She's baa-ack!
Here is the first chapter of the promised tale incorporating Thranduil's point of view. It also reintroduces Tawarmaenas, Laiqua's cousin, who played a role in the battle for Dol Guldur. Anomen will also be in the tale, although not in this first chapter. Basically, I will try to set up the conditions necessary for a successful reunion between Thranduil and Legolas.
For people who are just joining us, Legolas = Laiqua = Anomen = Durrandîr. (He has a few other names, but they won't figure in this story!) These are all names for the Prince of Mirkwood, who has run away from Thranduil and has been hiding in Rivendell. If you click above on my penname, Elf Eye, you will be taken to a list of the entire series. If you want to get a sense of the overall context, you may want to start with "The Nameless One."
Thanks to the following for their responses to "Dining Out": Jebb, farflung, dragonfly, MoroTheWolfGod, elvendancer, Kitsune, ky, Konzen, Karri, Joee, and Autore. I'm a little backed-up, workwise, so I'm afraid I won't type individual responses to you this time, but I will try to next time.
Tawarmaenas was asleep at the King's table.
This was not the first time that a young Elf had fallen asleep at Thranduil's board. Thranduil smiled a little as he remembered a small elfling, worn out from horseback riding and archery and sword exercises, who had long ago nodded off in the midst of an evening meal. Then he flinched as he remembered how he had glared at the elfling's tutor, causing that ancient Elf to anxiously, and none too gently, shake the elfling awake. He remembered how the elfling, awoken so abruptly, had nervously looked toward the King, knowing full well that he had once again offended the monarch. And he remembered how that elfling had at length taken to avoid the dining hall altogether, so many times had he fallen under the angry eye of his monarch.
Tawarmaenas' tutor, that same ancient Elf, now noticed that King Thranduil was gazing at his current charge, and he reached out his hand to grab hold of the young Elf's shoulder. To the tutor's surprise, however, Thranduil shook his head.
"Leave him, Master Tutor. From what his masters have lately told me, he has been working very hard, and he deserves to be allowed to steal a few moments of rest."
The tutor looked scandalized, and it crossed Thranduil's mind that perhaps the venerable teacher could himself use a little rest—say, several millennia's worth. Mayhap it was time to retire him with a generous pension.
The meal at last drew to a close, and all looked expectantly toward King Thranduil. No one would leave the dining hall before their monarch. Thranduil arose, but before descending from the dais, he stopped at Tawarmaenas' seat. "Tawarmaenas," he said softly whilst gently shaking the young Elf's shoulder. "Tawarmaenas, you should not spend the night sleeping in this chair. If you do, your neck will surely be sore in the morning."
Slowly Tawarmaenas' eyes came into focus, and he realized that he had dozed off at the table.
"My Lord, forgive me!"
"There is nothing to forgive, Tawarmaenas. You came by your exhaustion honestly, or so your masters tell me."
Tawarmaenas looked unsure of how to answer.
"And why should he not," thought Thranduil bitterly, "given that I have been as neglectful of him as I was—as I was—of Laiqua?" He drew his hand back from his nephew's shoulder and strode away, leaving behind a shocked tutor, a puzzled young Elf, and a seneschal who marked his behavior this night with great interest.
As was his custom whenever he escaped momentarily from the duties of kingship, Thranduil made his way to the room that had once been Laiqua's, there to sit and brood. "No," he thought with sudden realization, "not to brood—to remember." For it had lately seemed to him that he found comfort in this room, where hitherto he had always found pain, as if formerly he had been driving himself to the chamber in order to punish himself. It was a comfort mingled with regret, of course. He would recall something that Laiqua had said or done, and he would smile—and then he would wish that he had admitted then that the elfling had been dear to him.
"It would not have been disloyal to the memory of Laurelässe to have allowed myself to take pleasure in the accomplishments of our son." He knew that now. He also knew that no one would have blamed him if he had wept at the sight of Laiqua when the elfling aroused in him memories of the departed queen. Instead, he had chosen to ignore Laiqua as much as possible so that those tears would remain unshed. In doing so, he had only delayed the time of lamentation, for, when Laiqua had been lost, he still had those tears to cry, as well as the ones he now wept for his son.
He heard a knock on the door. Only his seneschal would dare disturb him whilst he was in this chamber.
"Enter, Gilglîr."
The seneschal entered and looked at him quizzically.
"I hope you realize, Thranduil, that your behavior this evening has considerably shortened the tutor's lifespan."
"Oh, yes, Gilglîr—and yet he shall live as long as before."
"Yes. Wonderful thing, immortality. No matter how many lives you are robbed of, your life expectancy remains unchanged."
"I used to think that a burden."
"And now?"
"There is still joy to be found in the world."
"Indeed? Where is this joy to be found?"
"You know perfectly well, my friend. It is to be found, among other places, on a dais where a callow Elf snoozes during the magisterial repast of a king."
"So you have decided to forgive Tawarmaenas for reminding you of Laiqua?"
Thranduil arose and went to stand before the fireplace, even though no fire had been lit in it for centuries.
"I considered your words, my friend. You said that I neglected Laiqua because he reminded me of Laurelässe, and that now I was neglecting Tawarmaenas because he reminded me of Laiqua, and next I would neglect Tawarmaenas' son because he would remind me of Tawarmaenas, and then I would neglect the son of Tawarmaenas' son because he would remind me of Tawarmaenas' son, and then—"
"Enough!" exclaimed Gilglîr. "I was trying to make a rhetorical point; it is not necessary to recreate the entire argument!"
"Yes, your recitation was drearily repetitious—but so were my actions. Now, however, I will promise to mend my behavior if you will mend your speech!"
"And how," asked Gilglîr archly, "do you plan to mend your behavior?"
"Carefully—so that I do not terrify my nephew, who will not know what to think if his fearsome uncle suddenly takes to hovering about him solicitously!"
"Yes," said Gilglîr, suddenly solemn, "I remember that neither you nor Laiqua knew what to make of the situation when you decided to abruptly appear at Laiqua's archery lesson."
Thranduil winced. "That is a painful memory, Gilglîr, but I will not rage at you for bringing it up. I think I need to remember everything, if not for my sake then for that of my nephew.
Gilglîr nodded. "You are wise."
"Pity," said Thranduil sardonically, "that it took me a millennium to become so."
Whilst this conversation was taking place, Tawarmaenas himself was meditating upon the change that he had lately noticed in the King. When Tawarmaenas had been brought to the King's Hall, the elfling had been distraught. He had survived the Orc attack that claimed his parents' lives because his mother, mortally wounded by an arrow to the back, had pushed him to the ground and flung herself upon him, hiding him from the Orcs who had proceeded to indiscriminately hack at their victims, both the wounded and the dead. Shielded by his mother's body, Tawarmaenas had heard the sound of the blow that had decapitated his Nana. When the search party gently lifted her body and discovered the trembling elfling, he had been soaked with his mother's blood.
When Tawarmaenas had arrived at the Hall, he had naturally looked for comfort from his uncle, who was the only adult kin remaining in a family that had been decimated by its foes. Thranduil, however, had not yet allowed himself to find solace after the death of his wife, and he had none to spare for the little elfling. Instead, he fled the young one, just as he had been fleeing his son Laiqua. Both elflings reminded him of his own loss.
It was Laiqua who had saved Tawarmaenas from fading into loneliness and despair. Laiqua said little and laughed less, but in his silent way he encouraged Tawarmaenas to follow him about, patiently waiting as the younger Elf scrambled to keep up with a cousin who had had years of experience in roaming the tree canopy. It was Laiqua who looked upon Tawarmaenas with a sympathetic eye when Thranduil did not deign to answer the elfling's timid greetings. It was Laiqua who nodded understandingly when Tawarmaenas gave way to tears. Laiqua never cried himself—he was long past that stage—but he would sometimes place a careful arm around the shoulder of his young cousin. Laiqua was diffident—he held his own feelings close—but that did not stop him from expressing in quiet, sometimes subtle, ways his affection and concern for Tawarmaenas.
Then Laiqua had disappeared—lost to spiders, everyone thought, although Tawarmaenas now knew this to be a lie. At the time, however, Tawarmaenas believed as everyone did that the Prince was dead, and, had it not been for Gilglîr, once again he would have been in very real danger of fading. It was the seneschal who insisted that Tawarmaenas return to the King's table when, following in the footsteps of his cousin, the young Elf took to absenting himself from meals, scavenging instead from the kitchen or foraging in the woods for sustenance.
It was after the battle for Dol Guldur that matters had begun to change, the King suddenly evincing an interest in a nephew that he had hitherto shunned. What had happened to alter the King so? Tawarmaenas had cautiously brought up the subject one evening as he and Gilglîr had been walking from the dining hall.
"Gilglîr, have you noticed, ah, I was wondering, um, has anything lately, ah—"
"You are wondering why the King's manner toward you has been somewhat different these past few months."
"Ah, yes, Gilglîr."
"He seems somewhat kinder, does he not?"
Tawarmaenas blushed. "I did not mean to imply that the King has not done his duty by me!"
"But doing one's duty is not the same thing as being kind, is it?"
Tawarmaenas did not reply, which was answer enough for the seneschal.
"I think," mused Gilglîr, "that the King began to change after he saw a young Elf injured during the battle for Dol Guldur. The King's party had been ambushed by Orcs, and this Elf—a Rivendell Elf, mind you—risked his life by rushing to the aid of the King and his companions. I am sure that the King was touched, although I am equally sure that he would vehemently deny such feelings. Nevertheless, I believe that the incident set Thranduil to thinking because the young Elf resembled your cousin Laiqua in age and build—actually, in everything except his hair. Being a Rivendell Elf, he had dark hair. In any event, this Imladris Elf was severely injured by an Orc arrow, and Thranduil often asked after his whereabouts and well-being. In a way, he let himself begin to care about this Elf, as he had not allowed himself to in many centuries, and at the same time he began to think about his role in his son's loss—but in a good way, I think."
"In a good way?"
"For centuries Thranduil has both pitied and despised himself. Lately, though, he has begun to think about the needs of those around him. I believe the young Elf helped him to do so. The Rivendell Elf put himself in peril on behalf of others—and nearly died as a result. That provided the King with the motivation to cast off his own selfishness—for grief that exceeds the bounds of reason is a form of self-indulgence."
"Despising oneself is form of self-indulgence?"
"Yes, if it accompanied by self-pity. His very self-hatred allowed him to feel sorry for himself—after all, he could maintain that he was suffering, could he not?"
"Ye-es. But you make it sound as if he felt better for the suffering—as if he enjoyed suffering?"
"He was entitled to pity himself as long as he suffered—the alternative was dreadful."
"What could be worse?"
"Accepting responsibility."
"But you once told me that he blamed himself for Laiqua's disappearance. That means that he accepted responsibility, doesn't it?"
"If a person truly accepts responsibility, he will take action to rectify the situation brought about by his actions. For all these centuries, Thranduil has blamed himself but not taken responsibility—and that has allowed him to sidestep his guilt at the same time as he would claim that he accepted it, for always he could fall back upon his self-pity. But no more."
"I think I understand a little of what you say, but not all of it," admitted Tawarmaenas.
"Understand this. He can not change the past, so his only means to remedy the situation is to treat you as he should have treated Laiqua. It will not be easy for Thranduil to change his ways, but he does feel concern for you now, and he will try to show it. Some day he will even allow himself to take pleasure in your company as he now wishes that he had taken pleasure in Laiqua's. That may be a while in coming, however, for he does not believe he deserves such joy. I believe that he has served a more than adequate penance, but he is not yet convinced."
Tawarmaenas looked worried. "Gilglîr, he won't expect me to be Laiqua, will he?"
"Oh, no, Tawarmaenas. Do not fear that he will expect you to take the place of his son. He can see past himself sufficiently to know that he should not place such a burden upon you."
Tawarmaenas was relieved. "Good. I would not want matters to become complicated when Laiqua returns to Greenwood."
"What?"
"When Laiqua returns to Greenwood," repeated Tawarmaenas, smiling happily.
"Whatever made you say that? Tawarmaenas, your cousin was lost to spiders."
"No one ever found his body, and one of Elrond's sons has assured me that Laiqua will come back someday. He has the gift of foresight, like his grandmother, Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien."
"Which of Elrond's sons?"
"Elrohir."
"Isn't he the wilder of the twins? Do not place any credence in his words."
"I am sorry, but you are wrong about that, Gilglîr," Tawarmaenas said politely but firmly. "There was no lie in his eyes. Elrohir knows for a fact that Laiqua is alive and will return some day."
"Do not mention this to your uncle," urged Gilglîr. "It would distress and unsettle him."
"Yes, Gilglîr. I have been very careful to say nothing to Thranduil because Elrohir warned me that some time may pass before Laiqua's return."
Gilglîr nodded approvingly. "Well done, Tawarmaenas. And now you must excuse me, as I have some tasks need doing."
"Of course, Gilglîr."
The seneschal hastened to his chamber so that he could ponder Tawarmaenas' words in privacy. In spite of his warning to the young Elf, he knew of no reason why Elrohir's words should be doubted. The young Elf's reputation for playing pranks extended even to Mirkwood, but no one had ever called his honesty or integrity into question. Moreover, Gilglîr could not find it in his heart to believe that one of Elrond's sons would do something so cruel as to play with the hopes of the kin of a Prince long thought dead. Such a hoax would not be thought a 'prank' by any Elf of Gilglîr's acquaintance. No, it would be judged a crime worthy of exile!
Gilglîr thus could not help but suspect that there was something behind Elrohir's assurances, but what? Was it conceivable that the Prince was indeed alive? It was true that there had been no proof positive of his death—no body had ever been found; nor had any of his clothing or weapons been recovered. The only sign of Laiqua ever found had been a few strands of golden hair entangled in a spider's web. Still, no word of the Prince had ever arrived in Mirkwood. If he had had not fallen prey to spiders, where could he have been all these centuries? Lothlórien? Impossible! There was much too much coming and going between the realm of Thranduil and that of the Lord and Lady of Lórien. The Grey Havens? That was not a place where Elves dwelled but where Elves passed through on their way to the Undying Lands. The Undying Lands themselves? A lone elfling would have been turned back at the Havens—especially if Círdan had recognized him as heir to the throne of Mirkwood. And in the unlikely event that Laiqua had been allowed to journey on, would he be permitted to return, as Tawarmaenas seemed convinced that he would? Glorfindel had come back from the Halls of Mandos, but that was an extraordinary event, hardly the sort of thing that would happen to a young Elf who had never seen battle.
But had he in fact never seen battle? If he were indeed alive, he would be of an age to join the warriors. Yet he had not been present at Dol Guldur. Or had he been present but unrecognized—disguised perhaps? Mayhap he had been with the Rivendell contingent. Imladris was on the other side of the Misty Mountains, but it was closer to Mirkwood than the Grey Havens. Could Laiqua have journeyed to Rivendell? But he had seen no golden-haired Elves amongst Elrond's warriors.
Manwë! He had the brains of Troll! Of all disguises, the coloring of hair was one of the simplest. He should not rule out any Elves with dark hair. There was that Elf whose father was never named, the one being fostered by Elrond—Durrandîr he had been called. The right build, the right age. From a distance, his eyes had appeared blue. Durrandîr had never approached near enough for Gilglîr to be sure of his eye color. Thranduil, had been so strongly reminded of Laiqua by the young Elf, had also never seen him at close range. When the young Elf had been injured, Thranduil had tried to assist him but had been rudely pushed back by one of the Rivendell Elves before he could draw near.
Rivendell. The answer to the mystery lay in Rivendell. Even if the resemblance between Laiqua and Durrandîr was a coincidence, Elrohir—and mayhap Elrond—knew something about the fate of the Prince of Mirkwood. Gilglîr had to find a way to get to Rivendell but without causing any suspicion on the part of Thranduil, who would be devastated if his hopes were raised and then dashed.
Tawarmaenas, thought Gilglîr. He is the heir to the throne, but he has never traveled further than southern Mirkwood. It would be plausible if Gilglîr suggested that it was time for Tawarmaenas to go on a journey beyond the borders of Thranduil's kingdom. A future king must become acquainted with conditions in the other Elven realms. The young Elf must certainly go to Lothlórien, but Imladris was an important territory as well and could not be neglected. Of course, Tawarmaenas would need a suitable escort, one befitting his rank as the King's nephew and his heir. What better escort than Gilglîr, seneschal to King Thranduil?
Gilglîr smiled to himself as he arose and went in search of Thranduil. Somehow, against all reason, he had become just as confident as Tawarmaenas. Legolas was to be found somewhere in Middle Earth. It was just a matter of where—and when.