewal of our bond and an exchange of
the proper symbols will help him remember me." Legolas could not
conceal the forlorn despair and unspoken fear underscoring this simple
sentence, and frowned to know he had revealed this weakness before his
father.
"I see," Thranduil studied the elf, suddenly the very picture of
dejected worry, and could not help feeling he must do something to
prevent further decline into grief and fading. Taurant would sense the
change, surely, and suffer right along with his older brother. "The
talan-builder is probably right; I have seen others recover from the
Enchantment as long as full immersion was prevented. Erestor's history
should become complete in short order." The look of gratified hope that
suffused the Tawarwaith's eyes eased the King's mind considerably; he
managed another meagre smile and returned attention to the pile of
rings.
"These are not all from warriors of the Woodland Realm; there are many
here from elves of Lorien, Mithlond, and even Lindon, slain at
Dagorlad. The best quality rings are not found scattered in random
disarray in a drawer." He moved next to the Tawarwaith and bent to open
the lowest compartment. Within was a series of small leather clad
cases, some embossed with crests and family names. He gestured with his
hand. "Within are such that would be fitting. Each adorned the hand of
a member of a noble family from either Neldoreth or Greenwood."
Legolas stared at the open bin, outraged that Thranduil would not only
steal such relics from the dead but then fail to return the treasured
effects to the felled warriors' surviving kin. Still, he could not deny
his amazement over being offered the premier collection from which to
choose. The Tawarwaith sat upon his heels before the neatly organised
boxes.
"Hannad," he said softly and registered his father's non-committal
grunt.
How can I get him to show me Minya'dar's
ring? Legolas opened a few of the little cases, clicking them
shut after only cursory examination of what was within them, and sighed.
"Are none to your liking? You have hardly even looked before discarding
each in turn," Thranduil groused and scrutinised his eldest child's
open displeasure with bewilderment.
"I am sure they are all fine."
"But not suitable for your mate? Why?"
"I desire something that belonged to my own people."
"Those are such."
"Nay, I meant my kin by blood."
"Ningloriel's folk?"
"Eru's Arse! You are deliberately being thick-sculled! You know what I
mean! The Noldor mark one's lineage through the father's bloodlines; I
would have proof of mine to give Berenaur." Legolas stood, angry and
red-faced, and turned away, stalking to the high shelving where he
could attempt to camouflage his distress. He realised how unrealistic
his hope had been and to his utter horror felt tears collecting in his
eyes. He blinked fiercely and swallowed, keeping his back to the
monarch.
Valar! I have made numerous concessions and still he
jeers and mocks me! Why does he not take his trinket and go?
His overwrought mind supplied instantaneous answer:
He will
stay until I leave; I must select a lesser ring. A huge sigh
rocked his frame but still he did not return to the cabinet, unwilling
to have Thranduil enjoy his abrupt emotional outburst.
"Calm yourself!" the Sinda Lord admonished sternly. "And watch your
tongue! You charge is irrational; I am not Mithrandir and cannot read
your thoughts. I have no means to understand your wishes without
asking. Valar, why must you be so contentious? For the little ones'
sakes, I would have peace with you, Legolas." Thranduil frowned to see
the archer's shoulders jerk and his spine stiffen, for he had thought
his words were quite generous.
"Again! That is three times this day!" Legolas was unprepared for this
offer and the casual use of his name abused his raw nerves.
"What?"
"Make it four!" The Tawarwaith turned to face the King, unable to reign
in the bilious acrimony suppressed for centuries.
"What madness is this?"
"My name! Legolas! How it just runs right out of your mouth as if you
were in the habit of speaking it regularly! Does it not feel as strange
to you to form those sounds as it does for me to hear them in your
voice?" Legolas stormed back until he was close enough to hear the
King's breathing, unmindful now of the potential tears in the burst of
rage.
The King's mouth was actually hanging open, for this was obviously what
had prompted the outcast's earlier bizarre fugue and likely initiated
the physical attack, for Legolas could have merely snatched the key,
breaking the fine chain without need to draw a blade at all. That
Ningloriel's child spoke truth he realised with leaden shame; recalling
the variety of insulting labels he had applied to the elfling under his
protection. Anger came right on the heels of the guilt, for Thranduil
felt he had been cheated as much as Legolas had been neglected. It was
an uncomfortable juxtaposition of feelings.
The dilemma was unlike any Thranduil had faced since the death of his
mother. Then he had been consumed with sorrow and simultaneously
incited by rage, longing to cling to Oropher for comfort and overcome
with rage enough to pummel him senseless for failing to protect Naneth.
He had needed his father to explain why she was gone; hoped Oropher
would provide the means to destroy every foul creature that had taken
her away. The experienced warrior could supply neither and Thranduil's
fading feä had only refused to follow Naneth's
because the heat of his anger ignited an unquenchable ferocity of
purpose born of vengeance.
His grief fuelled the furnace that smelted the raw ore of his being,
refined his essence, sublimated the lighter components of his psyche
and distilled a formidable soul: indurate, self-righteous, and
ruthless. Without ever facing death and Námo's
judgement, Thranduil had been reborn. Nay, remade and transmuted into
an instrument of retaliation, an insurgent grappling for dominion of
his world against its very creators. Still, the remnant of that
elfling's wounded soul survived, tucked away deep within this perilous
warrior, protected until his Naneth returned to claim
him.
Would she be proud or would she spurn me, even as Adaren [my
father] did? Thranduil knew the answer for his child-self had
grown strangely loud of late.
And the woodland King would not silence this thin voice, this wraith of
his initial persona. It would be impossible for he believed it was his
youthful spirit, untouched by the tragedy of death, whom he sheltered
at the core of his being. It was from this child that the surety of his
convictions sprung. For that elfling's loss, abandonment, and betrayal
were all his schemes and plans wrought, his hopes and dreams nurtured
and nursed, enemies and detractors obliterated.
Everything he did and thought was designed to guard the hidden child he
had never outgrown, and because the child had not matured the adult was
never appeased, perpetually searching for a means to reintroduce that
personality. He could not help but think of them both, his mother and
his youthful innocence, lost so long ago, and found Legolas more like
this internal elfling-self than he cared to admit. For within his
inner-image, Thranduil held the title of Greenwood's liberator,
striving to thwart the advance of Darkness and retain the autonomy of
the Sindar elves, making safe the world for the motherless and
mistreated among the forest folk.
That ego-flattering mirage dissipated in the Tawarwaith's presence,
whisked away, smoke upon wind.
He was afforded an instant of externalisation, observing himself from
beyond the carefully constructed barrier of the just guardian and noble
defender. What he beheld instead was an antagonistic, self-absorbed
tyrant, single-mindedly pursuing a phantom reality that his own cynical
reason paradoxically denied had ever existed. Even Taurant was but a
new medium through which to project this internal vision of personal
superiority. He had been so fanatical in propagating this creed that he
had failed to comprehend that walls meant to shield him from hurt and
harm had instead blinded him, laid him open to manipulation and
diversion of purpose.
The unwanted enlightenment evoked a dissolution of the proud crusader
facade. He was no better than Elrond or Galadriel, controlling their
lands through rings of power, always seeking to enlarge their influence
over the rest of the free peoples.
Nay, worse, for my actions
serve nothing but my own glorification. Is this what the legacy of
Oropher is to become? The King returned from his ruminations
subdued, blocked the chimera from perception, and focused on the
instigator of these disparaging revelations.
Studying the Wood Elf, scarcely more than a hand's breadth dividing
them, it occurred to Thranduil that he must give answer before the
Tawarwaith resorted to violence again, for Legolas was actually
trembling with the effort to contain the wrath of millenia. Thranduil
drew a deep breath and lifted his right hand, intending to secure a
comforting grip upon his eldest's shoulder, only to have it summarily
blocked as outrage flamed higher.
"Nay!" hissed the Tawarwaith.
"Sîth! [Peace] It is not my intent to do harm to you."
"All you have ever done is hurt me!" Legolas was beyond reason and a
rolling wave of nausea swept over him as he realised with acute
humiliation that a couple of tears had escaped despite his
unwillingness to lose control. He steeled himself for the scoffing
laugh and acidic derision the King was sure to direct upon him,
furiously dashing away the the betraying moisture from his cheeks.
"Aye," said Thranduil barely loud enough to be heard. "I am a fool, but
more so cruel. You were but a child; it was none of your doing, the
machinations of Ningloriel and Elrond."
Prepared for denials and insulting derogation, Legolas gasped in
disbelief, shaking his head, and the confession only fuelled his ire.
How dare he try and mitigate the results of his disregard so
late, so ineffectually? He would placate me with polite words stripped
of their meaning, just to spare himself the recount of his
sins! His limited mastery over his reactions slipped away
completely; the only means he knew to prevent dissolving into hysterics
was to unleash his anger. He launched into a biting, acrimonious tirade.
"Cruel? You are despicable! An Orc would not behave so basely! You
should have believed her! How could her word be less honourable than
that Noldo Lord's?" He raised his fist to strike out and the box of
gems clattered to the ground. The noise halted his assault and with a
shout he inflicted the blow upon the case beside him instead even as
Thranduil raised his hand to fend off the attack. "She never lied, not
ever! Whatever she did that was not one of her flaws and you should
have known this! No wonder she turned to another if you did not even
bother to learn the least bit about her nature!" Frantic to stop,
Legolas could not, and his eyes, wild and bright with unhidden
self-disgust, revealed this to Thranduil.
"Balch? [Cruel?] That is but a word! How can you sum centuries of cold
hatred to such a small bland sound
so…so…succinctly?
With such nonchalant indifference? Ai Valar! You should have had me
killed! You should have made Talagan throw me in that bloody river you
created for then I would never have known anything."
"Enough, Legolas, enough! Do not say such things!"
"Nay, to destroy me then would have been a kindness and that was beyond
your capabilities! You made Naneth and me bear the burden of Elrond's
scheming and now you refuse to hear of it?"
"I admit my fault, only be calm!"
"It is not enough! How can you try to pacify me thus? I want her back!
Can you do that?"
Thranduil was alarmed, not knowing what to expect next nor how to dam
the river of misery, a reservoir filled over a lifetime of seclusion,
scorn, and abuse, breached and pouring forth at last. He wished for the
threatening forest warrior to return for this elfling in the throes of
emotional breakdown was far more frightening. Soldier's ways he
understood, but this child's misery was too like his own to bear
witnessing.
This is far worse than dealing with
Ningloriel.
"Think of what this will do to Taurant," he urged, "for all that
befalls you grieves him as well." Spontaneously he grabbed his eldest
by the biceps and gave him a jarring shake.
Legolas flinched and wrenched free, emitting a soul-broken howl of both
pain and regret, and sank down to the floor. He folded up next to the
case, collecting the emerald-bearing box, and leaned against the
sturdy furniture as he cradled his injured shoulder's tightly bound
arm. But he spoke no further and gradually regained command of his
shuddering breathing, eyes shut to prevent looking upon the King's
face, for the worry he had glimpsed there raised another sensation for
which he was not prepared. A sharp stab of angry jealousy over the
reference to his baby brother's welfare flowed through his veins and
startled Legolas right out of his ranting tantrum.
I do not wish Thranduil to care for me; I wish him to leave me
alone! he lied.
Thranduil passed a quaking hand over his forehead, horrified that he
had broken his word so soon and brought the injured elf more pain,
Is my resolve so shallow? though he could only
comprehend the physical manifestation and knew not the wound his stated
preference for the youngest child had inflicted.
"I cannot think," he confessed aloud, "What is required to mend this?"
he began quietly and immediately was seized with an idea he was certain
must lift the Tawarwaith's flagging feä.
"Echuiross wishes to see you and has invited you to tea."
Legolas did not speak or raise his eyes, remaining crouched in a
protective huddle, head resting on knees drawn up to shield his broken
body.
Thranduil's brain chugged as he stared around aimlessly, running a hand
over one of the long thick plaits trailing down his chest. His vision
rested on the scattered rings still strewn over the cabinet's surface.
Another flash of insight broke through his confusion and he hastened to
the last of the four cases. He eased open the highest drawer and took
from the items there a square wooden container inlaid with mithril in
an intricate design of oak leaves within which was worked his own name.
The box had been commissioned by Oropher and within had been the Sinda
Lord's gift to his youngest son on his twenty-fifth begetting day
anniversary: a magnificent opal set in a mithril buckle to replace the
plain one adorning the youth's sword-belt. This item was not currently
within the box, however, and almost eagerly Thranduil knelt and held
his gift out to his rejected child. But Legolas still had his eyes
shielded and the monarch sighed dramatically in hopes of gaining the
distraught elf's attention.
"Here; see if this will serve," he coaxed. Still no indication was
given that his words were heeded. "Legolas, I cannot undo anything that
has happened to you. I have been trying to restore your life as much as
possible by lifting the banishment and the Judgement, yet you resist
and defy me at every turn."
"It is for Taurant, not me, that you have undertaken this change."
Morose and petulant woe suffused these muffled words spoken into the
elf's leather-clad thighs.
That tone more than the words stunned Thranduil, for he was unprepared
to hear such a note of envy surround Legolas' speech. He frowned, for
he could not pretend to harbour for Legolas anything like the affection
he felt for his newborn heir.
I shall be doing well to
replace disgust with irritated disapproval. He experienced an
even greater shock upon comprehension that this described the highest
level of affirmation he had ever experienced from Oropher. Another
disgruntled sigh escaped.
"Aye. Yet we share this goal, do we not? You would bear much to ensure
his, as well as Gwilith's, future happiness. Would you not?"
"I did not say otherwise."
"Yet what I ask is not something that will be a hardship; not this
time. Take this." Again Thranduil held forth the elaborate box.
"What is it?" Legolas opened his eyes to stare at the ornate little
container resting on his Adar's palm, but did not reach for it.
"It was my father's, your Minya'dar's." Thranduil would never have
believed he could so urgently hope for Ningloriel's child to accept a
gift from his hand, yet he was consumed with impatience, willing the
reluctant elf to take the object from him.
Legolas could not deny his wonder any longer, considering what sort of
jewel his grandfather, not known for love of riches, would have
cherished so highly and whether it was set in a clasp or a ring, for
the container was too small for other options. Tentatively, he
stretched his fingers for it and flashed a quick peek at the King's
face. The air of giddy anticipation displayed there was a unique
expression for Thranduil to direct at him and Legolas fairly snatched
the box up, settling into a more comfortable cross-legged posture to
investigate the contents. Without further hesitation he lifted the lid
and stared at the simple ring lying on the blue velvet padding.
"My Naneth had it made for him, so Oropher told us. She had picked him
out when she was only an elfling, it would seem, and informed his
mother that Oropher and she would be bound as soon as she was of age.
It happened just so, according to him. See the inscription? It is a
good omen and not one that marks the ring as another's so badly."
Legolas was amazed, for he held what his heart had so desired after
all. He took the heavy golden circle out and turned the band to see the
words inside, finding just a single one: 'Uir' [Eternity.] He smiled to
read it and stood, slipping the ring into his pocket where his
fingertips brushed the robin's egg stone. This he drew out and
presented on his palm to Thranduil, who had risen as well.
"Hannad, Hîren Adar. [my Lord Father] For
Gwilith; I am sure there is a story for this one she will like."
Thranduil took the gem and watched his oldest child dart through the
wrought iron barrier, amazed that someone prostrate in sorrow only
seconds ago could move with such speed.
TBC
Previous
Contents Next Comments
