The story: This is the sequel to "Seeing You" and I believe it is necessary for you to have read that one first. This is another long one-shot set in Rivendell around seventy years before the War. As the days darken and the Shadow grows, Legolas returns to Imladris two and a half years after his last visit. Is what he saw then the same or has it too changed? A/L, slash story, although very, very mild. AU.
Timeline: This takes place in the Third Age (III) 2948, seven years after The White Council drove the Necromancer (later proved to be Sauron) out of Dol Guldur in Mirkwood. In this year Aragorn is 17 (and a half!) and has been in Elrond's care for 15 years. He doesn't yet know of his ancestry as that is revealed to him in III 2951. (The War of the Ring begins III 3018.) What Gandalf is up to in this year (III 2948) is – at least to me – unclear. One year later he visits Bilbo in the Shire along with Balin, but for our purposes, let's welcome him to Rivendell!
Warnings: This is an Aragorn/Legolas pairing. There's no explicit slash, but nonetheless, I'm hinting towards it. If you do not approve of this, you are welcome to do something completely different. Or you could stay, put away your prejudices and discover something you might like?
Also – IMPORTANT: The timeline is only here to provide us with a rough framework. It does not mean that all the facts in this story are correct, such as elven shoe-wear or spider activity.
Disclaimer: It is I and only I who have written this. I have a deep, deep respect for Tolkien though.
This is for all of you, but especially for BGE who has been the most wonderful and inspiring supporter one could ever wish for! I hope the Gods of chocolate fudge sundaes – and bananas – will smile forever upon you!
Enjoy!
Hearing You
III 2948
The moment it happened, I heard it: the hushed sigh of the first leaf that fell in Mirkwood this autumn. Over the past weeks, the trees have gradually lost their deep green to rich yellow and orange. As always at this time of year, it is as if stems and branches turn their gaze inward, weary of the endless rustling and whispering of their own leaves. Longingly they dream of shorter days and longer nights, when the birds quieten and they may sleep in peace.
Rain came and met the babbling streams with their own tapping drops, blending swiftly together their waters. In some parts of the woods, the banks were flooded and a seeping sound enveloped those who attempted a walk upon them.
From time to time, Anor breaks through the heavy clouds, but never does she truly succeed in lifting our spirits enough. Or maybe that is only me.
It has been two and a half years.
Eagerly I await dusk and the oncoming night for often after a rainy day, the skies clear and the stars may shine through. A sparkling silver, they remind me of something else I have seen.
The harvest moon waxed and waned, haunting me as it has never done before. Adar says the land is uneasy. There are rumours abound: tales of strange folk crossing borders formerly unknown to them. Yet, naught has happened though.
Thengel, the King of the vast land called Rohan has had a son. It is seen as good fortune; words of strong men – or men whom we wish will prove their strength one day – come more frequently now.
Yes, men. The shadow chased from our woodlands seven years ago stirs somewhere in the south and we can no longer remain only in alliance with the Istari. Even my father has admitted to this though it took him some time.
'In the shadow we grow', he said and I could no longer claim I am full-grown.
I wonder if it applies to men as well.
The ground is no longer firm and solid as it was in summer. We leave sunken marks in the mud behind us and a squashing noise is heard every time Êl sets down a hoof. After endless days of riding through this misty country we are both splattered with dirt and even for an elf, I am cold. Or if I am not cold, at least I am weary to the bone of this. At my encouragement he trots on, and also because we have already come so far. The last time I mentioned where we are journeying he sent me a glare which in no polite way told me to stop repeating myself. Therefore I now urge him on without bringing up our destination – and confine myself to rejoicing silently within.
No, it has not been another forty years since I last laid eyes upon the fair valley of Imladris. In the life of an elf two and a half years should be nothing, but I would be lying if I said that each passing moon has not left a sorrowful note in my heart. Joined together, they have created a song that seems to sift through me as I behold the stars at night. Still, I seek them out in the heavens, for they remind me of you.
The power of the elven memory is a blessing. It is what makes me able to call forth the perfect image of your face in my mind. I may behold you from every angle and see you as clearly as if you were standing in front of me.
The power of the elven memory is a curse. For you are not here – your image is only an illusion that plays on all my senses, and tugs at my heart.
Is it a wonder then, that I am impatient?
A drenching, violent rain begins to hammer the ground that gently falls before us. Heavy grey curtains shut out the surrounding forest as we descend carefully as even Êl, as surefooted as he may be, finds it increasingly difficult not to slip in the thick mud. My cloak gradually lets the water inside and it seeps into the fabric of my tunic. I have tied my hair back completely but it matters no longer. As even my boots take in the determined water, I resign to my destiny of this day and give up the idea of arriving looking at least somewhat as a Prince of the Woodland Realm ought to. I suppose it is a good thing then, I am not journeying to a place unknown or dreaded.
Êl is whinnying unhappily by now and he is not the least comforted by reaching level ground where we may pick up some speed again. Were I a horse, I would probably do the same so I cannot blame him. Battered by the rain, we ride through the forest, some of the trees managing to shield us from the pounding drops, but mostly they pull back, caring not the least I am a wood-elf. I cannot blame them either.
We do not pass noiselessly through the trees but the hissing rain effectively drowns out the smacking sound of hooves in the soggy dirt. For some time, and for us, these are the only things to be heard.
The gates of Imladris stand open as we finally arrive and can truly believe there is an end to this journey as well. For an instant, I will honestly say that the warmth of your home appeals to me more than to see you, but it is a fleeing moment.
We have not taken many steps beyond the gate when a shrill cry pierces the air close by and makes me jump high on Êl's back. Almost blinded by the rain I can only make out a dark figure slipping in the mud before us and falling flat onto its back.
Two very distinctive roars of laughter erupt from somewhere on my left.
"Tûr, gwanur!"
"Victory indeed, brother!"
The form is still sprawled on the ground. As it starts to get to its feet, suspicion grows in my mind and I am noticed.
"Legolas! Mae govannen!"
Elladan and Elrohir seem to appear out of nowhere beside me, similar smiles flashing through the rain. "Arrived at last! You look positively terrible!"
"Mae govannen," I return the greeting. "You look slightly drenched yourselves."
The brilliant faces exchange a glance.
"Oh, we are fine!" Elladan waves a hand dismissively. "Our little brother though…" He peers at the dark figure who is now standing up, brushing mud from his face and long coat.
"Estel!" Elrohir calls out as we make our way forward. "There is no use in trying to clean yourself up. Now, come here. Legolas has arrived."
Your head shoots up and no amount of rain could ever dim the bright grey of your eyes. The dark hair that crowns your head has grown a little longer and dripping strands frame your face. You meet my gaze and your lips move.
"Elo…"
And that is the first word you say to me.
Elrohir smacks his forehead with his palm in a mock-gesture.
"Is that what you have to say, Estel? 'Oh!'?"
"Humans…" I hear Elladan mutter in response, but then all fades.
All but you.
You shiver in the rain, clasping your hands together in front of your chest as if you wish to draw any extensive heat from your body into them. Your brown boots blend with the mud and make it impossible to tell where you end and the ground begins. But your eyes are fixed on mine, unflinching.
'Elo...'
Another voice breaks through the mist that has encircled me:
"Legolas!"
The spell is broken and you spin around, as do your brothers.
"Elladan! Elrohir!" Keen are my eyes normally, but I can barely make out the Lord of Imladris standing in the doorway, shielded from the soaking wetness pouring down. "Bring him inside immediately!" His tone is uncompromising and after I slide down from Êl, your brothers hurry to see him led away and then escort me into the house.
"Here you are at last!" Lord Elrond exclaims as he places his hands on my shoulders. "I shall embrace you when you have dried up," he adds with a smile and a wink.
I smile back but in the corner of my eye, I note how you slip inside and disappear, leaving a wet trail on the floor behind you.
"I was beginning to worry," he continues, and I force all my attention on him. "The roads are not as safe as they once were…" His voice lowers and a troubled look passes over his face.
"All went well," I assure him, still smiling as if it will convince him that this world is still as innocent as the summer's light at dawn.
He is wiser than that, I know, but he says no more of it. "Change your clothes, ion nin, and join us when you are done," he suggests instead and I find myself on my way to the same room I always occupy when I am here.
After hesitating for a couple of minutes, I leave my dripping garments is the adjacent bathing chamber, figuring that in there the floor is at least accustomed to water. From my luggage I manage to produce a dry tunic and a pair of equally dry leggings. My other pair of boots is damp but I pull them on anyway; the elves in Imladris tread often bare-footed, but I, being from Mirkwood, have never adopted this custom.
I work my hair with a towel, succeeding reasonably well in drying it, and I redo the braids that keep it in place. Deciding this is quite sufficient, I open the door and step outside, almost colliding with – you.
"Elo!" I cry out with a sharp breath before I know it.
Your hands fly up to protect your face, but when I make no attempt to attack you, they are lowered. Wide-eyed, you stare at me.
You have grown and we are now almost the same height. Your shoulders have broadened – not very much, but enough to indicate that you will be a strong man one day. Your soaked and muddy garments have been exchanged for dry ones but your hair is still tousled and the rain can still be seen nestled in it.
"I am sorry!"
Your voice is gentle and soft, but there is a distinctive rasp to it. I briefly wonder at my body's reaction as a brave tingle runs through me and quickens my pulse.
"No." I shake my head. Then realising it sounds like I do not believe you, I hasten to explain. "There is naught to forgive. My fault."
You are still watching my avidly but now there is a small smile growing on your lips.
"You are going to see adar?"
I see your mouth moving and I tell myself it is only a voice escaping it, but how is it that a sound can affect me so? The hum of my blood rises to meet it and I strive to regain the control I have left.
"Yes," I confirm, nodding this time.
You too incline your head, turn around and together we make for wherever Elrond is waiting for us. Though it is performed in silence, I seem unable to concentrate on anything but our walk, matching my strides with yours, trying hard not to look at you. When you stop in front of the library door I surface.
You catch my eye and hold my gaze. The humming turns into singing – the first joyful song I have heard in two and a half years.
"Mae govannen," you whisper as a faint blush tints your cheeks with a rosy shade.
Then you push open the door.
The vast library bathes in a warm glow, flowing generously from the fire-place opposite the door. Several small lamps, hanging in the windows, are lit and their lights flicker in the glass-bulbs encasing them. Your father is seated near the fire, deep in conversation with someone I have not seen for many years. As they turn to greet us I feel a smile spreading across my face.
"Mithrandir." I bow before him but am only offered an amused chuckle in return.
"Bowing to an old friend, Legolas son of Thranduil?" His deep voice resonates between the bookshelves as he comes to greet me. "There is no need for such courteous behaviour!" He wraps me up in a great hug.
I hear the door click discreetly behind us and I no longer feel your presence in the room.
o.O.o
It is good to see Mithrandir again. We speak of light matters and I begin to suspect that he consciously stays away from the shadow-tales, leaving them for a darker night when the changing world no longer can be ignored. He tells me of how he is planning to return to the Shire-lands in the coming year to see his friend Bilbo the Adventurous Hobbit which he calls him with a loving chuckle. I listen to his stories as evening falls and he asks me about news of Mirkwood. Your father joins in our conversation from time to time, but more often than not I find him submersed in his own thoughts. When the times calls for supper though, his spirits lift and he ushers us towards the dining hall, laughing.
Unlike the last time I came to visit, this first meal of my stay in Imladris will be shared by many of the valley's residents. I find Glorfindel and Erestor but have barely greeted them when I am pulled away by four strong arms and plunged into a chair by the long table.
"There," says Elladan as he surveys me with a content nod.
Elrohir drops down into the seat to my right as his brother claims the chair on my other side. "Better," he states. "Now, Legolas, relay to us all that you did not tell Mithrandir earlier!"
"What should I tell you?" I ask, raising my eyebrows.
Elladan clicks his tongue impatiently. "News that are not for any council, naturally. We are quite sure you did not let him in on the elf-maidens you have sought to court…"
"…or the elf-maidens whom have sought to court you!" Elrohir smiles triumphantly as he reaches for a carafe to pour us three glasses of wine.
I feel my cheeks flush and a squirming feeling rises in my stomach.
"He can be rather imposing," Elrohir continues, shooting a glance down the table, seemingly blessedly unaware of my unease. "Our little brother is terrified of him, you know."
Elladan snickers to my left. "Aye, it is most entertaining actually! Mithrandir has only to walk into a room and – whoosh! – there flees Estel, quick as young fawn in the forest!"
"A sad story altogether," says Elrohir, "but amusing nonetheless."
Why are you afraid of Mithrandir, Estel?
I wonder at this, your brothers' story. I search for you up and down the table, letting my eyes travel over the elven forms laughing and speaking amongst their friends or family. Elrond and Mithrandir are seated at the head of the table, deep in conversation with Glorfindel and Erestor. They too are smiling as if the light of the matters I spoke of with the istar has remained with them and enfolded their hearts. It joys me to see it.
"Legolas?" Elladan's voice brings me back. "Now, speak up!"
Confused, I meet his inquiring gaze. "Man?"
He rolls his eyes and tosses back the long dark hair. "Oh no mellon, you shall not escape so easily! You have not answered our questions regarding the lovely females of Mirkwood yet."
"There is naught to tell," I say, shaking my head.
"Naught?" Elrohir exclaims with a frustrated tone. "Come now, Legolas, there must be some tale worth to tell."
I turn my head back and forth in the only motion that will make it possible for me to see both of your brothers almost at once. "Nothing," I repeat.
Two utterly well performed sighs from either side follows this confession.
"Disappointed, Legolas…" says Elrohir.
"Dreadfully disappointed," agrees Elladan.
He reaches for a dish of hazel nuts and drops a handful of them on his plate. I accept a steaming pot that is handed to me and proves to contain a stew made from root vegetables. We eat in silence for a while and I allow my mind to drift off to the rising and sinking melody of laughter and friendly bantering filling the dining hall.
A small movement across the room calls my attention many moments later. My eyes stay glued to the doorway as the hesitating form standing there knows not whether to enter or not.
I want to rush to your side, to draw you inside – to welcome you as you no doubt should be welcomed. Instead I remain in my seat, watching as you step over the threshold and steal towards our company. By the way your eyes dart across the room, I can tell you do not wish to be sighted. Your gaze lingers on the far end of the table and I wonder if it is only my imagination or if you are truly making sure that Mithrandir is looking the other way.
I see you drop into a seat so far away from me. Your movements are hurried as you reach for a pot and a small plate simultaneously. Quickly you fill your plate and begin eating, unseen – or ignored – by the elves surrounding you.
"Wait!"
I tear myself away from you as Elladan looks up from his food and a light dawns in his eyes. "Wait…" he repeats as he turns to face me. "We phrased our question wrongly."
"You did?" I ask, unsure of which question he is speaking.
"We did," he nods as a smirk plays around his mouth. "Legolas, are there any male elves that you have sought to court?"
Elrohir on my other side lets out a small "Aha!" which I choose to ignore.
I swallow, unaccustomed to this questioning, but there is only one possible answer I can give.
"No," I shake my head yet again. "I am sorry to disappoint you, Elladan, but it is so."
"Are you certain? No males either? Have you even considered that possibility?" Elladan looks wholly exasperated by now.
I must laugh at this. "You are terrible!" I announce. "Not even my adar has tried to raise the question of marriage yet."
"I do not speak of marriage, mellon nin," Elladan says firmly. "There are other ways of engaging, shall we say, in things before one bonds."
It is now my turn to roll my eyes. "I am no unenlightened elfling," I say. "Nevertheless, I cannot tell you what you wish to hear."
"So no females then… And no males?"
"None," I confirm.
Fruit is brought in at that moment and the heavier wine is replaced by a lighter one, leaving anyone who drinks of it with a glowing mind. It is not strong, rather it is rich with the love and enchantment that flows through the lands of Imladris.
As I lift my eyes from the table after my glass has been filled, they seek their own path down the table and collide with yours. Silver and grey fill my vision but beyond I see you straighten your shoulders and raise your chin a little higher. Again comes the tingling in my blood and I feel lighter than I have for hours. I can almost sense the way you force yourself to hold my gaze and refuse to shy away. Slowly, as if not to scare you off, I let a warm smile grow on my lips. And equally slowly I see you returning it, until the power of it threatens to overwhelm me and hold me captive for eternity.
If you only knew how easily I would yield to you.
o.O.o
It is long past the descent of Anor behind the thick clouds in the distant horizon when I wander through the gardens. The air is heavy with moisture and every leaf seems to be dripping with tears. There is no wind and from the ground rises an earthy scent of drowned soil and decaying grass. I follow along a secluded path that I know will take me to a small clearing. On one side, the ground falls steeply down into the valley and the glade offers a beautiful view over a small, singing river. With caution I walk for the ground is slippery.
My senses seldom fail me, but if they do at certain times, it is not so now. As I approach the clearing, a low stream of soft-spoken words reach my ears. Closer I step and the muttering grows in vigour. The notes equal each other but as the last word is uttered, the voice which speaks it rises and strengthens. It is accompanied by a rushed clatter of stone on stone that gradually dies away.
The trees before me have so far hidden the view, but upon passing through them I can make out a small light nestled in the grass and the form of someone sitting with his back to me, looking out over the dale. Stepping into the glade, I make sure to rustle some low branches and the head before me spins around.
Estel.
"Goheno nin," I say. "I do not wish to intrude upon your privacy.
"There is naught to forgive." You use my words from earlier with a small smile.
I offer you one in return. "This is a beautiful place."
You nod and then seem to gather your courage. "Will you join me?"
A long breath escapes you as I accept, and even though I try not to be affected by it, my heart wants to name it 'relief'. I cross the small clearing slowly and your eyes follow my movements intently. Your brother's words come back to me as I walk.
'A young fawn.'
You have brought a woollen blanket that lays spread upon the ground. The light I saw through the trees is seeping out from a lantern you have placed beside you. I mean to sit down upon the grass but you hastily scramble over, pulling up your knees to your chest and taking the lamp with you.
"Please, there is enough room on the blanket. The grass is wet," you add as if you feel the need to explain.
"Thank you," I smile gratefully and drop to the ground.
You place the lantern between us, and steadily it glows, like a miniature beacon in the night.
I sneak a glance at you and see that you have turned to face the valley beneath us. The rise and fall of your breathing flows around me and I, too, turn my gaze to the shadowed land in front of me.
"I am sorry the clouds hide the stars tonight," I say finally.
As soon as the words have escaped my lips I wish to take them back. They carry no meaning and must sound silly and unnecessary to you.
"Do you like stars?" Your voice is low and there is a note in it I cannot define.
I nod. "So does every elf, I guess, but yes, I do like the stars. It is also the name of my horse – Êl."
You do not reply to this immediately. When you do, you speak almost in a whisper.
"They frighten me."
Now I turn back to you. You are hugging you knees and your chin is settled between them.
"Why do they frighten you?" I ask, tilting my head.
"The heavens are so vast. They hold all knowledge… and they see me. It is so very… much."
I have never considered this before and my eyes stay on your face in wonder.
"They are vast," I agree. "They were here before us and they will remain when we have left."
You turn your head to the side, resting your cheek upon your knees and give me a faint lopsided smile. "It does not really help."
I laugh at this. "I suppose not. Forgive me, Estel, I did not mean it like that."
Your smile does not fade but instead it changes into a grin. "I forgive you."
I need no stars tonight, do you know that? If the Gods of the heavens see you now, through the dark clouds that cover the skies, they see radiance stronger and more glorious than the stars could ever express.
"Thank you." I mean for the words to be playful, but they are carried by an honesty I find I cannot hide.
We sit in silence for a while and you do not turn your face away. I feel your eyes upon me, but they are not pressuring; they search me not, or try to decipher me like others might. You are slowly absorbing the sight of me, and I offer my presence willingly, letting you grow accustomed to my very being.
"Have you known him for a long time?"
Your question takes me by surprise.
"Of whom do you speak?"
"Mithrandir." You pronounce his name with care.
"Yes," I tell you, "for as long as I can remember. He is a great friend to my father and now to me." I smile fondly as the image of King Thranduil of Mirkwood flashes through my mind. "He keeps adar grounded and prevents him from making any too rash decisions."
You seem to ponder this as well.
"Mithrandir is like the heavens: he scares me," you admit finally with another one of those crooked grins. "He is very powerful."
"Aye, he is," I acknowledge. "But there are different types of power. Powerful does not always equal dreadful."
"I suppose," you say, but I hear the doubt in your voice.
"The Istari does not need to be feared," I say. "Respected, but not feared. Even your own adar is part istar if I recall correctly." I look at you encouragingly.
Your eyes are wide as you stare at me and not another word escapes your lips. It is not until a few more seconds have passed that I realise my mistake.
"Oh, Estel!" I breathe. "I am sorry, forgive me! I intended no disrespect. Your foster father I mean."
Ever so slowly your stare gives way to a look of amazement and you shake your head.
"I know not my real father," you say quietly. "Did you really think of Lord Elrond as my true father? If only for a short while?"
"I am sorry," I repeat. "You live here as his son and…" I try an explanatory, waving gesture with my hands.
"Do you mean that?" Now there is eagerness in your words and that puts a weak, albeit slightly confused, smile to my face.
"Yes," I suppose so. "Why?"
Even in the humble light of the lantern between us I see the blush creeping across your cheeks as your turn away.
"No one has ever thought of me as elven before," you say.
"Is that important to you, to be considered elven?" I ask carefully, leaning in towards you, but not touching.
I am completely unprepared for the strength in the stormy grey depths of your eyes when you look up. Their brightness nails me to the ground and from them pour a river of pleading light, as if you could evade words and speak to my very soul with only your eyes. They are an absolute contrast to the low and wavering sigh that is your voice when you speak.
"Sometimes I think… that certain things would be… easier were I an elf."
Ithil chooses that moment to break through the heavy clouds above for only the briefest of glimpses. In the silvery light, you hold my gaze firmly for yet another breathless second and then you release me and send me tumbling uncontrollably back into my own body.
An elf I was told I am, but no longer am I convinced. Surely no elf has felt like this before? We are calm and eternal creatures, weaving our lives – thousands of years – together with the comings and goings of the seasons, entwining our days with the ceaseless shining of the stars. We last for ever, we do not count minutes or seconds. We stay poised and balanced and let nothing affect us too deeply.
Or so I have thought it to be. Until now.
Will you stay with me here one more minute?
Ithil drapes the glorious glow in clouds and once more the land lies in deep shadow. A tender rain begins to fall and your woollen blanket seeps it up greedily. A shiver runs through you and the tiny fire in the lantern seems suddenly a poor source of warmth for such a night.
"You are cold." My own voice is barely a whisper.
"No," you shake your head defiantly.
"Yes, you are," I persist and am rewarded by another shiver, if that is any prize. "We should return."
Those are my words but never have I desired them to be heeded less. But you do heed them and rise to your feet, taking the lamp with you. I roll up your blanket and I carry it as we make our way towards the halls of Elrond. Small gleaming lights welcome us through the rain that is steadily growing stronger. Outside the smaller entrance, the garden door, I hand back you your blanket. You accept it by taking the other drenched end of the cloth, never letting our fingers brush. I do not know whether to give thanks for this or not.
You stroke the soaked wool with the palm of your hand and then turn it over. The night lamps reflect their glow in the sheen of water on your skin. "Good night," you say so quietly I must strain to hear it.
"Losto mae."
I watch as you disappear inside and then I turn my face to the raging skies and close my eyes.
Yes, sleep well, Estel.
May the Valar bless your dreams and bring you peace and happiness. Tonight as every other night.
o.O.o
After another couple of days the initial joy of the constant raining wore off, even on your brothers. Everyone stays indoors, and so do I. You are indoors.
It is indeed a lazy afternoon. Glorfindel is reading, but without much interest. It is easy to tell, because he is huffing and shifting on the sofa, repeatedly looking about the room to see if anyone is doing anything more entertaining. Unfortunately we are not. Erestor came back from your father's study a while ago, rolling his eyes but not telling us why. Mithrandir is seated by the windows, sending smoke rings into the dripping wetness outside, and merrily watching them trying to avoid the pouring rain.
I have curled up into a cushioned chair, originally with the intention to go through my stash of arrows for the hundredth time, but I let them rest on the floor beneath me. My eyes have settled on your form across the room. You are leafing through a book about herbs and I wonder how your studies are going. It brings my mind back to the niphredil I found in my food parcels after I had left Imladris the last time, and a warm feeling steals into my heart and nestles there. I mean to ask you… No, I mean to thank you. If I only knew how to word my thoughts.
A sudden roar and a bang shake the walls of the room and everyone's eyes fly to the open door.
"Go! Get out! I will have no bored elflings running around in here!"
Across the threshold tumbles Elladan and Elrohir looking most dismayed both of them.
"Ada!" Elladan complains heartily. "Surely we were not disturbing you!"
"We were only–" Elrohir tries as a fuming Lord Elrond himself appears.
"I do not care!" he bellows in a tone that would make most creatures tremble with fear – all but your brothers. "I will not be disturbed!" He turns on his heel and storms back to his study. A very distinctive slam underlines his statement.
"The poor door," Elladan shakes his head.
"It will not be long-lived," Elrohir agrees as he throws himself into a chair.
"What were you up to if I dare ask?" Glorfindel's eyebrows are slowly descending to a normal level once more.
"Nothing!" Elrohir says, spreading his arms wide as if to prove he carries no weapons of any sort.
"We only tried to improve his mood," Elladan muses. "I am beginning to think it might not have worked."
"And how did you go about it?" Mithrandir forsakes his pipe for a moment to survey your brothers.
"Or perhaps you prefer not to tell us of your winning concept, elflings?" Erestor supplies from his corner.
"Oh, do taunt us!" Elladan mutters. "And we are no elflings, I will have you know."
"That makes Legolas one as well," Elrohir waves a hand towards me.
I am about to protest but Glorfindel is quicker.
"Naturally!" he beams, "Legolas will forever be an elfling to me."
I do not need to look to know that both Erestor and Mithrandir are nodding in agreement. I mutter something that even I cannot discern and reach down for my arrows. It is then that I notice your bright eyes following us and never have I seen such openness in your features before. Your book lies forgotten in your lap.
As your brothers' protests fill the air and almost manage to drown out the tapping dance of the rain, I slip out of my chair and make my way across the room to where you are sitting. You shuffle over and leave me with more than half a sofa to recline upon. Your smile is warm and there is still that open air about you. I offer a weak smile in return as I sit down.
"I am sorry." I incline my head to the group of elves now arguing wildly. As soon as the discussion calms down, Mithrandir throws in a comment that set the wheels turning once more.
"No, do not be," you say. "I admit I quite like this. It makes them less… elven."
Yes, I can see what you mean, and your words make me laugh softly.
"True," I agree. "It is very hard for a grown elf to be called elfling."
Your eyes stray to my face and there again is that wondrous gleam in them. It is almost as if you do not believe me.
"But you must be so old?" you say and them immediately you clamp your hands over your mouth and your eyes widen. "I am sorry," you whisper and I can barely make out the words. "I did not mean for it to sound like that, Legolas."
It is the first time you say my name.
I stare at you, only conscious of my heart begging you to repeat it. Somehow, even though we are alone in this part of the room, it makes me so perfectly certain that you are speaking to me – that your attention is held by me. It is selfish, I realise, and yet I cannot turn away from this wish.
"Truly I am sorry!"
I watch your hand leave your mouth and gone is the joy in your eyes. Urgency tugs at the ends of my awareness and I fight to find any words that will form on my lips.
"Do not be," I hasten to assure you as my mind clears and the other voices come back to me as well. "No Estel, do not be."
How many times have I said your name?
By the grace of he Valar, I would be blessed if my using it ever created such a reaction in you.
Doubt still holds you captive and I smile, hoping to ease you. "Please, I do not mind. To you, I am old! However, compared to Lord Elrond and Glorfindel… and Erestor and Mithrandir, I am no more than a youngling. Even though I, for myself, am convinced I have lived forever!"
"I am the one who should be told I am young," you say.
"Are you?" I must ask this, for I do not know how men count their years.
"Well, yes?" You tilt your head, all fear forgotten.
"You are seventeen, are you not? For a man, I know not how much that is…" As I admit to this to you, I admit to myself that I am feeling very unintelligent indeed.
"And a half," you smile. "I will come of age when I turn twenty."
"That is nothing," I say in wonder. At once I worry that I have insulted you, but then a small cushion is thrown at me and as I have no time to duck, it gingerly slaps my face before it lands in my lap.
A brilliant grin accompanies it.
Picking up the cushion I hold it up threateningly. "Seventeen and 'a half'?" I laugh. "Who would ever count their years in halves?"
"I would have you know that halves are very important!"
The cushion smacks your chest and you instantly take hold of it. "Are you saying it is silly?" Your broad smile clearly betrays your menacing words.
"Aye!" I cry out. "It makes no sense whatsoever."
Flying through the air comes the cushion once more and as I am laughing too hard, my defences are temporarily lacking in efficiency. This time it brushes the top of my head and messes up my hair. "Oh, Estel," I warn you, reaching for the cushion on the floor. "Hair is everything to an elf. You do not tousle it without punishment!"
Hunched down in the sofa, you have pulled up your legs and are eagerly watching as I aim another throw, laughter shaking your shoulders gently. The cushion hits your knees and you hurry to grab it before I can.
"Estel?"
"Legolas?"
Brusquely pulled out of the small bubble we have created, we meet the astonished gazes of your brothers, Glorfindel, Erestor and Mithrandir, the last one with his pipe hovering in front of his lips as if he got no further after he spotted us.
"Something is clearly amiss, gwanur." Elladan blinks at us.
"Legolas," says Elrohir in a conversional tone, "you do realise that your hair is messed-up?"
"Are you two alright?"
"Yes, Glorfindel, all is well," I smile, stealing a quick glance at you.
There is colour on your cheeks but I cannot tell for which reason it has appeared. What I see though, is your hand carefully splayed on the fabric of the cushion, keeping it safe, close to you.
Upon understanding that no more will be relayed, Elladan shakes his head and resumes the conversation they all apparently were engaged in previously. Only Mithrandir stays silent, and I cannot shake the feeling that he is regarding us intently, and that the winding ways of his mind are filling with ideas and ponderings.
When Lord Elrond opens the door and with an apologetic look beckons us to supper, your hand gently strokes the cushion before leaving it behind on the sofa.
o.O.o
A couple of days later I challenge the weather and venture outside. Despite the temporary break in raining, the sky is covered by dark and heavy clouds. I have come halfway across the gardens, with my boots soaked when Mithrandir appears from behind some high-grown bushes and hastens towards me.
"Legolas!"
I increase my pace and hurries to meet him.
"I have had word from your father," he says before I have time to ask. "It seems those damned spiders are beginning to attack innocent travellers again. All in all, Thranduil wants you home as swift as possible."
The ground shifts beneath my feet. How Mithrandir received father's message so quickly is beyond my understanding, but it was many years ago I decided there is no use asking an istar about his ways of communication. What is more pressing is of course the news itself.
The fact that I must leave dawns on me slowly.
"I am safer here," I begin feebly, already knowing it will come to no avail.
Mithrandir's gaze softens and he brushes a rough hand against my cheek. "Tithen pen, Thranduil does not wish you to come home merely so that he can keep you safe within his walls…" The istar's voice is gentle and kind, and it causes an unsettling feeling to grown within me. "As much as your father loves you, Legolas, he will ask something else of you this time."
"What will he ask?" They sound to me only as a whisper, my words.
"He will ask you to fight."
I swallow hard. Yes, I have been trained… for years and years, but so far, adar has no permitted me to join the companies of warriors sent out.
'You are not ready yet, ion,' he used to say.
Now I wonder if his true meaning was another.
"I shall go with you," Mithrandir says, "and we will be leaving at once."
At once? But what about you?
'But what about Estel?' I wish to cry out. I cannot leave 'at once'! I have only begun getting to know you!
"Legolas… you must pack you belongings and we will set out before the afternoon melts into night."
Numbly I make my way to my room and carelessly I throw my clothes into the saddle bags Êl will carry for me. Our immediate departure has obviously been made known to everyone, for Elrond and his sons along with Glorfindel and Erestor are waiting in the courtyard.
The leave taking becomes a drawn-out process, reflecting the reluctance I suspect all of us are feeling. The Lord of Imladris grasps me in a long embrace and when he finally lets go I see sorrow and worry lining his features anew.
"The world closes in on us," he says softly and I sense a foreboding in his tones. He too brushes a hand across my cheek. "Take care, ion nin."
"Mithrandir, you had better look after him," Elladan warns the istar in a voice devoid of all his usual cheerfulness.
"Just as Glorfindel will keep an eye on you two," Mithrandir retorts, but failing in making it a merry jest.
I sit up on Êl and scan the drenched courtyard while a new pain cuts through me.
But this time, the Valar are kind to me.
As soon as you spot me, mounted on Êl, you race across the open space, only to come to a sharp stop beside your family. Your stunning eyes shoot their grey blaze towards me and not knowing exactly what I am doing, I accept all that I believe you are offering.
Mithrandir spurs his mare and so signals for me to do the same. My back is already turned to you when one word is spoken, so softly I scarcely catch it.
"Legolas."
And I keep the sound of your voice in my heart, where I will guard it with every breath I take, against anyone or anything that would steal it from me. Until I hear you again.
Fin
Thank you for coming all this way with me. Before you choose another road to travel, please take your time to leave a comment. I promise, it will not go unnoticed, and it will be very much appreciated.
Translations (all words/phrases are in Sindarin except Istari which is Quenya):
Êl – star
Istari - the order of wizards; Gandalf/Mithrandir is an istar.
Anor – an elvish name for the sun
adar – father
ada – daddy
tûr – victory
gwanur – brother
mae govannen – well met
elo! – oh! (I know it can also be translated as 'behold!', but I figured it worked pretty well anyway.)
ion nin – my son
man? - what
mellon – friend
goheno nin – forgive me
Ithil – the elvish name for the moon
losto mae – sleep well
tithen pen – little one