"These Visions of You"
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!
Thanks to everyone who read, followed, favorited and especially to all who reviewed and continue to stick with me on this fic. Up ahead is a bit of a difficult chapter... but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I have so much on my plate at the moment, feeling a bit overwhelmed, but this has been a solace and I thought, an update might make me feel like I at least was able to do something productive today, haha ... so please feed the writer with a review if you can (i know we're all busy and looking to de-stress so no pressure!). Personalized responses coming as soon as I get a breather. In the meantime, without further ado:
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4: Let Me Love
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"I wish to see him."
"That is not in my purview," Elrond said to Glorfindel. "And as I understand it, your request has already been denied. I shouldn't have even spoken with you of Legolas' private health, except your visions give me perspective. But I will inquire again on your behalf-"
A thundering arrival cut off the elven lord's words. Elrond's twin sons had come upon the guarded doors of their dear friend the prince's sleeping chambers. They were still in their armor and travel-worn clothes.
"Let me in." It was Elrohir who spoke first, but Elladan who was acting sooner. He was shedding his weaponry and outer coats while the other twin "negotiated" their way inside.
"I will announce you-" began the harried Mirkwood guard.
"I am a healer trained by Elrond and Legolas' friend," Elrohir snapped. "This is my house, besides. You will let me through. We've all waited long enough, your prince included."
From beside Glorfindel, Elrond gave out a world weary exhale before calling out to his irate son. "Ion-nin. Welcome home. No one will contest your entry but there are things you must do. Shed your travel coats and lower your voice. You will be of no help to Legolas otherwise."
Thus were the doors opened and Elladan, already without his armor and travel cloaks, let through first. But the doors were left ajar in wait of the other twin, who most dispassionately took to the straps of his weapons and the clasps of his coats.
The door was in this way open enough for Glorfindel to have a glimpse of what was inside. It was dim, and what at the onset looked like a discarded pile of cloths on the floor was none other than Legolas on the ground, lying curled on his side and tangled in his robes. One hand was clawed and fisted against his head and hair, half obscuring his face. The other hand was pressed palm flat and wide open against the ground. His eyes were closed, but from the tension in his brow and upon his trembling body, he was wide awake, alert, and feeling every misery.
Glorfindel could tell that Elladan had been taken aback too, for the more diplomatic of Elrond's sons had taken a breath before speaking.
"Has no one prevailed upon this uncivilized wood-elf to sleep on a proper bed?" he chided, softly and gently. He lowered himself to his knees behind Legolas' twisted form, and stroked at his tangled hair. They both glowed, dully, and Glorfindel felt a charge in the air, of strength and energy shared, of a soul reaching out for another.
Legolas barely stirred, but he sighed at the contact and one side of his lip quirked in humor. "Cool," he murmured in explanation, "still." His voice was breathy and thin.
Elrohir followed and his powerful figure standing at the entrance completely obscured the inside of the room from view for a long moment. By a minute jerk of his body, however, Glorfindel knew he was just as shocked as his brother at the sight before him. He lowered himself to the ground too, finally opening up Glorfindel's sightline. For a long moment, Elrohir's hands hovered over the prince, not knowing where to touch or give comfort.
He decided on a joke.
"What is this I hear of you wasting away in here, Legolas?"
This the prince's macabre humor appreciated more, and with Elladan's infusion of strength reinvigorating him somewhat, Legolas found energy enough for a soft chuckle. Glorfindel envied the twins their easy bond with the ailing Mirkwood Prince, and though his feelings were tinged with jealousy, he could not begrudge anything or anyone that privilege as long as it gave Legolas strength or joy.
"I'm not... dying, mellon-nin," Legolas drawled softly. His tongue was heavy and his mouth dry, but his tone managed to stay on playful. "Have you...not heard? The... L-lord Glorfindel himself... spreads a f-fanciful rumor of mmmy future deeds."
Glorfindel thought it was as good an invitation as he was going to get. He pushed his way forward and was not stopped. He lowered himself before Legolas too, and settled on his knees on the ground beside Elrohir, who shuffled to make room. The prince's eyes opened then, and lifted up to find the ancient warrior's gaze.
They were as beautifully, arrestingly blue as always, but they looked wrong. The dark center of one eye had become a large, black pool dominating most of the blue, while the one on the other eye had become all but a tiny pinprick. The twins, long versed in their father's good works, recognized the urgency of it immediately. Glorfindel felt Elrohir stiffen beside him.
"The Lord Glorfindel will bless you with his rarified company awhile, you undeserving wood-elf," Elrohir teased, but his worried eyes and a slight tremble to his voice betrayed his simmering panic. The brothers got to their feet, each giving Legolas a reassuring squeeze on the arm and Glorfindel a small bow, before hurriedly making for their father's and the Mirkwood party's counsel outside.
They closed the doors behind them and, from having been so long locked out, Glorfindel suddenly found himself alone with Legolas in the room.
"You sh-shouldn't be here," Legolas stammered. But the crippling thought that Glorfindel was unwelcome vanished the moment Legolas added, "You are… n-not well...yet."
It was the reason why he'd been denied entry, not that his company was unwanted or his person distrusted with the prince's vulnerabilities. Legolas thought that he was unwell.
"I am doing better than you, clearly," Glorfindel said wryly. He shifted and shuffled, before deciding the best position was to lie alongside the other elf, so that Legolas needn't have to turn his head up at him. Legolas sighed in contentment when Glorfindel settled down across from him, lying on his own side upon the ground. Their long, golden hair caught in each other's again.
"I... c-can hear them," Legolas closed his eyes and said in a soft, dragging drawl, "with their healers' mut-mutterings. They will want to c-cut my head open, my Lord Glorfindel. Do not, do not let them. It will only h-hurt usss all."
"I understand the prospect is unwelcome," Glorfindel said uncertainly, "but the healers will know more than either of us, surely."
Legolas made a clumsy movement that resembled a one-sided shrug. "It will f-fix itself or it won't, I know this to be... t-true."
"At any rate I have no rights to contest the expertise of the Lord of Imladris in this," Glorfindel pointed out. "I will have no reasonable grounds."
"You own... m-my heart. That will be enough."
The plain statement stole Glorfindel's breath away. "Legolas-"
"You need n-not return...my affections for it to be t-true," Legolas assured him.
"But I do-"
"So do as I ask... and d-do not l-let them. P -promise."
The prince opened his uneven eyes, which were now as visibly broken outside as they were unseeing inside. Based on what Lord Elrond had said and Glorfindel's own knowledge and experience of injuries, it meant Legolas was suffering something serious, perhaps fatal.
"I think you are bleeding inside," Glorfindel told him softly. "You have to let them help you."
"If they t-tear me open and sift around in there, it will not... help me and it will b-break their hearts t-to try. I-" his words broke off at a sudden, hoarse cry. His eyes clenched closed again at a sudden wave of pain. The hand that clawed at his head tightened so much that they shook, and his veins looked dark and raised against his taut, pale skin. He was practically pulling at his own flesh and hair. His free hand upon the ground fisted and slammed down on it repeatedly.
Glorfindel scrambled to sit, and his hands hovered over the agonized elf uncertainly. "Legolas," he said under his breath, not knowing what to do or say, "Legolas. Easy now..."
The elven prince, lost to his own miseries, did not acknowledge him. He grit his teeth against another cry, and his curled body bucked and folded as his stomach tried to rid itself of contents it did not have. He flailed as he tried to raise himself up.
Glorfindel, not knowing what else to do, helped him. He held Legolas across his lap, half-cradling the Mirkwood elf as he hung off of Glorfindel's arm and heaved dry coughs to the ground beside them. From how he held the prince, Glorfindel could feel the wild beating of his heart, the rebellious rolling of his stomach, and the ragged breaths that sawed in and out of his body.
When Legolas finished, he hung heavily from the crook of Glorfindel's elbow. Pained, low, exhausted moans were cut by small, barely intelligible gasps that quietly called for the good gods to give him strength.
"P-please," Legolas whispered, and this last thing had Glorfindel closing his eyes in deep pain for the anguished creature he held in his arms. He shifted his burden, and rested his chin atop Legolas' head, affectionately.
"You have to let the healers help you however way they can," he told Legolas softly. But his voice trembled at his own fear that the other elf was already beyond the help of earthly hands. Legolas' uneven eyes, his heavy, slurring speech, the severity of his headache, his poorly coordinated, one-sided movements... they were all coming together to form a poor prognosis in Glorfindel's mind.
"You're...the o-only one who can help me... n-now."
But it cannot be, Glordindel's mind protested and warred with itself. He lives beyond this to face a great danger and do a great deed. I saw a golden head. I saw his bow. I felt his heart...
Glorfindel shifted the elf gently in his arms, so that he was better able to see his face. Legolas' uneven eyes were half-lidded, sunken and unfocused. It alarmed Glorfindel that the unseeing blues that somehow defied blindness and always found his gaze, now no longer bothered. Legolas pawed at him sightlessly. His hand was cold, heavy and unsteady when it settled over the fabric on the older warrior's chest. He didn't have much strength to keep it raised on his own however, and he clung for purchase at the cloth of Glorfindel's shirts and strands of the ancient warrior's golden hair that strayed there.
"Please t-tell my father of mmmy love," the prince said breathily, "And I wish very much for you to have... m-mmmy bow. I've longed to bring it t-to your... service but have not been able to. I thought... wielding it was... a g-gift lost t-to me forever but you made it sing in my hands once more. It isss... well-worn but well-kept and well-l-loved. You n-need not use it, but it is yours... Y-you have m-mmy bow. It iss y-y-yours..." His eyes twitched, and unfocused and re-focused.
"Please t-tell my father of my love," Legolas continued, "And I wish very much for you to have m-mmmy bow-"
Legolas had started over, Glorfindel realized in horror. The words, the tone... the only difference was that Legolas' tongue was heavier the second time around. Glorfindel gripped him tighter, and flooded the other elf with a surge of energy at their contact; a hungry, earnest connection. He reached for him in soul. The wood-elf's presence, however, was but a distant, staccato beat; light, fast, fleeting.
Legolas was dying, Glorfindel understood that now. He closed his eyes and let their connection deepen. Surely more of the prince was hiding somewhere else in there. But Legolas was darting and elusive, running away with his impossibly light feet. His mind was going.
"I've longed to bring it t-to your... service but have not been able to do so..." the ailing elf went on.
"I need to get help," Glorfindel told him urgently, and he shifted to move away, but he couldn't seem to extricate himself from Legolas' grip.
"You n-need not use it," Legolas rambled on, "but it is yours... Y-you have m-mmy bow."
Something struck Glorfindel then, and the realization washed over him like a giant, heavy wave.
The golden head he had been seeing in his visions of the future, the golden head he thought was Legolas'? It was his own. And Legolas' bow was there because he had given it to Glorfindel - for did he not bequeath it just now?
As for Legolas' heart, which Glorfindel felt so distinctly in his visions of the future... he felt it only because Legolas had given it, too - and Glorfindel thereafter took it everywhere with him.
What he had been seeing was his renewed purpose upon the Earth, his own quest to make – not Legolas' future. He had a vision of his own hair, the precious inherited bow and the heart he had longed to hold as his own. None of these were a promise of Legolas' survival and his part in the future, as Glorfindel and Elrond had hoped. If anything, the visions were more a promise of Legolas' death and how Glorfindel would have to walk the rest of his days bearing the anguish of it.
Legolas was going to die, and this night, already on his way.
Good gods, no...
"Listen to me, Legolas," Glorfindel said vehemently, "I know you are trying your best, but I need you to be better."
The disoriented wood-elf who had been repeating his sentences and slurring his words surprised him, saying, "Th-th-there isss... a l-l-linguistic flaw-"
"Your mind is going and yet you have the temerity to correct -" Glorfindel steeled himself, realizing by Legolas' broken, half-smile that he was being played with. He promised himself that it would all be funny later. Much later. "Legolas. Listen to me you foolish princeling, you need to let the healers at least try to -"
He stopped suddenly, when the body beneath his tightened. The hand Legolas held to his hair and the fabric on his chest suddenly spasmed into a release and slid away.
"Glorfindel-!" the prince cried out hoarsely, a beat before his eyes rolled back and his face contorted into a grimace. He started to shake. This seizure did not have the violence of the first Glorfindel had witnessed, but he knew that was why it was worse. Gone was the forceful trembling of before, which had locked Legolas' body in torment from his head to his toes. This time around, his body was tight but more pliant, and most of the movement centered on his jerking head.
The elf he held in his arms barely had anything left to even mount a decent death throe. It would be as Elrond feared. Legolas was not going to be strong enough to revive after days of weakness and deterioration, and this looked to be the final, messy end of his agonies.
For a short moment, Glorfindel considered laying Legolas to the floor and clearing everything hard around him so that he would not hit them, just as Telion had taught. But Glorfindel already knew this attack was different from the others. He decided it was much kinder to just sit still and hold Legolas, and infuse him with warmth and presence, remind him he was not alone.
"I am here, Legolas, I am here. I know you suffer but hold on and it will be done before you know it. Hold on. I am here. Hold on. I am here."
He pressed a kiss to the younger warrior's golden head, and broke his litany only to call out in the direction of the closed doors, "Elrond!"
He did not bother saying anything else, knowing that the Lord of Imladris would understand his urgency. The Rivendell twins for their part, practically tore the doors open in their rush back inside Legolas' rooms, and right behind him was the elf lord himself, trailed by Legolas' loyal soldiers and a gaggle of healers.
"You need to lay him down-" Telion said urgently.
"Let him be held," Elrond countered quietly, a concession Glorfindel was both grateful for and also abhorred, because of what it implied – that there was little else to be done.
"No-" argued Telion, but Renior's hand upon his shoulder kept him where he was. They held their ground and watched, as Elrond and his sons clustered around Glorfindel and the prince. The Rivendell elves sank to their knees and waited for Legolas' convulsions to cease.
"Come on now, Legolas, for crying out loud," Renior implored.
"It will end soon my lord," Telion murmured in half certainty and half hope. "Just hold on, Legolas. It will end soon, mellon-nin."
"The miruvor," Elrond instructed his healers, one of whom promptly showed him they were ready with a full vial of the restorative liquid.
For a seemingly eternal minute, the only sounds in the hushed room were strangled grunts coming from Legolas, and the sound of the fabric of his robes shuffling against Glorfindel's clothes as he trembled. The ancient warrior lord held him close. Eventually, Legolas' jerking movements ceased, and every limb of his exhausted body collapsed bonelessly upon the arms around him.
"Lay him down now," Elrond ordered Glorfindel in a clipped, clinical tone, even as he helped to ease the still figure from the other elf. This letting go felt like an abomination to Glorfindel, but he yielded.
Once Legolas was settled on the ground, Elrond started parting his robes and undoing his shirts at the torso, while Elrohir made a grab of the prince's wrist and Elladan straightened his neck and tilted his chin up to ease his airways. Legolas' uneven eyes were alarmingly half-open and staring up, emptily, at the skies, oblivious to all the attention.
"His heart beats," Elrohir reported, "barely."
Elladan leaned an ear over the prince's mouth. "He is not breathing, adar," he reported, and started tapping insistently at the unresponsive wood-elf's cheeks while calling his name.
Elrond showed no surprise, and began rubbing his fist over the prince's bare chest and abdomen.
"Thranduilion," he called sternly, "it is not your time. Heed my call and breathe, young one."
"Legolas!" Elrohir hissed more familiarly, rubbing his warm hands against the other elf's cold one, "you stubborn wood-elf, listen for once in your life, why don't you!"
"Elladan," Elrond called upon his son kneeling by Legolas' head, and the younger elf needed no further instructions. He lowered his mouth upon the unconscious elf's and breathed for him alternately with his father's efforts at pressing and rubbing against Legolas' chest and belly. They worked in wordless concert.
Glorfindel watched, frozen where he was on his knees beside Legolas, whose pale body shifted from the efforts of those around him, but he moved not of his own accord at all.
"Ada..." came Elrohir's thin voice, his hands still upon the prince's now-reddened wrist. Elrond's son was pressing so tightly upon it that he was leaving a mark, just to keep track of the other's fleeting, fading pulse.
"Elladan stop," Elrond said, and nodded at one of his staff of healers. She came forward hurriedly and put the vial of miruvor upon Elladan's hands. He dipped his fingers into the vial and dug his wet digits into Legolas' mouth, coating its insides, especially under his tongue, with the precious drink. They needed the wood-elf's body to absorb even just the slightest bit of it.
"Elrohir continue here," Elrond instructed, and father and son switched places. The Lord of Imladris rolled up his sleeves and held the prince's hand with both of his. He closed his eyes, and a dull glow emanated from him and from the powerful ring he wielded. Whatever he felt after doing this stirred in Elrond a shaky inhale that all but shattered Glorfindel's heart. The Lord of Imladris opened his eyes and looked up at the elf of Gondolin agonizingly, before he refocused on Legolas and started uttering prayers beneath his breath. He interspersed them with stern calls for the Prince of Mirkwood to heed his call and return.
It is not your time, Elrond kept telling him.
... except Glorfindel knew with certainty that it was. It was Legolas' time. The ancient warrior-lord closed his eyes and looked away from the once beautiful, emptying, broken body. They were all warriors here, they knew what death looked like. In Legolas it looked especially jarring because of the contrast; his glorious hair was a tangled mess, his glowing supple skin turned gray. His hands, the beautiful adroit hands were curled into empty, useless claws. His powerful body, always in conscious control, twisted, broken and, and, discarded. He looked like used and soiled and discarded raiment. It was a wretched, piteous, repugnant, pathetic sight. He wanted no part of it. He wanted to be away from there, away from all ephemeral things. Away from pain and loss. Away. Away...
Why in all of Arda would be sent back to this accursed place of pain and anguish and impermanence? Of things that were lovely but do not last? Has he not done enough in his life and beyond it to merit some rest of body, mind and spirit?
Good gods...
...why do you punish so, those you claim to love?
A tear escaped him. It was foreign and offensive against his face. Small but so unmissable, a warm trickle of uncomfortable wetness down his cheek. He opened his eyes and looked out at the neglected balconies of the suddenly oppressive room and found there, just waiting, just watching, a blanket of skies and stars.
The stars...
"Take him outside," Glorfindel said to no one in particular. His voice was ragged. He was accustomed to being listened to, of not having to say anything twice before being heeded. But everyone had clearly larger worries than his fancies and so this, he had to almost scream. "Take him outside!"
Elrohir was first to heed him, and the rest followed for no one knew what else to do for the prince anyway, who had ceased breathing for too long now. Elrohir made a grab of Legolas decisively, and bundled him out to lay on the balconies beneath the stars. There, he, Elladan, their father and all those around them, each in their own ways continued to try and tether Legolas to life.
His soldiers called him, Elladan breathed for him, Elrohir rubbed at his chest, and Elrond by his words and power clung to the barest beats of his heart. Glorfindel had means of his own. He stayed on his knees in the now-abandoned room and he began to pray.
Nay, to beg.
I have nothing to give, he implored the gods. Nothing I have is mine. I have nothing, not even my life or my death. All I have is the purpose you have laid before me. It is all I have. A place in history. A chance at accomplishment. A small line in the song of the world. This I will give readily for him, if you would let me.
Let me.
Let me...
Glorfindel closed his eyes, and imagined the figure he'd been seeing in his abstract visions of the distant future – the fine golden hair, the bow and the stout heart. He imagined it to be Legolas rather than himself, alive and well and with those impossible skills of his, about to embark on a great quest. He imagined it to be Legolas himself being there, and not merely the remnants of his memory dragged along in the soul of the brokenhearted warrior he had left behind.
I will give everything I have if only that he may live, Glorfindel prayed. But all I have is my work. I have nothing to give but that. Please give it to him and in giving it to him, spare his life. He will gift you with his deeds, I know it.
He imagined what he had seen and admired of the young prince in the short time they have known each other. Legolas' intelligence and skill, his sheer ingenuity, his refusal to give up or give in to despair. He took pride in his work but he also had the humility to learn and always, always had the courage to try. He had easy humor and open affection, a truly generous heart, so able and ready to find and share joy both by deliberate design and even by the incidence of his existence. He loved, and was beloved.
He will gift you with his deeds, I know it...
In the periphery of Glorfindel's attention, he heard the efforts around the prince intensify and take on a greater note of desperation. There was a tremble to the mighty Renior's voice and an edge to the tiny Telion's as they called for the princely charge who had also become their dear friend. He heard the quiet grunts and pants of the Rivendell twins as they continued their efforts at reviving Legolas. He heard Elrond's hiss of disapproval and sudden exclamation of the prince's name, and he knew then that the precious pulse had been lost.
Please...
Glorfindel's mind raced. He begged Mandos to wait. To the Lady of the Earth, Yavanna, he presented that Legolas was a proud gardener who would gladly give his time for "flowers and trees and lovely things that grow," even if they will one day fade and leave him. To the Lord of the Forests, Orome, he held that Legolas was a child of the wood who, "in my mind and by my blood" would always fight to keep it evergreen. To the Weeper Nienna, he told of Legolas' mercy for the innocents – that to him, "There were children" was reason enough to fight, even if he was not well enough to win it. To the Star-queen, Elbereth, he presented Legolas as the princeling who would never outgrow, even in blindness, his fondness for her twinkling gifts of light because "No one should be too old to ever stop" wishing upon them.
Even as Glorfindel's mind raced, he could sense the activity around Legolas slow. The Mirkwood prince's mind had gone, and then his breathing, and now his heart. He could not be more quantitatively gone. But we are more than the flesh and the mind, Glorfindel thought. It is not done. It cannot be.
He staggered to his feet and shot forward, taking over from Elladan. The Rivendell elf was pale and winded, having been at his post of giving his air and sharing his energy with the Mirkwood elf for some time now. Glorfindel closed his eyes and took his own turn at closing his mouth over Legolas'. All the while, he continued his prayers and infused every breath that he shared with light and warmth and love and everything else nameless and profound that he could conjure from his soul.
Do not take this light from this world, Glorfindel begged of the Valar as he alternately breathed into Legolas and raised his head to suck at air and life. Everything he breathed, he breathed into the other elf.
My life and my death and everything before and after is yours, Glorfindel prayed, but let me love. And in loving, let me give. Let me love, as you so generously love this world and its creatures. I wish to love as you love, until the generosity of it is incomprehensible. Let me love until I am emptied. If you love me so generously, if you love me at all, then let me love like you do, and let him live. Let him live...
Glorfindel was reminded of some of Legolas' haunting song, so fitting now, after all. Let the winds of fall not take this last summer leaf, he begged the gods, Let it stand throughout the winter cold, a mark of spring, a promise told – dark though the world may seem, by his heart and blood it will remain evergreen...
He will gift you with his deeds, I know it. Please.
Please.
Glorfindel felt a glowing warmth spring from the core of his heart and spread out to every fiber of his being. The powerful energy coursed through his veins, electrifying him from seemingly every nerve. He felt like he was burning-
No. Summer. It is only the summer... He held on.
"Glorfindel!" he heard Elrond exclaim in the background. Glorfindel lowered his mouth to Legolas' one more time, and for a moment, it was as if time stopped.
There was a sudden silence and a deep, inky blackness.
Then the world exploded in a flash of brilliant white light.
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A small gasp shocked him onto opening his eyes.
"Very good, Legolas," Elladan said softy, "One more... that's right. Just like that..."
Glorfindel felt born into a different life, but barely any time had passed at all. He looked down at the prince, who was taking in ragged breaths, in and out, strained but strong, and even better once he'd coughed out stale air. Legolas shivered minutely, and Telion and Renior immediately busied themselves with blankets to bundle their prince with and keep him warm.
"Too close, you fool," Renior scolded Legolas from under his breath, but his words had no heat and his hands were gentle as he pushed stray strands away from his lord's face. Legolas was covered in the blankets quickly, and he recovered his breaths while Elrond and the other healers checked his pulse at the neck and wrists. The twins were content to lay their hands over the chest now reassuringly rising and falling, and tossing thoughtful glances Glorfindel's way.
Glorfindel for his part could do nothing but tremble and stare, and he was not the only one. To the astonishment of everyone there, the prince's pallor changed from pale gray death to the flushed glow of life. And the unblinking, unseeing half-lidded eyes with the blown pupils repaired themselves and lit with starlight.
It looked like grace.
Legolas's eyes fluttered, and he stirred awake. The blue orbs focused, looking clear and aware. They shown with a blazing reflection of the glittering stars above their heads. His weary gaze drifted from the skies and eventually found Glorfindel. For a long moment, Legolas' gaze lingered searchingly and hungrily upon the face of the ancient, golden warrior.
"I see you," Legolas said breathily, with wonder. His eyes fluttered close as he began to drift towards exhausted slumber. "You are more beautiful than they say," he murmured, before falling back into unconsciousness.
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Renior carried his prince back to bed, cradled in his arms like the most precious of burdens, trailed by his party of Silvans, Elrond and his sons, and their staff of healers who were speaking in low but excited voices of what they had just witnessed. They kept throwing wide-eyed glances at Glorfindel. It was hard not be in awe, for the prince of Mirkwood was almost certainly standing at the doors of death, until the ancient, re-embodied warrior of Gondolin, by some inexplicable surge of power, gave Legolas air and life anew.
Glorfindel watched them go for a long moment, before turning away and looking out upon the glorious expanse of earth and rock and wind and water and sky and stars, al laid out before him from the vantage point of one of Imaldris' balconies. He wondered who had heard him, and wondered who had listened, and wondered who interceded on his behalf.
Being the beneficiary of a godly intervention left him feeling shaken. It was terrifying, the thought that he had been heard. It was humbling, the thought that his desperate prayers had been granted. It was also confusing because he did not know who to thank, and what giving up his purpose meant for him now. Or perhaps there was no one to thank, and all of this was already fated. He hadn't been blessed, he'd been used.
He trembled, and he leaned against the balustrade heavily, using them to support his weight as he sank back to his knees on the ground. He rested his head against the cold stone railings.
He took in one fortifying breath, and another, another. The last one collapsed, and he found himself releasing instead, a guttural sob. He covered his mouth with a fist to quell the sound lest he attract attention before he could regain his breaths and his fleeting mind.
It was how Elrond came upon him, and the Lord of Imladris ran forward and knelt by his side while calling for help from his healers. Glorfindel turned his head away and hid his face.
"What did you do, my lord Glorfindel?" Elrond asked under his breath. "What did you do? You were already unwell to begin with- " the Lord of Imladris caught himself when he realized the ancient warrior was weeping, and not merely overtaxed by lingering illness and injury, and whatever energy he expended in the effort to save Legolas' life.
Glorfindel bent and shrank into himself when he heard the approach of urgent footfalls, preparing himself for humiliation. But Elrond was quick to protect him.
"I can care for him on my own after all," he suddenly said, effectively dismissing the new arrivals. Two, however, sensed what was amiss and remained stubbornly behind – Elrond's sons.
Elrond helped Glorfindel rise to his feet and supported him as he stood. Glorfindel shrugged him away. "No," Glorfindel protested. "See to him, Elrond. Please. I don't know... I don't know..."
He did not know precisely what it was he had done, or what he had been given. He did not know if it was enough. He did not know any of these. But all he needed at that moment was for someone to look after Legolas and make sure he was now truly well.
"We will care for lord Glorfindel, adar," Elladan said quietly, taking his father's place beside the older warrior. He slung Glorfindel's arm over his shoulder and this help, the ancient warrior accepted. He swayed, but Elladan was sure and strong.
"I will check on you later, mellon-nin," Elrond promised, before completely yielding the care of his old friend to his sons.
Elrohir positioned himself in front of Elladan and Glorfindel and strode powerfully and prohibitively ahead as they walked, shielding Glorfindel from all unwanted eyes.
"Keep your head low and let me steer you," Elladan told him gently. One foot in front of the other, not knowing what else to do or where else to go, Glorfindel simply followed.
#
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When Glorfindel woke, the sun was high in the sky and he knew he'd slept a long while but he still felt shaky and exhausted. He found himself in his own rooms rather than the private space he'd been occupying at the healing halls, but he did not remember at all how he had gotten there.
He was blessedly alone.
He pushed off his blankets and swung his legs over his bed to the ground. The movement left him dizzied, but he settled quickly. He ran his hands over his face.
A strange feeling of mourning shrouded over him heavily, and he did not know what it meant because he also felt empty. But how could one be heavy and hollow at the same time? As one wily wood-elf once said, there was a linguistic flaw...
He needed air.
He rose, tightened his robes about his body, and stepped barefoot out onto his balconies. Like most of the rooms of Elrond's house, this opened to stunning views. His had excellent vantage of gardens, and there he found a sight that lightened his soul, filled his heart and tugged his lips into a smile.
On a blanket on the grass, Legolas sat in between the dark-haired Rivendell twins. He had a wrap about his shoulders that Elladan fussed with, while Elrohir looked like he was scolding him about something. A few paces behind them stood Legolas' guards, and a healer wringing her hands in worry. Glorfindel, however, felt no such fear for the Mirkwood elf who had apparently fought his way to the outdoors so soon after being close to death and somehow won his case.
I forgot to disclose that to the gods, he thought wryly. Stubborn, sometimes to a fault. The occasional display of princely temper. Damned wily. He'd need some work...
Glorfindel heard the quiet footfalls of his old friend, the Lord of Imladris, come up behind him.
"It is good to see you on your feet and smiling, mellon-nin," Elrond said as he stood beside Glorfindel, and smiled himself at the view below.
"I see your stray is already well enough to make a nuisance of himself," Glorfindel said mildly, nodding at the scene below. "I'm surprised you let him get out of bed."
"It's been three days," Elrond said wryly, "And he is looking far steadier on his feet than you."
Glorfindel was shocked. "Three days -!"
"You needed the rest," Elrond said easily. "Legolas' recovery on the other hand, is nothing short of breathtaking. Everyone says it is a miracle. I must confess my soul feels incandescent, and it is a most welcome feeling after the darkness that has been creeping up on us all these years. I did not even realize I needed that surge of hope, that odds can still be beaten. That light can break through... and that we have so powerful an ally in you."
Glorfindel cringed. "That's what our people say?"
"What were they supposed to think," Elrond said. "The Prince was dead, and you breathed life into him. I felt it strongly, the change in the air."
"It was not I," Glorfindel whispered. "It was the gods."
"But inextricably through you," Elrond pointed out. "Either way, I am heartened that the gods still look upon and touch us in direct ways. For Legolas was dead and we all knew it. He was dead the moment his eyes looked the way that they did. I read through my books. I believe now that it must have been a lesion and bleeding inside his head, weakened by the old injury and frayed and worn out over time. Even if he did not have the fits that depressed his breathing, he would not have lasted long. He wasn't just dead, you see. He would have been dead twice over."
The brutally plain pronouncements made Glorfindel shiver, even now. He suspected Elrond was being grim by deliberate design, though he did not yet know why.
"He had slipped from our hands." Elrond looked at him with an appraising eye.
Glorfindel gazed away.
"And suddenly he emerged not only alive and breathing," Elrond went on, "but seeing, and just shy of healed. It was godly intervention, as you say. What I wish to know, is what exactly you had to do with it."
"I prayed," said the other quietly, after a long moment of thought, deliberating if he should say anything at all. "And then I begged. And then I bartered. That is all."
"That is all?" Elrond frowned. "I wouldn't dare diminish the value of a barter with the gods. The price is always too high. But you knew that." He hesitated. "What, if I may ask –"
Glorfindel knew the question was coming. He took a deep breath. "I made a mistake in understanding my visions."
"As one sometimes does..."
Glorfindel nodded shortly. "I thought my visions were of Legolas, but they were of myself, of a mission I must embark upon. I saw the golden head we more or less share. I saw his bow because as he lay dying last night, he had bequeathed it to me. I felt his heart because that he had given too, and it was something I would bear with me everywhere ever after. The visions promised not of his life, but his death and my bearing of it.
"But it is all set to rights now, I suppose," Glorfindel continued, "I asked the gods to spare him in exchange for my purpose. He lives and he will have the work that was originally laid out for me, and the visions prove true either way."
Elrond pressed his lips together in thought. "You two are hardly interchangeable, Glorfindel. And if this future mission is as important as it seems, perhaps its success should not have been placed at risk on account of your love affair."
Glorfindel took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. "All the world is moved by love, old friend. It has defied death," he motioned at Legolas before them. "Maybe it will be enough to prevent ruin."
"One hopes," Elrond agreed. He nodded out at the sight of the elves in the garden. "If that is your belief, why then has this 'love that moves everything' prevented you from moving toward him now? I don't believe you of all people would waste second chances."
"I am still busy being interrogated by an elf-lord," Glorfindel lied. There were other reasons, but he did not want to think about them yet. He hesitated. "Does he... does he know?"
"He says nothing of it," Elrond answered, "but the whispers about the breath of life you had given him could not have escaped his ears by now. He will ask questions."
"I won't have much in the way of answers," Glorfindel said. He looked out upon the scene below again, and even with all the thoughts and hesitations that plagued him, all he needed was the smallest sight of that golden head in the distance – hale, whole, happy – and it eased his heart. He was at peace with what he had done.
The twins were arguing animatedly about something, and Elrond laughed softly as he watched them. The mighty sons of the Lord of Imladris could be terrifying, but one would not think so by looking at how attentive they were to the prince of Mirkwood below.
"Ah those poor fools," said Elrond, endeared. "I think they took their time with him because they were always certain it was going to be one of them in the end. They didn't count on competition that was not each other. They most certainly did not expect you."
"It is not written," Glorfindel murmured thoughtfully. "I do not yet see Legolas in my future, nor do I see myself in his. But perhaps I know nothing anymore. Everything has become unmoored, and I am on unchartered territory. I am adrift. And he won't want me, not really, not for a long while yet. He had so much to do, even before I foisted my purpose upon him. He is eager for home, I bet."
"First thing out of his mouth," Elrond confirmed. "His people are suffering. And he anchors his temperamental father."
"And so they must have him," Glorfindel concluded.
"You will not inquire of the second thing he had asked for?"
Glorfindel motioned at the lovely sight out in the garden. "That, I suppose. His beloved greenery."
"He asked to see you," Elrond said.
The ancient warrior rubbed at the bridge of his nose, wearily. "Did you let him?"
"I saw no harm in it," Elrond said. "You let him tend you previously, and I was in desperate search for a good reason to keep him off his feet. He sat with you for a long while. It was a most excellent solution."
"I did not even notice. But I am glad to have missed it."
Elrond was taken aback. "Why?"
"I don't know what to say about what has transpired," Glorfindel admitted. "My mind is going in circles and he is a sharp one. I want to be on surer footing."
"Try not to overthink things, my friend," Elrond told him. "I will keep him here, one way or another, for at least a week. I think I can prevail upon him to stay until we determine if he is really out of danger. I advise you to make good use of that time and talk things through."
"Perhaps I shall leave sooner," Glorfindel said tentatively.
"Don't be a fool."
"An attachment now will only be detrimental to him," Glorfindel said. "I love him and he lives, that should be more than enough. I mourn... I mourn the loss of my direction, but I did not ever think that in emptying myself my heart would be filled. I wonder now if that is by the Valar's design after all. One more lesson to learn for this old servant. A new one after all this time, for one like me who has never known love and been blessed and cursed by it. Perhaps my battlefield was not the one that I thought, but the one inside. But it is such a small thing, isn't it, to teach this old fool to love? It is a small thing and I am an infinitesimal piece in the world. Why would they even bother. It escapes me, that kind of generosity."
"Well I for one am happy you found someone who commands your heart," Elrond assured him, "No matter what the gods may intend for you or any of us now."
"It hurts a bit," Glorfindel said after a long moment, punctuating it with a small, bittersweet laugh.
Elrond smiled, and Glorfindel saw traces of his own loves and losses in his wise, warm gaze. "It does, doesn't it?" he murmured.
#
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A prudent retreat, Glorfindel reflected, was not cowardice if part of a larger strategy. He was... regrouping. Yes. It was a most appropriate word, 'regrouping.' He gathered his scattered wits and the sundered splinters of his suddenly disordered life.
He skipped lunch, tea and the evening meal. He feigned weariness and kept his doors closed, with the most humorless and loyal foot soldier he could find assigned outside to keep careful watch of it. The determined young elf was doing a good job and for long hours, Glorfindel had both the rest he needed and the privacy he wanted.
He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.
He wanted to commit to a proper course of action.
He also wanted to hide from a wood-elf who was almost certainly going to ask questions and, perhaps worse than that, say goodbye. Home was the first thing out of Legolas' mouth when he woke after all, and that was only right.
Sometime between dinner and the hours of sleep, however, Glorfindel heard Legolas outside his doors. He was speaking to the soldier, seeking entry. He started with formality.
"I wish to call upon the Lord Glorfindel, if I may."
Legolas switched tactics upon the initial rejection. "Oh unfit for company, is he? But I've been caring for him all this while, perhaps he has need of me." Another denial had him bringing out heavy weaponry. "But I am recovering myself, and have come all this way."
Glorfindel almost heard Legolas' blasted, imploring blue eyes deployed in full force, and all he could think was, Hold fast, loyal soldier. Hold fast and don't betray me, you poor fool...!
The young soldier was spared denying this manipulative request by the arrival of Elrond's sons. The twins, probably briefed by their father on Glorfindel's state of mind, asked Legolas to leave. The Prince of Mirkwood stopped short of pleading (as he does), but managed to wrangle a guarantee out of the twins, that he be immediately updated on Glorfindel's health.
The promise secured, Glorfindel heard him walk away and Elladan commanded Glorfindel's besieged guard to stand aside and let him through. Even when invoking his role as a healer and a noble of the House, he was denied.
This is becoming more trouble than it is worth, Glorfindel decided, and just as he was about to tell his guard to stand down, Elladan deployed weapons of his own. His twin, Elrohir, could always be relied upon for a distraction.
Glorfindel couldn't tell exactly what happened, but after a moment he heard his poor guard yelp, and suddenly Elladan popped his head into Glorfindel's room from a small gap opened at the doors.
"I will be away quickly," he assured the ancient warrior-lord, good-naturedly. "I am just here to redeem word I'd given to a persistent wood-elf and ascertain your health and well-being. Is the Lord Glorfindel still alive?"
Glorfindel growled at him.
"Good," said Elladan. "I wondered. For who but the dead could possibly send away the Prince of Mirkwood if he should come knocking upon your bedroom door."
Glorfindel sighed. "Good gods, go away, Elrohir." He liked joking at diminishing their identities and achievements by pretending he couldn't tell them apart.
"Peace," Elladan laughed. "You are alive and so I shall be off. I cannot linger here long. I mean to be in my own rooms, should Legolas go in search of another door upon which to knock."
Glorfindel snorted at him. It was a joke and theoretically not a bad one, but a most distracting, consuming thought nonetheless.
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Later that night, Glorfindel could not find rest and wished for air, soil and starlight. He stepped out of his rooms in his night robes and walked down the empty halls toward the gardens.
It was a cool, mildly breezy evening and he found the dull sounds of the rushing waters in the near distance, in concert with gently stirring branches and leaves to be soothing. They kept calling him farther and farther away from the main house, and he walked and walked until his feet brought him to where he and Legolas usually trained in the mornings.
Inexplicably, he found Legolas standing there.
The Mirkwood Prince was battle ready in his armor and weapons, and watched him approach with steely eyes and a tilted head. If he was as surprised by Glorfindel's presence as the Gondolin warrior-lord was by his, Legolas did not at all show it.
He looks dangerous, Glorfindel thought. Like the distorted version of the self, seen in a forbidden mirror. He looked like his own malevolent incarnation, especially in the silvery moonlight and the stirring winds.
In the short time since they met, Glorfindel knew Legolas in a strength defiant against illness and vulnerability, but he did not know him like this, unleashed, a warrior prince in unabashed glory. Yes, Legolas had been sure-footed and skilled even with disability, but Glorfindel never saw his lethality. It all but seeped out of him now, and it charged the air. He looked taller and bolder. He had always been lovely too, but now he was sublime, which was beauty at its most terrifying incarnation. This Legolas was not he of the woodsy summer. This was a wrathful storm.
He did not know if this is how Legolas was before blindness, or if it was an entirely new him, having been graced and empowered by the gods who had spared him from death. Glorfindel suspected it was a mix of both. No wonder Elrond's sons had been so shocked at the sight of Legolas ailing on the ground. The elf before him now, this was not one who needed a healer or a knight as champion. He needed reins, perhaps even a leash.
But then Legolas smiled slowly, openly, generously. And the full force of his glacial eyes turned from frigid cold to warm, inviting, immersive, sea. They lit with mischief.
"Do you wish to 'talk?'"
Glorfindel found himself grinning too, in memory of the time they drew their swords against each other, and he had asked Legolas if it was how they talked things through in his kingdom.
"It is late and I am unarmed," Glorfindel reasoned.
Legolas tsked. "I highly doubt that."
Glorfindel shrugged at having been caught in a lazy lie, and he drew out a knife from his boot. Legolas unsheathed his own twin white knives and lowered himself to a stance. The breezes whipped at his hair, and moonlight glinted from his blades.
TO BE CONCLUDED in Chapter 5, which will come with my usual Author's Afterword and (possibly) a bonus fic :) 'Til then, wishing everyone all the best!
