Eneg-ar-Pae Peth: Gûr Breithol Trebreithad
(Part
Sixteen: Heart Breaking Breakthrough)
Thranduil walked at less than his normal long-strode loping gait,
moving with purposeful deliberation as he traversed the distance
between his mountain fortress and the secluded talan wherein his
youngest child had resided for all his short life. He needed the slow
pace to grant him time. As they always did on this walk, his thoughts
retreated as his progress advanced.
There was much to consider and he wanted to do what was best for this
silvan child he had unwillingly sired. The King winced just thinking
the words, but he did not entirely correct his mind's assessment.
I wanted no third elfling, even Legolas knows this
truth. That fact had not prevented the Sinda Lord from loving
the elfling born to him. Nor had it eased his frustrated grief upon
learning that, not being bound to the mother, his rights were not as
sound as he had assumed they would be.
It had never entered his thoughts to bond with Lhoss for his true mate
would be reunited to him someday in Eldamar. As far as Thranduil was
concerned their relationship had been satisfactory to both: mutually
exclusive, carefree, stimulating, and grounded in real friendship. They
had been comrades long before they became lovers. He had never imagined
the silvan elleth would desire anything more. A faint smile graced his
features as he recalled her lithe, willowy form, delicate features, and
long mane confined entirely in slender silver braids.
She was a wild
thing, quite in contrast to the gentle meaning of her name, bold and
unwilling to be fettered against her heart's wishes. So she stated
whenever her more conservative kin chastised her for the unorthodox
link to the Sindarin King. Not once had the topic arisen between them,
though Thranduil knew it was an annual event for her father, sister,
and aunt to try and convince her to give up the illicit affair and bond
with a respectable ellon.
Had Thranduil not lost his wife it is unlikely he would ever have
considered anything other than platonic accord between him and Lhoss.
Even had he not loved his mate, which he averred to his elder sons he
truly did, Thranduil was not one to sunder a solemn bond to the mother
of his children. His sons, and all of their mother's kin, had a
decidedly different idea of what defined breaking such a vow. Thranduil
grimaced, thinking on the many cutting remarks he had endured from
various members of his wife's House, most notably Galion, over the
years. He had been quick to tell them to mind their own business and
leave him to tend his affairs as he saw fit.
My arrogance has
brought this grief upon me and upon my sons, all three of them. I
should not have openly taken Lhoss for my consort.
Yet had he not then Legolas would not be, and that he could not imagine
now. For a moment he faltered on the trail, recalling how close he had
just come to losing his silvan child, before finding his resolve and
resuming the walk. His thoughts returned to mulling the past, as if
revisiting the events might present him with a means to alter their
more unpleasant consequences.
His elder sons had tolerated Thranduil's affair as an aberration
brought on by grief over their mother's death. At first they had
assumed it would end and the embarrassment would be over, yet centuries
elapsed and the pair showed no sign of separating. Inarthan and
Igeredir endured the liaison with barely suppressed outrage that
occasionally erupted into volatile condemnation if Lhoss was given too
much attention at public feasts and holiday celebrations. When word
reached their ears that a child had been created of this dishonourable
union, loud was their outcry for the silvan adulteress to leave for the
Havens, taking her shame and her misbegotten progeny with her.
The news of the pregnancy was a shock to Thranduil as well. They had
never discussed such a thing for he had assumed it was not an option
Lhoss would entertain without being bound to her mate. Generation of
life was taxing to the mother and a committed husband was required, for
the strength of both parents was needed to make the growing child
strong and healthy. No elleth would consider endangering her offspring
by creating life under so tenuous an attachment as Lhoss shared with
Thranduil.
Or so I believed. The King shook his head as he
trudged on, recalling events that had felt like betrayal so great was
the damage done. He could not understand why she would do such a thing
and had angrily demanded an explanation. The look that came over her
features had been one of such infinite sorrow that he was shaken to the
core. Her answer had been cryptic, saying if he did not have the answer
in his heart then no rationale she might give would ever suffice.
She did not ask for them to become formally bonded. She did not request
his presence at her side. She said nothing when the King's council of
advisors, his sons, and grandchildren demanded her banishment. She
declined to refute the charges of seeking to elevate her status. She
made no reply when accused of trying to force Thranduil to accept a
mate he did not want and a child that was not his own. She refused to
defend herself against allegations that she had other lovers and any of
them might be the babe's sire. Instead she waited for someone to speak
on her behalf, someone whose voice could not be overruled. She waited
for Thranduil.
He did not come to her defence. He chose to believe these
indictments instead of the friend and lover he had depended upon for
Ages out of time. Lhoss moved out of her home in the stronghold and
resided in her sister's talan. Calarlim and their father tried to
convince Lhoss to relocate to their clan's holdings in the northernmost
sector of Greenwood in the foothills of Ered Mithrin (Grey Mountains).
There at least she would have the comfort of seclusion.
Within the silvan culture, dwelling so near to evil, Pâd-en-Tawar
had become altered over the course of the Third Age. No more was the
religion a celebration of Arda's Gifts and Iluvatar's Music. The
catastrophic loss of life during the Last Alliance had to be addressed
somehow, made comprehensible, preventable. It was necessary to find
scapegoats to take the blame. With Sindarin rulers who avowed the
customs and lifestyle of Doriath, such liberal ways, corrupted by
exposure to the morally destitute people of Feanor, became the focus of
the chaotic paranoia to which the silvans succumbed.
In place of the reverent jubilation that characterised the creed in
other lands, a strict dogma with stringent rules and harsh penalties
evolved. Even a temporary law designed to prevent extinction became a
permanent commandment inspired by the will of Iluvatar. Under this new
rubric, what Lhoss had done was unforgivable. In concert with this
belief, none, be they Sindarin or silvan, truly wanted such a tainted
elfling and its naneth among them. Her need for someone to love had
doomed Legolas to a dismal future. Among the populace, it was quietly
hoped that both mother and infant would be dead before the pregnancy's
end.
Yet she would not go away. She waited for me to discover the
answer to my question and seek her out. When I did so, nine months into
the pregnancy, too much time had elapsed. Again the King
paused in his progress, lost in his internal reflections and twisted in
turmoil.
Lhoss knew there was no space in my heart for her and
dared to take something of mine to keep for her own: a
child.
Too late Thranduil had come to his revelation. The love she had held
secret in her soul for so long had soured under his cold denial and
cruel abandonment. She did not trust him anymore. All that she had once
given to him she poured into the creation of her babe. As a result her
own feä diminished apace. It was uncertain if she would survive
long enough to birth the child, and whether the infant would have
sufficient strength to carry on if it ever was born. Thranduil was left
with the horrifying fact that his callous negligence might be the cause
for the death of two elves, one of which was his own flesh and blood.
She permitted him to spend those final days with her, hearing genuine
contrition in his pleas for forgiveness, but she did not believe his
assurances that he would make things right. She would not return to the
fortress. She refused to be alone with him and he was not granted leave
to touch her beyond clasping her hand.
Calarlim tried to intervene for
the child's sake and whenever her sister slipped into unconsciousness
she coaxed the reluctant father into speaking to the unborn babe and
caressing any spot on Lhoss' small round belly that quivered even the
slightest bit. Thranduil spent a handful of days attempting to give his
youngest child some part of his strength, some sense that he would be
greeted with love upon his birth. Every time the King left that talan
he dreaded that death would greet his return.
His prediction proved true.
Lhoss went into labour less than three weeks after her lover finally
claimed their babe and two months too early for the child's healthy
delivery. She simply could no longer hold onto her soul and sought to
transfer what remained of her essence to her son ere she passed. There
would be no spirit left to heed the call of Námo.
Thranduil hastened to the summons but arrived to find the nativity
completed amid a scene of sorrow rather than joy, for Legolas' mother
had indeed perished during her labour. As the King held their tiny
elfling for the first time, he was calmly informed that she had named
the child, chosen a Guardian, and with her final breath demanded his
son be raised in the silvan way by her people. Before witnesses she had
declared this: the nestaron (healer), her sister, and Greenwood's
Sadron.
In bitter rancour the King liked to pretend that she had done this out
of spite, for she had never been a devout believer in the silvan's
faith. She sought to punish him for failing to acknowledge the
conception as his issue. He knew that was not the last thought of her
heart, however. It had been love and fear that made her act so. He had
denied Legolas and defamed her; what else would she imagine but that he
would shun the child once he was born? Desperate to ensure her babe
would be loved and cherished, she had bound her sister to the
Guardian's vow and agreed to Calarlim's terms: Legolas would be a
follower of Pâd-en-Tawar.
Lhoss was within her rights
while I negated mine. Thranduil heaved a deep breath, as
close to a sob as he had come in many centuries, and fought to master
his fruitless despair.
He could not fault Calarlim, for the aunt had loved Legolas long before
he was born, of this Thranduil was certain. Her unconditional
acceptance and devotion to her nephew was surely what had made it
possible for the elfling to survive at all, for he was so small and
weak upon birth that he had not even strength to cry. Calarlim never
put him from her arms unless it was to place him in Thranduil's and
between them they willed Legolas to remain alive. They formed an
awkward partnership that eased into guarded respect as the years passed
and the child grew, ensuring he knew beyond any doubt that he was loved
by his father and his second mother.
Thranduil grimaced and shook himself, mentally and physically, where he
stood upon the empty pathway unsuccessfully trying to force these
unpleasant memories from his thoughts. Since Legolas' birth, he had
trod this course so many times the ground was packed hard and no plant
dared sprout there for dread of being crushed. As often as he could,
Thranduil had made the short trek to spend time with his
youngest, hastening his step as he approached, heart uplifting in
anticipation only to plummet in daunting regret every time duty
shortened his stay. Calarlim never limited his access, that he could
not claim, yet she made the boundaries clear: she was Tirn'wathel and
Legolas was her responsibility not Thranduil's. No matter how he tried
to overlook the restrictions he could not escape the reality. He was a
visitor to that talan, a visitor in his son's life.
The Sindarin monarch sighed and adjusted the pack slung over his left
shoulder, taking comfort in its contents as he set forth again. He was
bringing everything necessary to cater to his youngest as befitted an
honoured warrior, just as Galdor has suggested. This would be no sacred
ritual such as Legolas had endured under the rigours of his archaic
religion. There was nothing of mystery about the diversion Thranduil
intended to provide. Plain and simply, the practice promoted only
pleasurable relaxation and was a common event among the Grey Elves of
Beleriand in the days before the War of Wrath. This was a ritual many
of Greenwood's soldiers shared among the company of friends and fellows
and one Thranduil enjoyed with his sons and numerous grandsons
frequently.
Thranduil planned to massage away the fatigue and stress of battle and
sorrow. It was one of the few Sindarin customs in which Legolas would
participate, once he began the rigourous physical training inherent to
becoming a skilled warrior. The King had always enjoyed these private
times with Legolas and believed his son did as well. They would talk
then, Thranduil sharing stories of his childhood and telling of
Oropher, the grandfather dead long centuries before Legolas'
conception. He would relate embarrassing anecdotes of his elder sons'
antics during their elfling days. Sometimes, when Legolas dared to ask,
he would speak of Lhoss, for Calarlim had not revealed much of his
naneth's character and what was heard among his contemporaries was
hardly flattering. Thranduil was able to give his son a more balanced
picture of the elleth who had loved him so strongly that she gave him
life at the cost of her own.
If Thranduil hoped the relaxing experience would induce his son to open
up and speak of this unprecedented bond to an outlander, who could
blame a father for such?
His session with Galdor had been unsettling at best and unthinkable at
worst. Little had the Sadron spoken of Legolas' Faer Hebron and while
none of it could he denounce as false something was not right.
Thranduil hoped the Guardian was nervous because the elleth was partly
Noldorin; perhaps some scandal attended her history. Ignorant of her
age in years, he even wondered whether she might be counted among the
kinslayers
of Doriath or of Alqualondë. Thranduil physically winced as this
idea presented itself. Yet even that he could hardly use as means to
condemn the match, for he knew Lhoss was dead only because of him.
I am no less a killer myself, for Lhoss would not have faded
of grief had I treated her heart better.
Guilt bowing his broad shoulders, he began walking again at an even
more sluggish pace, sight trained upon the ground as a vision of her
empty,
haunted eyes pervaded his consciousness. He sighed deeply and for the
thousandth time since Legolas' birth silently vowed to her not to let
their child suffer for their errors. Yet even as he made the promise he
knew it was a futile and empty gesture. Not even Calarlim could protect
Legolas from the general disfavour with which his countrymen regarded
him. Now she was gone and this foreign Elf stood in her place, claiming
ascendancy over the youthful warrior. Galdor sought to join the naive
archer to a lady from a distant realm of a people who disdained the
Wood Elves.
Will she demand his removal to Imladris? Is that
what Legolas believes I will disprove?
Strangely, while the thought of Legolas leaving Greenwood was
upsetting, that was an easier concept to worry over than whether he had
really desired anything of the noble lady. Once more the muttering
warning prickled through Thranduil's subconscious and once more he
firmly tried to stifle it.
The Sadron included 'raw physical
attraction' in his list of qualifiers for the match. Yet
there were other memories that contradicted this notion and would not
let the unsavoury suspicion
die.
The destination was reached in scant minutes more and the King stood
staring up at the dimly lit and silent talan. All of the curtains and
screens were drawn and out of respect the homes nearby were also
shrouded, the activity of their occupants subdued. Softly filtering
through the canopy arose a gentle harmony of voices singing hymns and
prayers of peace and comfort for the deceased warrior, pleading
strength and hope for the son she left behind. The neighbours provided
an auditory blanket meant to muffle any sounds of grieving the young
warrior might need to vent.
Indeed, many of these folk were Calarlim's
kin
and thus Legolas' also and their combined
dolour was a palpable sensation that fell heavily upon the soul.
Whatever reservations these relatives harboured concerning Legolas'
scandalous origins were washed away by the deluge of tears spilled on
his and Calarlim's behalf. Thranduil climbed the tree and stepped onto
the main platform.
It was bare with only a small brazier for heat and cooking, now empty
and cold, a few cushions scattered near it, two low tables suitable for
floor-sitting, a small chest near the trunk for utensils and cooking
gear. An unlit lantern hung from the branches overhead. The austerity
was normal for the silvans, who had little use for furniture in the
limited space amid the branches. Legolas was not in the room nor had
Thranduil expected him to be. He knew his son would be in Calarlim's
flet, for the only light spilled from there, and so he quickly stepped
the short distance to an adjacent platform set at chest height and
pulled himself up. The area was just as spartan with another hanging
lamp, a chest for clothing, and a pallet for sleeping. Upon this was
Legolas reposed, still and quiet, curled on his side with his back to
the entrance. Bow and quiver, boots, tunic and shirt lay scattered on
the floor where he had cast them down. He did not stir.
Thranduil did not wish to disturb his son's sleep and thus moved
quietly across the platform to sit down next to his youngest child.
"Nae, ionen vrêg, man amarth um an le túliel?" (Alas, my
wild son, what evil fate has come to you?) he whispered, gently
reaching out to stroke the long mane of golden hair splayed across his
son's painted back.
Instantly Legolas awoke and turned, round-eyed with terror and anger as
he sat upright and held forth a dagger drawn from beneath the pillow.
In the other hand he clutched a length of cloth close to his heart: one
of Calarlim's tunics. His expression filled with confusion and pain,
his cheeks, damp from uncountable tears, marked the passage of two
more. The arm wielding the blade shook. He exhaled a loud breath and
heaved in another, dropping the knife and bracing his bowed head on the
freed hand as the other fell limp upon his lap. "Nin gohenach,
Hîren," he whispered brokenly but would not lift his eyes.
"Nay it is not necessary to ask that of me," assured the father kindly,
laying a hesitant palm on the bent head. "Bear no concern for me during
this time. I am but glad to see you whole." He softly soothed a caress
over the mussed tangle of untended tresses, vision travelling the
length of Legolas' body, noting the fading scars and bold additions to
the heart spiral. That he could see the wounds' marks at all gave his
heart a painful jolt of chilling guilt. He had sent his youngest,
little
more than an elfling when his years were counted, into the teeth of
death. His stomach sickened, imagining Legolas' remains among those
decaying in the High Pass.
With effort he mastered these gruesome images and studied the other
signs, catching his breath at the dark line of small round brands just
visible down Legolas' left side.
More indications of the gap
between us. I can barely comprehend my own son's world any
longer. Thranduil ached to gather Legolas close just as he
had when his third child was but a small elfling, days but recently
passed in terms of the First-born. He could not, or would not, for
everything had changed once Legolas had achieved adolescence.
What
agony the King had secretly hidden the first time Legolas avoided his
touch and shunned a paternal hug. True, he had expected it and was
prepared to wait out the youth's need to present an image of maturity
and independence, for he had already raised two sons. Yet it soon
became apparent Legolas' was not undergoing this volatile stage of
development in the same manner as his brothers.
Instead of the disdainful attitude of impertinence common to youths at
this juncture in life, Legolas became hesitant and almost fearful.
Having assumed the strange temper would pass, Thranduil's worry
deepened as Legolas' anxiety mounted rather than diminished. Others
noticed and the inevitable ridicule began. The troubled archer withdrew
further, trusting only Calarlim, yet that in itself became fodder for
the cruel jests and snide remarks. Never shy of his body before,
Legolas became acutely embarrassed by the changes overtaking him. He
began guarding his modesty fervently and sometimes could not even bear
his father's gaze. He would not even throw off his clothing to go
swimming with his nephews and cousins. When Thranduil had attempted to
console him with explanations and reassurance that every male Elf
experienced such things, the youth had become even more mortified.
That was when the first nagging warning had entered the King's mind,
shocked to realise that Legolas was not exhibiting this extreme
bashfulness when in the presence of ladies, as one might expect, but
rather when in the company of males. And if Thranduil was aware of it,
mayhap others were also. Alarmed, the King could not go to the healers
for help or consult the Sadron, not even to Calarlim could he voice
these concerns. Too much guilty shame had been placed upon his son
already. If word got out that Thranduil was enquiring about such
aberrant sexual urges and how to combat them, as it most certainly
would, everyone would realise the source of his son's discomfort.
Instead, the panicked father had taken to the libraries and consulted
every text on sexual development he could find. There he found the
reassurance he needed, for the books indicated such adolescent interest
in like kind was a but passing obsession many young elves experienced
and the yearning would abate once a suitable life-mate of the opposite
sex was discovered.
The works restored his hopes. It never entered the King's head that
this information might be biased. He had ordered the removal of any
books expressing a counter view. Any text indicating an individual's
desires were an innate characteristic had long ago been discarded in
favour of those presenting the opinion that sexual attraction was a
choice of either nature or perversion, right or wrong, sinful or
sacred. Choosing one's own gender was sinful, wrong, and un-natural and
anyone feeling such an
urge must fight it diligently.
The books went further, explaining the crucial role of the parents in
their child's development, stressing the necessity for suitable models
of behaviour from a properly bonded couple as the most important
influence during adolescence. In light of his personal experience to
date, this seemed logical enough; after all, Thranduil had been raised
by two loving parents, as had his first sons, and all had grown to
maturity to become wedded with families of their own. Legolas had been
denied this vital ingredient. Mayhap his twisted fascination was due to
this lack of a fitting example of a bonded pair.
Concerned, but believing he had the answer to all their woes, the King
had at last consulted with Calarlim regarding Legolas' future,
presenting the not unlikely notion of disfavour among courtiers and
commoners alike regarding bonding any of their kin to his child.
Calarlim had summarily informed him that choosing Legolas' mate was not
his responsibility and
then declared she would take her adopted son away to the distant lands
of her people to seek a spouse. Upon their return Legolas had seemed
more at ease and, when his training resumed, had learned to tolerate
the
Sindarin custom of massage as long as his father performed the ritual.
The King had allowed himself to be appeased, shrugging off his son's
refusal to discuss his betrothed as a part of his strict adherence to
the bond between Guardian and mentor. Thranduil had tried to draw him
out during massage, making faintly ribald allusions to the new tattoo
and who had marked him in so intimate a location. That had served only
to make Legolas more uncomfortable and withdrawn. When Thranduil avowed
his approval of the match and his desire to meet his law-daughter to be
and her folk, there was no mistaking the stressful response of one near
panic in the tense muscles and racing pulse beneath his fingers.
Legolas had retreated behind the protection of his religion, stating
such matters must be discussed with his Tirn'wathel.
Thranduil had not pressed him further and while he had taken his
inquiries to Calarlim the issue became moot when the maiden perished.
Legolas' entire life was marked by what was lacking, what had been
lost, what had been taken from him. Could he ever be whole and at peace?
The worried father sighed, wishing he could break through his son's
wary reserve
so studiously maintained since those days and compounded now by grief.
Legolas had not raised his head and the King could imagine what
thoughts might be going through his son's mind. The young archer looked
more like an abandoned elfling than a skilled warrior. His instinct
told him to reach for his child yet he could not bear to be rebuffed
anew and refrained from greater contact, counting himself fortunate
that Legolas permitted the press of his palms.
"You are weary and have weathered much strife; lie down and allow one
warrior to tend another," he coaxed with the traditional invitation and
was granted a flash of agonised eyes before Legolas slowly settled on
his stomach, rigid and unyielding, head turned away. It always began
thus, every muscle taut as if Legolas expected to feel the sting of a
lash instead of the firm, regular pressure of fingers kneading away the
stress.
Thranduil squelched the urge to emit another sigh as he gathered up the
tangled mane and draped it across the pillow, exposing the vivid image
of Legolas' totem. He always felt a small tug of discomfort upon seeing
it, for he wondered about the pain that had accompanied its making. He
had never asked of this, for he feared Legolas might misinterpret his
concern as an indication of doubt for his son's fortitude. He knew
enough of the silvan way to realise such a weakness would be scorned
and any suggestion of such delicacy of constitution was a grave insult.
Yet all squeamishness aside, Thranduil could not deny his fascination
with the detail and the beauty of the permanent design. He was grateful
for every opportunity to study it, for he felt certain that if he could
appreciate every nuance in this intricate pattern and commit every word
of each incantation and prayer to memory, he would understand his son
at last. Lightly he traced over the regal head of the sharp-eyed
raptor, causing Legolas to jerk in shock before murmuring the words
that must follow such an exploration.
"Nin Gohenach." Thranduil's voice was tight in his throat and he was
surprised to find his eyes burning as tears sought to find an outlet.
He denied them passage; Legolas did not deserve the burden of
succouring his father's rueful compunction.
"Ha únad." (It is nothing.)
Beside the cot was the satchel Thranduil had brought and he reached
inside to retrieve the bottle of oil, a cotton cloth, and a small
burner made specifically to heat the oil. He busied himself with
lighting it and propping the small bottle in the ceramic container
poised at just the right height above the single tongue of flame.
Experience had taught him Legolas would not completely disrobe and so
he did not even suggest it, instead uncorking the bottle, letting the
fragrance of Rosemary, Bergamot, and almonds suffuse through the
enclosed space. He smiled lightly when Legolas inhaled deeply and
visibly relaxed. In the minutes waiting for the oil to warm, Thranduil
rose and went to wash his hands, another custom of the ritual, for on
the field of battle there were often traces of blood and gore and such
must not mingle with the essential fluid rubbed into the skin.
That done, he returned and took up the oil, pouring out a small amount
in his palm and liberally coating both hands. Legolas tensed again,
anticipating the initial contact with something like dread, just as he
did every time. Thranduil knew not why the sight bothered him so deeply
this night yet refused to examine his thoughts to learn the cause of
the
strange melancholia.
I might have lost him, is that not
reason enough to feel this way?
He cleared his throat lightly
to see if that would ease away the constriction around his vocal chords
before trying to speak. "I will begin now," he warned, a necessary
precaution so that Legolas would not flinch when hands connected with
his skin. Thranduil's settled lightly on his son's lower back, right in
the curve at the base of the spine, neither pressing nor rubbing,
merely resting there just above a delicate green tendril of the Morning
Glory vine tattoo escaping from beneath the leggings.
Legolas flinched anyway.
The King ignored it, as he always did, distracting his thoughts by the
tattoo under his fingers.
His first Faer Hebron's
mark. As he paused, he wondered if a new image would be inked
to honour the more recent bond. At last another deep breath, close
enough to a poorly restrained sob to make the King frown, made the
archer's shoulders rise and fall, leaving a more normal stillness in
its wake. Thranduil pressed the heels of his hands down and pushed,
letting them glide along the oily film as they moved upward to Legolas'
shoulder blades. He placed his hands flat for the return journey, his
thumbs riding the groove of the spinal column with just a little bit of
pressure. He repeated the same moves, up and back, twelve times until
Legolas sighed again, a long exhale of comfortable ease, now completely
relaxed and limp upon the pallet.
Thranduil switched to his finger tips and added a rhythmic, circular
kneading tempo that stimulated the taut muscles underlying the
outspread wings of the falcon image. He concentrated on the neck and
the base of the scull for a time, massaging carefully but firmly.
Thranduil worked his way back down, rubbing the ache out of the
trapezius and deltoid muscles, until his hands once more reposed in the
lumbar curve. He turned his palms inward and again began the long
upward stroke, turning his fingers out as he went until he reached the
scapula where his digits lightly curved over Legolas' ribs just beneath
his arms. Applying slightly more pressure on the sides, the King's
hands travelled down again but abruptly stopped. The pad of his index
finger had encountered the first of the small brands. Legolas
immediately tensed, even holding his breath, and Thranduil had to fight
the sorrowful sigh seeking exit his lungs.
"Be at peace," he said calmly and removed his fingers from the
sensitive region. "I did not mean to press there." He continued the
massage even as Legolas lifted his head to look back at him. Thranduil
met his son's troubled eyes with a kind smile. "I may not understand it
completely, but I am proud of the sacrifice you made for your friends,
for your naneth."
Legolas stared at him, wanting to explain that it was not a matter for
pride but rather an obligation required of him. Thranduil would never
see that and so he gave his father a half-hearted smile instead and
turned his head away again. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to
think but only to feel, loosing himself to the rejuvenating pressure of
the hands coaxing his body into healing relaxation. He hoped Thranduil
would refrain from further speech, for while at times he enjoyed the
stories of his brothers' or of the King's childhood, this night he had
no wish for such trivial tales. He learned quickly that wish would not
be fulfilled, nor would the topic of his father's words be frivolous.
"I understand what you have lost," Thranduil continued, hoping this was
a suitable way to begin the conversation, "for my naneth died when I
was a few years older than you are. Even now there are times when I
wish my Nana was here and she has been gone since before our people
came to this land. If not for my wife, I am sure I would have faded
from the grief. How my father continued I never comprehended until I
also lost my mate." No reply came from the motionless Elf beneath his
moving hands. "Galdor tells me your Faer Hebron is from Gondolin, the
sister of our guest, Lord Glorfindel." Still nothing, not even a grunt
of assent, greeted this prompting. "I owe this lady a life-debt, for
without her intervention I would be the one grieving tonight."
Legolas sighed, realising he must respond and dreading what would
follow from it. "Tirn'wador cautions the bond may not strengthen for we
know each other so little."
"I am still thankful and hope to tell her so personally. You are very
dear to me, Legolas, and if I have not said it often it is not through
any fault of yours."
"The Lady Aelluin will never come to Greenwood, Adar," Legolas replied
coldly, ignoring the tender words completely. In fact, the archer sat
up and pulled away from his father's hands. He was not sure why this
attempt at commiseration and sympathy struck him so sharply, but he
suddenly had no wish to endure it. A dark flare of anger coursed
through him and he had to admit he did not truly believe his father's
profession of love. Were Thranduil to ever learn the truth that faint
offer of
warmth would dissipate quickly to be replaced by disgust and aversion.
The King hid his hurt as best he could, covering it by taking up the
cloth and wiping the oil from his hands. "I see. You will remove to
Imladris then. That is not what I would have hoped for yet no price is
too high to pay for your salvation from fading."
"I did not say I would leave Greenwood," Legolas objected bitterly.
"Too much is happening to decide that and there is no reason to think
the soul-bond will survive the trials to come."
"You do not plan to complete Faras-uin-Ind?" asked Thranduil, his
uneasiness
returning. Calarlim had not explained clearly why the silvan maid
betrothed to Legolas scant years ago had failed to return with him to
the stronghold. Upon the announcement of her untimely death, Legolas
had not seemed overcome with despair, as he was now, but barely
troubled at all. His routine had gone on as it ever had, as if he had
felt noting at all for the deceased elleth. His son seemed similarly
apathetic toward the new fiancé. "Is this because of your first
love?"
"Nay!" Legolas fairly shouted the word. The shocked bewilderment on his
father's features made him blush in embarrassment to have reacted so.
Yet again the rage boiled close to the surface, for he was forbidden to
admit that his first romantic stirrings had not been for some maiden of
the northern reaches but for a seasoned warrior under Inarthan's
command. "Forgive me, Hîren Adar," he bowed his head
respectfully, "I am not myself this night. I meant to say that it has
nothing to do with her. It is just that I am weary and cannot think
about the courtship just now."
"Sîdh, I am the one who should ask pardon, for my inquiries
disturbed you when what you require is rest. Galdor advised me to speak
to you about this else I would not have brought it up."
"He did? Why would he do that? He is Tirn'wador; he is supposed to
handle these things so that…" Legolas broke off, struck speechless to
see that shadow of wounded feelings darken his father's eyes again.
"Nae, every word I say is wrong! I am just surprised, forgive me."
"Daro, no more apologising, Legolas. It is not your doing, can you not
understand? I am the one to blame for this barrier between us,"
Thranduil whispered in pained remorse. "It is true that I sent you
away. I am sorry for it; you were too young to seek a life-mate and I
pushed you into it. I did not do it out of shame, that you must
believe, but out of fear for your future. Calarlim was so certain you
would find someone among your own, among your mother's people. I did
not want your parents' errors to afflict you so; I did not want you to
spend your life alone."
Legolas stared, aghast and wide-eyed, mouth drier than the frail
fragments of
fallen leaves upon a winter trail as Thranduil sputtered out these
disjointed words. He had never seen the King nervous before and had the
situation not been so tragic it might have been faintly amusing. He
could hardly focus on what was being said, too absorbed in watching the
gloom of contrite self-reproach tinge Thranduil's countenance.
He was
simultaneously horrified and perversely pleased to see he had roused
his father's discomfort over the turn of events. Legolas was suddenly
overcome with a strong desire to shout out that he was indeed doomed to
live alone and it was solely Thranduil's fault but not because he had
failed to wed Lhoss. The next instant cold misery enveloped Legolas'
soul
as he imagined the scandalised disdain that would transform Thranduil's
features if he ever found out the real reason.
Unconsciously Legolas gathered Calarlim's tunic, still clutched in his
hand, close to his heart as he recalled the events Thranduil was so set
on forcing him to relive. So much anger, so much hurt had filled him
then, Legolas wondered how he had endured it as the memory made the
pain fresh and new. The terror of self discovery, the fear of being
revealed to others, the dread of loosing his father's love assailed him
just as if he was still but 40 years of age struggling to find his
place among the Sindarin elite of Oropher's House. He had felt it was
but a matter of time before everyone learned of his disgusting desires.
When it happened, he would be cast out, for he understood exactly what
the majority of the Wood Elves thought of his existence. They would all
say it was only to be expected of one conceived through sinful selfish
desire.
Attempting to prevent this, he was mocked for hiding away and refusing
to show his changing body, 'prim and pretty as any maid'. Desperately
he
fought against the uncomfortable feelings and physical reactions now
tacked onto his admiration of warriors in his brothers' patrols. Yet no
matter how hard he tried he could not make his body heed his commands
and even far from the source of these sensations his mind brought the
alluring images vividly to life. If not for Calarlim's intervention, he
had no doubt he would have destroyed himself rather than suffer the
loss of his family's respect, rather than bring any hint of fault upon
Thranduil.
Until Calarlim brought him the news that he was to be dismissed to the
far northern colonies, effectively banished from his father's household
after all, turned away before the ugly truth could bring the ruling
House low. And while Legolas had never wished to cause his father any
woe, would have done anything to protect the noble House form scorn or
derision, yet it hurt him to find that Thranduil wanted him to go. He
was an embarrassment, even without his perversion revealed. His father
knew that none of the Lords of the court would favour a match between
the King's bastard and one of their noble daughters.
Calarlim's words,
intending to soothe his wounded spirit then, explaining why they had to
leave, did as little to ease his heart now.
'He cannot bear to
see you suffer and he knows you are in agony over this. He bade me take
you far from here, to present you only as Cuthenin, Athedreinnyn of the
Greenwood, my nephew orphaned by the fight against the Orcs and
spiders. In this way we may hide the stain of your illicit birth. He
does this because he loves you, Legolas.'
How much he needed to believe that and Calarlim had usually been able
to convince him it was so. She was gone, however, and he must somehow
sort it out for himself at last.
"Calarlim has been taken from you," Thranduil started speaking again
and so close were these words to his son's thoughts that Legolas
startled and sucked in a loud breath. The King reached over and laid a
comforting hand on the archer's shoulder, mistaking the involuntary
response for grief. "Your Tirn'wador is wise and means well, yet he
knows next to nothing of you. I have helped raise you from the day you
were born, Legolas; surely I understand you better than Galdor. Permit
me to aid you in these decisions regarding your Faer Hebron."
"I know not how to answer that," Legolas blurted out, running a hand
through his hair in aggravation. "I was not planning to make any
decision so soon," he hastily amended, catching the in-drawn breath
signalling Thranduil's dismay over the blunt admission of this breach
in
trust between them.
"You need not come to a conclusion now, yet voicing your concerns may
make the determination easier when the time is right," Thranduil tried
again, squeezing lightly to encourage his son's confidence. "I may as
well be honest; your Tirn'wador told me you believe your choice will
displease me. Will you not speak of these worries and let me counter
them?"
Legolas stared in disbelief.
How could Galdor betray me
so? "You do not understand what you ask of me. What if you
cannot allay my fears? What if you would but reinforce them, once they
are known to you?"
"There is nothing that will change my love for you, Legolas; you are my
son. I am keenly aware that you have borne the brunt of suffering for
my wrongs, for you mother's mistakes. I would undo whatever harm I can;
I would have you find some peace within your self. If this lady of
Gondolin can win your heart, then I care not who or what she may be.
Whatever it is you think I will denounce, I…"
"Daro! Saes, Adar, saes!" Legolas cried, covering his eyes with his
hand to block from sight the imploring expression governing his
father's visage. "I do not want to speak of this; I cannot speak of it!"
"Ai, Legolas! Nay, nay this is wrong. Come here, I meant not to cause
you more distress," alarmed, Thranduil moved closer and pulled on the
shoulder still beneath his fingers, drawing his hesitant son to him,
wrapping protective arms around him, finally holding the rigid body
tight against his heart. The King sighed, resting his chin atop the
bowed head, feeling the strain ebb away as Legolas permitted this
meagre comfort. He scarcely dared breath or utter a sound lest he chase
away his skittish child. He marvelled at the wiry strength of the form
he embraced; Legolas had been truly an elfling when last Thranduil had
held him thus.
Now he is grown and I have lost him. Nay, I
lost him the year I sent him away. His arms' grasp tightened
in concert with the realisation even as his heart constricted in sorrow.
Legolas willingly went into his father's arms. Though conflicted in
spirit he yet loved Thranduil and needed reassurance that the sentiment
was returned. It was strange and frightening, for he had not permitted
himself such contact in so long, anticipating his father would somehow
know
the truth just by hugging him. He realised now how irrational that
notion was for nothing happened, no flinching repudiation, no curses or
condemnations, no denouncements of any kind followed the embrace.
Instead he felt a measure of peace and a sense of security he
remembered from his childhood days; Legolas wept for what he had denied
himself these many years. Instinctively he burrowed closer, clung
tighter, certain this might well be the very last time he would ever
enjoy such an uninhibited expression of paternal love.
For I
cannot give him false hope.
After so many years of lying and deceit he was weary of it, could not
maintain it without Calarlim to act as the buffer between him and this
Elf he loved and respected so much. He could not endure the doubt
anymore, the fear of being rejected eating away at his confidence and
robing him of resolve. If his father loved him, he would forgive him in
time. If Thranduil did not, then there was no need to grieve over
loosing a regard he had never earned. Legolas took a steadying breath
and sat back, his father's hold loosening but not releasing him, and
sought Thranduil's eyes.
"It is best for you to understand, Adar," he said and swallowed to keep
the choking bile from invading his mouth. "I will never consummate a
bond with the Lady Aelluin of Gondolin." He paused for another chance
to breathe, hardly comprehending what he was about to say. "I will
never consummate a bond with a Lady of any realm."
For a long silent moment they held each other's gaze, searching for a
place of understanding, Legolas simultaneously terrified and hopeful,
Thranduil both frightened and resigned. There was insufficient space
remaining between them to house dissembling, pretence, or vain
rationalisations. There was only the raw core of Legolas' soul, exposed
and vulnerable, awaiting his father's adjudication, prepared for the
sentence under which he already languished to be pronounced aloud.
The conviction never came. Thranduil could only see the tragedy and the
anguish of the situation he had forced upon his son. He could not blame
Legolas; how could this be his fault? Nay, it was Thranduil who had
brought the curse upon him, for had he not denied mother and child his
aid and strength in the days when it was most sorely needed? How could
it be otherwise, the agonised parent reasoned, when all of Lhoss'
feä, a purely feminine essence, had transferred to her child while
almost nothing of himself had he given. Was it not his law that placed
his son in such trepidation?
Not for himself, not most of it.
He shudders for what this will do to me, to his family. It was all
so easy to see now that Thranduil wondered at his blind denial.
"Ai, Legolas," he whispered in fractured tones, yanking his suffering
child back into his embrace, permitting no longer even the slender
distance of an arm's reach to remain between them, willing his son to
trust him again. "It changes nothing; it changes everything," he
mourned, spilling quiet tears into golden hair. "I will not have you
torn from me over this. We will find a way to make it all right; you
will see."
And it was not an empty promise in either Elf's estimation, for while
Legolas did not believe it could be done yet he cared not, for with
Glorfindel resided the promise of a soul-mate and as long as Thranduil
did not reject him, he could accept whatever fate willed. As for
Thranduil, he could already sense the change in the climate and detect
the smell of war upon the horizon. He did not need the gift of
foresight to perceive that his third child, unwanted and denied, had
already risen far above these ignoble origins to claim a pivotal place
in the events to come.
TBC
A/N: There it is. I waited to place this note at the end so as not to
give away the conclusion. As I saw it, there were three possible
reactions Thranduil might have to learning his son desires a male
lover: 1) outrage and rejection borne of shame and guilt, forcing
Legolas to leave Greenwood behind in order to fulfil his destiny; 2)
complete denial and purposeful blindness, thus keeping his son close,
protecting his reputation of being 'right', and preventing having to
admit he may have been cruel to make such a law; or 3) accepting
Legolas but still seeing the desire for a male as inappropriate, sort
of loving Legolas no matter his flaws, taking the blame for Legolas'
shame upon himself. I did not consider a fourth possibility, that
Thranduil would instantly become enlightened and accepting of same-sex
pairs, because I doubt such decisions are instantaneous, either
in formulating or disposing of such a bias. Now that his heart and mind
are open, however, I am sure he will grow in wisdom concerning his
son's nature, eventually coming to the realisation that such a
preference has no more to do with goodness, decency, and honour than a
person's eye colour would. I leave it to your judgement if I chose the
best option, and do not hesitate to let me know your opinions.
As for Legolas' reversal of the decision to keep the truth a secret at
all costs, consider this: He expected Galdor to handle it, for never
had Thranduil discussed any personal matters with him, for Calarlim
prevented it. I hope I made it clear that she was rather distrustful of
Thranduil and impeded his access to Legolas quite a bit. Legolas was in
the midst of grieving when Thranduil decided to have their wrenching
discussion, he was vulnerable and alone and Thranduil used the Sindarin
ritual to put his son in a relaxed state of mind first. And in the end,
Legolas needed to have his father's unconditional acceptance and took a
huge chance that he would receive it, counting on the love he could
feel to be true and real. He trusted his instincts, and maybe relied on
a little prompting from Calarlim that happened during their communion
at Úcaul Annaur, too. Again, I would love to hear your opinions,
either for or against the various ideas in this chapter.
NOTE: I apologise for the lengthy delay in posting to this story again.
I did not walk away from it, I simply could not get these chapters
right. I have struggled to get it to this point and am satisfied with
where this places our hero and his father. Legolas and Thranduil do
have a confrontation over the subject of Faer Hebron. I have tried to
make this realistic based on the following conditions I placed on
Thranduil's character: 1) that he loves his son; 2) he has fallen into
a trap many many people do concerning controversial issues: assuming
they can be judged under black and white guidelines. Where nature is
concerned, things are rarely so cut and dried. 3) He is not stupid.
Thranduil has to come to terms with this situation rather quickly,
after shying away from it for years. I reason this based on the fact
that he is intelligent and must know, having lived as long as he has,
that there are and always will be folks who are attracted to their own
gender. His decision against it is initially a practical one that gets
entwined within the religious creed of the people he governs. These are
a people who have long struggled against evil in their midst, a people
isolated from the rest of the elven realms, a people never exposed to
the Light of Valinor, distrustful of the Valar, and wary of outsiders.
Under these conditions, Pâd-en-Tawar has changed and absorbed the
civil edict into its religious doctrine.
Beyond that, we learn quite a lot about Legolas' birth-mother and
Glorfindel finds out who some of the archer's friends and enemies are.
I clipped the discussion between Galdor and Thranduil down quite a bit,
for initially they argued over the same-sex issue and in retrospect I
felt the King would not permit himself to be drawn off-topic again by
the wily Noldorin Sadron. I may work their talk back into the story
later under a different guise, so if you feel like you do not
understand enough about Thranduil's decision to make the law banning
same-sex unions in the first place, feel free to let me know. Thank you
all for your patience and continued support!
Cheers,
Fred
04/08/2006
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