Author: Mirrordance
Title: These Visions of You
Summary: When an ailing Legolas visits Rivendell, he catches the eye of a living legend who's seen it all – war, peace, life and death – but not love. Lord Glorfindel falls for a Wood-elf.
hi guys!
First things first, thanks to all who read, followed, favorited, voted for and especially all who reviewed my most recent fic, Two Kings Come Calling. For the lovely reviewers, please expect personalized responses very soon :)
The first chapter of this newest fic, These Visions of You, was previewed at the end of Two Kings Come Calling and is pretty much as I had shown it there. It received such kind feedback that I have decided to move forward with it (I am actually almost done now, thanks to the inspiring and motivating reviews on the preview). It will be four chapters with a possible epilogue, plus my usual afterword. I am looking at a post a week until conclusion, though I've been known to post sooner. I won't pretend that reviews aren't one of the most motivating factors for a quicker finish, but I'm trying my best to be more disciplined hahaha.
To those who missed the preview, this is a slash fic. I understand it's not for everyone, and so for folks upon whom that sort of thing matters, I guess I can be upfront and say that like my other slash work, it will be pretty light physical-wise (because I am prudish like that, haha!). At any rate, no matter your persuasion, I do hope you give it a shot, and find some enjoyment in it.
As always, comments and constructive criticism are so heartily welcome. Feed this writer if you can my friends, and tell me what you think... there are many parts of this that is new for me :) Without further ado:
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1: A Magnificent Stray
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The Lord Glorfindel was wise enough to admit that thousands of years as a living legend and being pandered to accordingly, could bring about certain... expectations.
Stable hands almost wrestling among themselves to take his horse's reins, for example. A warm greeting from a senior member of the household upon his arrival perhaps, or a cool drink of water infused with seasonal blooms in the summer and warm tea in the cold, offered even before both boots have hit the ground. He'd also known eager welcome from an admirer or two, sometimes by former lovers.
He wasn't expecting fanfare, but he was used to – and rather appreciative of – being given all that he needed and wanted. He was less amenable to the incessant watching he was often subject to, but even that was absent when he arrived in Rivendell one fair afternoon.
The guards and grooms, and the other elves that kept Lord Elrond's home running to its impeccable, unmatched standards, was scarce. Whoever remained seemed distracted, as if they longed to be elsewhere.
Glorfindel knew of few reasons – none of them good – that a home such as this would be brought to discord, and his blood turned cold. He accosted a scurrying soldier.
"Oh!" the younger elf said in surprise. His eyes widened in the realization that the tall, golden-haired warrior wanted anything to do with him. "M-m-my lord! How may I serve you?"
"What has happened here?" Glorfindel asked, even as he reached out with his own senses. He could hear blades singing in the distance, near drowned by the sounds of the rushing water weaving all around Imladris.
"The Lord Elrond would want to see you immediately I am sure," said the other elf. "He is in the main courtyard, with the others."
It explained nothing, but Glorfindel understood that whatever answers he needed would be found there. He released the elf to his duties and stalked past stables and receiving halls and the winding paths of Elrond's storied residence, following the sound of the swordfight.
They grew louder as he came closer. There were several blades in a small chorus, all made by his kin unless his ears deceived him. He knew by the thin, sharp sound they made as razor-thin edges clashed against each other. They sounded like brittle glass except they could hold until the end of the ages, if made well. These sounded flawless.
He could also tell all the blades were of elf-make from how they sounded when they pushed and glided against each other – the sound was long, sustained and even.
But beneath the song of mighty swords was a smaller voice with a different rhythm. Lighter and faster, tailed by a fierce, whipping wind.
Glorfindel entered the largest of Rivendell's many courtyards. It was surrounded by high arches woven around the branches of tall, majestic trees. Here, the foliage grew heavy and the rocks were thick. One barely heard the waterfalls outside. In here, the swords really sang. Their notes soared, no longer devoured by the rush of water.
There was a training exercise of sorts, watched by a thick throng of enthralled spectators, Lord Elrond amongst them. This was, he realized, where most of the household went and where the rest wished they could be.
No one noticed the legendary warrior enter, and he kept that anonymity by staying behind to observe things quietly. By luck of his towering height he could see what had drawn everyone there.
There was an elf soldier – tall and wiry but powerful, his long hair a pale, silken gold – with a white knife held in each hand in lieu of a single, heavier sword. He was parrying and fighting against two of Elrond's best, and he was running circles around them.
Glorfindel's lips turned up in appreciation and his eyes trailed after the skilled combatants. A warrior of Glorfindel's caliber could not help but feel an itch on his fingertips. Skills in warring were dangerous gifts to have, and to know them well was a curse to need them. But there was art to be found in fighting too, and an unavoidable sense of desire to be the best at it.
He tilted his head in consideration of the lightly-built elf. By the colors of his garb and that golden head it was clear this was a wood-elf of Oropher's House, and unsurprisingly he had the wood-elves' ability to utilize tight spaces and irregular terrain to advantage. This elf was ingenious in using Rivendell's soaring columns and the hardy branches overhead. He would perch and push off of them, all but dance around them. He was a warrior of feline, balletic stealth, rather than the bruising force often needed on a more open battlefield. But it wasn't just his clever use of space that Glorfindel found intriguing. Wood-elves were exceptional at fighting in the dark. Beneath the eaves of their thick, rich trees was shade, yes, but from the encroaching dark of their fallen south, there was shadow too. These beleaguered elves could fight with limited light, and with heightened senses not wholly dependent on their eyes, they could take on enemies without seeing them, such as those on their backs. The gifted young one before him, for example, could weather a twofold assault even if one was coming from behind him, unseen. Indeed, the spectacular wood-elf's abstract gaze wasn't even focused on his foes.
Objectively, Glorfindel determined that the two Rivendell elves needed to work better together to best this fiery upstart. Less objectively, however, his sword hand itched to test this young warrior. This was a wild horse that needed some breaking...
... but he held his ground. He didn't live for all these years without learning restraint. Something else was afoot. It was why Lord Elrond took little delight in the stunning display of fighting arts, and why the young elf's compatriots - distinct amongst the spectators by their clothes - looked apprehensive even as their champion had the upper hand.
At least he did, until the two Rivendell elves finally did as Glorfindel felt they long should have - started coordinating their movements. What they did, however, surprised the warrior. The two swordsmen did not conduct a joint attack right away. They circled the young elf, gave him a wide berth, and fell deathly still and silent.
The wood-elf at the center froze too, and his head tilted and turned with every minute movement and sound. The silence seemed to unnerve him. He slapped a hand against his ear as if to ground himself, and it was all the distraction the two swordsmen needed. They pounced. The wood-elf dodged by luck and some miraculous acrobatic feat, but his foes knew now, what to do to get the better of him.
Again they circled him and backed away. Again came the stillness and oppressive silence. Again came the wood-elf's hand to his ear. His face - a very fair one, Glorfindel realized belatedly - crumpled to a mask of angry frustration. He growled, and the low, long sound of it was threatening, like a taut bow begging for release.
He stomped on the ground in front of him with his right leg, and tilted his head in thought. Whatever he found there, he lunged towards. The swordsman standing in that direction dodged, and with that dodge came movement and sound again, and the wood-elf trailed after him hungrily.
The wood-elf, Glorfindel realized, was listening and feeling for where his foes were standing in still silence.
The wood-elf was blind.
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The exercise ended when the swordsmen repeated their tactic and shot forward in unison. Two blades stopped a hairsbreadth from the wood-elf's neck. He returned the 'favor' more or less, with knives stretched out, resting over the hearts of his two assailants.
A stunned silence followed, which again unnerved the young wood-elf that his hand shot to his ear again, unintentionally cutting his wrist against one of the swords still pressed against his neck. He jerked away, and so did the Rivendell elf whose knife had cut him.
Elrond, his loyal Lindir, and some of the wood-elf's party shot forward. The others started asking the spectators to disperse, which they did reluctantly until all but a few elves remained in the courtyard. Glorfindel was, unsurprisingly, let to do whatever he wished. He walked leisurely toward where the fighters clustered.
"I am sorry, hir-nin!" exclaimed one of the swordsmen. "I should have pulled away sooner!"
The wood-elf shook off the sting from his hand. "The fault is mine," he assured the other, before pressing the cut to his full lips.
Elrond hissed at him disapprovingly. "That is not how I would do it, princeling."
Glorfindel's brows rose in realization. Oropher's house, indeed. This must be Thranduil's son. He'd heard of the Prince Legolas - a gifted archer, they said... but then, what had become of those eyes...?
Legolas sucked at the cut. It was shallow; he and the Rivendell warrior had pulled away from each other upon immediate contact. He removed his hand and licked at his reddened lips as he turned in the general direction of Elrond.
"I should hope not, my lord!" He smiled. It was devastating, but Elrond proved immune. The healer in him had sighted blood, and he came after it with a vengeance. He reached for Legolas' injury to examine it.
"All this fuss when it is good as new!" insisted one of the Mirkwood elves gruffly. It was a gigantic Silvan, who had a cruel sort of face but he sidled up close to his Prince, protectively and possessively.
"We will make sure he has it cleaned at the wards and keeps it that way, Lord Elrond," promised another of the Prince's party. This one was small and svelte, delicate and diplomatic - the complete foil of the one who had first spoken.
"And so you see my lord," Legolas said jovially, "Between Renior and Telion I am well looked after."
Elrond released his hand reluctantly. "You made a good showing at any rate. But perhaps my soldiers should have been more sporting. That they had used your weakness-"
"Is precisely what they should have done," Legolas finished. "It is better that I learn how to combat such wily foes in safety here, Lord Elrond, rather than out there. If you wish to apologize for not being fair, then perhaps you shouldn't have given me two to fight."
It was Elrond's turn to smile. "Ah, Legolas. If I was truly sporting I would have given you five."
"Darn straight!" exclaimed the giant Silvan, Renior.
"But you must curb that impulse of yours," Elrond added.
As if compelled, the Prince touched at his ear again with a wince. "I know, my lord. I suppose I just fear... losing them too. Silence is oppressive. But I am learning."
At Glorfindel's approach, they ceased speaking. Legolas surprised the Balrog slayer by looking him right in the eye.
"Lord Glorfindel!" breathed the younger elf. His reaction puzzled his company too.
"Can you see him, Legolas?" Renior asked hopefully.
"In a manner of speaking," cane the quiet, awed reply. He reached out for Glorfindel, and traced his long, deft fingers at the edges of the legendary warrior's golden hair, where some shorter strands came down to just below his shoulders. He pulled his hand away.
"I am sorry, my lord," he said. "But where many are a subtler presence, you all but burn in the dark!"
"Extraordinary," said Elrond, "that you should see what eyes cannot."
Legolas stared at Glorfindel hungrily, and kept staring. The legendary warrior, who was more or less subject to such treatment most everywhere he went, suffered it gladly for a wounded elf who had lost his sight, and was seeing something for the first time in a long time.
"Stop being odd before The Balrog Slayer, Legolas," Renior urged him in a uselessly low voice. "He might think us uncivilized!" He himself, however, could not help but stare.
Legolas averted his gaze, and Glorfindel was surprised at his own regret for the loss of it. The younger elf's eyes were a stunning shade of blue.
"I apologize." The Prince favored the golden warrior with a small bow. "I have the advantage of you, Lord Glorfindel. I knew it couldn't have been anyone else. But you do not know me."
"Ah but there you are mistaken." Glorfindel returned the bow. "I've come to expect great things from the Wood elves, and from its finest son most of all. You have not disappointed, Prince Legolas."
"But you should have seen how he was with a bow!" Renior bragged, obtusely. It was the "was" that caused much consternation. Elrond and Telion winced. For Legolas, a small but deep pain crossed his eyes, before he covered it with a smile.
"Perhaps he will one day," he said softly. "Excuse me. I will have this tended." He gave an ambiguous wave, indicating his injured hand and as a goodbye, before turning away.
His comrades trailed after him with polite murmurs to their host. Elrond and Glorfindel watched them go, clustered around their Prince whose stance was strong and steps were sure, even with his disability.
"Your newest stray is magnificent," Glorfindel said.
Elrond gave out a soft laugh. "Stray?"
"All these strange creatures finding their home here," Glorfindel said good-naturedly.
"He is magnificent," Elrond conceded, "but not so new. The years of your life have muddled with your sense of time again, old friend. You've not graced us in a while from all your journeys. In the meantime the Prince has been a frequent and beloved visitor these last few years. He has especially captured the heart of my children, who are certain to make their way here from wherever they are marauding as of late, as soon as word reaches them of Legolas' ailment. He is a captain in his father's army, but as occasional diplomat and messenger he has come to us often. He has been mostly the latter during his infirmity, to give him purpose without having to send him to the dangerous borders of their realm."
"What has befallen him?" Glorfindel asked, turning serious.
"The Elvenking wrote that Legolas had taken a terrible hit to the head during combat," Elrond replied. "Bad enough that his survival was uncertain for a time. He was unresponsive for a week, and so the vision impairment was unknown until he regained consciousness. There was bleeding and pressure building inside, relieved only by another procedure. But the damage has been done, and he has been without sight since waking half a year ago. He was sent here the moment he was strong enough for travel, in the hopes that we may be able to do something for him. And so he's been in Imladris these last two months, regaining strength every day."
"But not his vision," Glorfindel pointed out. "He is Firstborn. It cannot be permanent, can it? He must still be healing."
"I concur," said Elrond, "but the damage was considerable. He needs time. And until then, he is learning to live with it - and kill with it, as you have seen."
"A part of living where he is from," Glorfindel said gravely.
"Indeed," acknowledged Elrond. "I agree, and his own father concurred that he needed to do this, else we would never have allowed him into our training fields."
Glorfindel frowned in the direction which Legolas and his party of elves had gone. He had a flash of vision then, of a head of spun gold walking towards and unspeakable danger amongst a gaggle of fellows. "I think he might be a part of the larger scheme of things, Elrond."
"You've seen it?"
"I don't know that 'see' is the proper way to describe such things," Glorfindel said, "but I do believe it to be true, by some inexplicable sense. I do wonder however, why the gods would see it fit to give us..." he searched for kinder words but could not find any, "broken pieces with which to play, so to speak."
Elrond gave him a grim smile. "It wouldn't be the first time."
Broken swords... broken people, Glorfindel reflected. It was not untrue.
"I wonder if there is anything I might do to help improve his situation," said the ancient warrior. "Would he benefit from time training with me?"
"Who wouldn't?" said Elrond wryly, before adding more seriously, "but do not let his performance today lull you into the false belief that he is recovered save for his eyes. He is unwell. He gets debilitating headaches. And the occasional convulsions are devastating. The latter presents serious dangers, still. They depress his breathing and reviving him afterwards never gets any easier."
"What causes them?" Glorfindel asked, "Would working with me be to his detriment?"
"We do not know," Elrond replied. "In the meantime, it would do him good to know how to defend himself, if his condition should last longer than we hope. Train him, old friend, and do not go easy, for he will know. But do avoid any more hits to the head, be near aid at all times, be attentive to symptoms and most importantly - do not let him push himself too hard. He is... known to be difficult in that way."
Glorfindel nodded, and was already beginning to formulate a plan of approach. "Does he join evening meals?"
"Yes," Elrond replied.
"I shall accost him with a proposal then."
Elrond nodded, but seemed to hesitate.
"Anything else I should know?" Glorfindel asked.
"How do I put this delicately," the Lord of Imladris murmured. "Hm. Try and not make a conquest of this one if you can, my lord Glorfindel."
The ancient warrior let out a surprised, indignant laugh. "I had no intentions to, Lord Elrond."
"You never have intentions to and yet it still happens."
"I sometimes do have intentions," Glorfindel admitted lightly. "You've known me long enough and yet have seen it fit to address this issue with me only now. You still surprise, old friend."
"Legolas may be in his majority but he is young yet," said Elrond, "on top of being ill and Thranduil's son, besides. He was entrusted to our care for healing of his body and in failing that, at least his heart. Try and uh, not to break it, eh?"
"Now that," said Glorfindel, "I never mean to do."
"And yet it still happens at times, too."
Glorfindel winced. "As it does. But you have my word I will not toy with your wood-elf. If he should fall it will be his own doing."
Elrond sighed. "You are made too beautiful for everyone's good."
Glorfindel laughed. "And you are too kind."
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The elven prince was nowhere to be found in the dining halls for the evening meal, and neither were two of his loyal cadre, the giant one and the tiny one. Renior and Telion, Glorfindel remembered them being called.
The hall was abuzz with its usual activity, and Glorfindel found plenty of pleasant distractions until the end of the service. Many elves lingered for wine and conversation, but the elven prince never showed. His loyal, tiny Telion, however, discreetly entered the hall and spoke with a server, who promptly scurried off to prepare a tray of food. Glorfindel excused himself from two lieutenants who had engaged him in idle chatter and stood with Telion as he waited for what Glorfindel assumed would be the Prince's meal.
"Is your prince well, Telion?"
The smaller elf looked ready to jump out of his skin. "You remember me, my lord!"
"You are perceptive, loyal, and seem to have kindness," Glorfindel said, "I would never have forgotten."
Telion's face flushed. He shifted the topic away from himself. "Hir-nin is well enough, resting in his rooms. But he forgets to eat sometimes."
"I have business with him," Glorfindel said. "I should like the pleasure of bringing him his meal and discussing it in private. You will stay here and partake of food for yourself."
"Oh, I musn't-!"
But Glorfindel would not be dissuaded, and all the years of his life and beyond had taught him how to get his way, most always.
"Be at leisure and return only when you are finished, loyal Telion." He started to take the tray from the server's hands. Telion sputtered and made a move to reach for it, but the server deferred to the more senior, legendary warrior elf. Glorfindel rewarded her with a devastating smile that almost had the entire tray swinging to the floor if not for the golden warrior's reflexes. Glorfindel then called for the lieutenants he had abandoned, who eagerly stepped forward.
"I implore you to share your genial company with my good friend Telion," he told them as he started to walk away. "Make sure he eats well, and that his heart finds joy in tales of your exploits."
Any 'good friend' of Glorfindel's immediately had gravitas in Rivendell, and the lieutenants swarmed Telion happily as the golden haired lord made his merry way out of the hall.
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Legolas' suite of rooms, Glorfindel found out from one of the guards, was a converted space next to the healing wards. Elrond had truly meant it when he said the prince was still ill, and his proximity to the healers was proof of that. Glorfindel suspected the separate quarters was both a concession to the Prince's rank, as well as a compromise that he be "released" from the wards. It was so very sensible and economical, he thought, so very Elrond.
The doors were guarded by two Mirkwood elves, who were so surprised to find the Balrog slayer bearing a tray of food for their Prince that they stepped aside, mouths agape, and let him through.
Thus he was able to catch Legolas unawares. The Prince was out on his balconies, wearing robes over loose bedclothes. He was barefoot and sitting on the ground, knees folded and embraced to his chest. His pale hair, loosely worn, shone in the moonlight. His angular face was raised to the heavens, unseeing glacial blue eyes wide open with naked longing.
The sight, inexplicably, made Glorfindel's heart stop. It reminded him of the beginning of time, of a wide world churning into shape and jolting to life, spun from the delicate hands of the gods. The firstborn, after all, woke beneath the unmarred stars. It was the first thing they ever saw.
"Are the stars really out tonight, Telion?" Legolas suddenly asked, sensing the new arrival.
"I am afraid you have to settle with lesser company tonight, young prince," Glorfindel found voice to say. The other elf jolted in surprise at his voice, and he turned to face the older warrior. It was unsettling, how Legolas' blind eyes again somehow found and settled squarely on Glorfindel's. He scrambled as if to stand.
"Please stay where you are," Glorfindel said quickly. Legolas did as he was bid, with some hesitation. "May I sit with you?"
"Of course!"
Glorfindel lowered the tray of food between them, and smiled when the other elf took a deep breath of the fragrant fare of warm breads and seemed to find his hunger, as well as his good humor. The sadness visibly faded from his eyes to breathtaking effect.
"The hospitality of this House is indeed unparalleled if the famed Balrog slayer himself is relegated to serving bread."
Glorfindel happily took the cue that levity was allowed. "You are being presumptuous. Perhaps this is for me, and not for you."
The Prince smiled, and irreverently picked a piece of bread from the tray. He chewed on it thoughtfully.
"It takes manipulation of rare quality to wrest Telion from his self-imposed duties to me," he said.
"One amongst my many talents," Glorfindel said, smoothly seguing into his purpose here. "I've seen you fight. I think there is much we can learn from each other."
Legolas chuckled quietly. "You are being kind. I doubt there is much you do not know about a great many things, my lord."
Glorfindel shrugged. "You might be surprised. So. If you are interested, I train early, daily and long."
"So do I," said the other boldly. "I think it would be interesting to cross swords with you."
"Tomorrow then?"
"I look forward to it."
Glorfindel hesitated. "Are there uh, any specific accommodations you might require-" He regretted it the moment the words left his mouth.
"I should think not," the wood-elf snapped. "Do you require special accommodations?"
"I?" Glorfindel asked, confused.
"Given your old age I thought perhaps you require rest so soon after your travels."
Glorfindel couldn't help but laugh. "You, whelp, shall pay for your audacity tomorrow."
"I am counting on you trying, my lord," Legolas said with grim satisfaction as Glorfindel rose to his feet.
"I will leave you to your dinner."
Legolas reached for him, and caught the end of his robe. "I do thank you for the meal, Lord Glorfindel. And for your interest in my betterment, I am eternally grateful."
"I still won't take it easy on you. Do not to be late."
Legolas laughed, and the sound was beautiful and musical.
TO BE CONTINUED...
