Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, save the plot and some minor characters.
Rating: PG -13
Summary: In the bloody aftermath of dire mistakes, both father and son choose their own roads to right the wrong. But faced with a mortal vendetta and a resurfacing of a sinister past, can Legolas and Thranduil find redemption before it's too late?
Author's Note: This story contains references to To Love and to Sin, and picks up the thread of Legolas' pilgrimage at the end of From Twilight to Dawn. You can follow my order of posting for maximum effect, but the chronological order is also listed on my bio page.
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By Kasmi Kassim
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Road to Redemption
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Chapter 3: In the Path of the Forefathers
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"Stop!"
Legolas fought to throw the heavy man off. The wet soil was cold under his back. His breath hitched when calloused hands ran over his chest.
It felt so strange.
No gentle caresses of love, no deft massage of friendship – and yet no blade ripped his flesh, and no punch bruised his bones. Insistent fingers continued to explore his skin, and Legolas felt sick.
Why was he touching him like this? What kind of revenge was this?
"It was because of you."
Legolas stilled.
"Because of you, your king burned down my father's village... I have wandered for years in solitude, leaving my child brother behind in a stranger's house, damned to never rest until I avenged my father..." Gama lifted himself and stared down. "Because of you."
The elf stilled.
If this could quell the vengeance in the mortal's heart, and turn his arrow of hatred away from his kingdom and his father...
Gama looked down at the young elf's chest, scouring his body with his eyes. He looked vaguely ill as he reached forward to jerk open the elf's tunic. Legolas' eyes widened in foreign terror.
"Stop!"
He knew this touch. He had felt it in the memory of the orc, the foul touches and forceful hands that held him down. Though his memory did not extend to what followed – due to Elladan and Elrohir's intervention – he did know this terror. It was what had prompted him to attack his...
"Please," he whispered.
Ada. Ada. This man is hurting me in ways I don't understand. Make him stop. I am scared.
A savage cry tore through the mist.
A black streak flew from the side, and Gama was tackled onto the ground. The elf quickly sat up, trembling hands clutching the loose tunic.
The human regained his composure swiftly; before bared fangs could bite down upon his neck, he kicked the orc away, and managed to wrestle free from the grip. The orc jumped to its feet, and snarled with a fume of death.
Gama backed away. "Protected by an orc," he mumbled, before turning swiftly. "We shall meet again, Legolas."
The man disappeared quickly into the fog. The orc did not give chase. Instead, it turned to Legolas. The youth stared numbly.
"Are you...the one I healed?" he murmured.
The orc stepped back, and poised itself with a snarl. Its eyes glittered with dark malice; there was no coherent thought, no recognition. It was a failure of its creators, mutilated with an elf's face and an animal's intelligence. The elf smiled wearily.
"Was it out of instinct...? Because you saw me reliving your pain?" He began to lace his tunic. "Or is it because you remembered me...?"
The orc leaped. Legolas closed his eyes.
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A darkened room and a lone candle light.
You cannot be my father...
Trees whipped past his face, scratched his skin. Dirt skidded by his feet. Eyes were distant, unseeing, as he cleaved the darkness of the night, stumbling away from the heart of the hidden valley. The touches were crawling on his skin. And heated breaths on his neck, and whispers...
Forgive me, Roloth...but you cannot be my father...
Roloth...
Roloth...?
His body skidded to a halt, and his feet flew over a boulder. The slender body flipped into the air, dark against the night sky. It crashed onto pebbles and weeds, and rolled down the hill.
The moon was silent.
Fevered panting shook the silence of the night. The young elf rose, and began to walk. He was oblivious to the pain that flared up in his knee, the various scratches and bruises that laced his body.
Roloth. He knew that name.
He was alone in the wilderness when he heard the movement. He raised his eyes. Before him stood the tall man. Legolas did not move.
The man tilted his head. "You come out alone in the dark of the night, without your elf-kind?"
"Where is Rolof?" The youth's voice was sharp.
Gama shrugged. "Waiting for you somewhere nearby."
The silence was brief. The young elf's eyes shone feverishly. "What do you seek of me?"
Gama's expression darkened. "What do you have to offer?"
Legolas was hesitant. "You will be generously compensated, if you go to my king," he said slowly. "Though I realize this may sound insulting considering your family's- "
"You are right in that!" spat Gama. Legolas flinched.
Gama stepped closer. "I will not rest, elf, until I see him suffer what my family suffered," he snarled. "Until he suffers his children wandering the wild, lost and helpless; until he loses as much as I did, which was everything. Everything!"
The elf fought to stand his ground. "You would seek more ruin," he tried, "when you may seek aid, to seek a brighter future." He breathed heavily. "Your child brother – what of him? Would you have him continue to wait for you, earning his living as a stranger's ward, until your bloodthirst is sated?"
"Logic comes easy for you, little elf," snarled Gama, "because you have not lived your life festering in anger and despair."
The elf lowered his gaze. "Gama." His voice was hushed. "I beg your forgiveness. On behalf of my king."
Gama stared down. His expression contorted into a strange mask of pain.
"Your kind," he breathed, "passes on its sins to be carried by its children."
"Please," Legolas repeated, "forgive us, Gama. Forgive my king."
A thick silence settled between the two.
Gama began to circle the young elf, as would a vulture appraising its prey. "You could fight me, run away, bring back an army – and yet you beg forgiveness." He stopped behind Legolas.
"I desire no hatred upon him," breathed the elf. "He has done you wrong. You deserve justice." Dark lashes lowered, and blinked mournfully. "But I love my king."
With a grunt, Gama grabbed the elf's collar. "Follow me then," he growled, "Rolof and I shall decide your punishment." He pulled, and stopped when feet skidded upon the ground.
Legolas stared back, wide eyes trembling with terror unknown. "No," he breathed.
"No?" A twisted smile began to appear upon Gama's face.
Legolas stepped back, only to be viciously pulled forward by his collar. "No. Not Rolof."
"Precisely," spat Gama. "Precisely my point." He turned fully to grab the young elf, who ducked out of the way. A vicious struggle ensued, muffled in the silence of the night. Heated breaths mingled as the elf kneeled before the man, caught in the man's grip.
"Gama, I beg you," he whispered fervently, "I will do anything. Anything to give you recompense. But please, not Rolof."
The man's eyes narrowed. He stood before the elf, a towering shadow against the distant moon.
"You kneel for your king," he mused. "I would have your king kneel before me, young elf." He violently pushed the elf onto his back. "I would have him beg forgiveness, while I punish him for all those years of misery he cast upon me."
Legolas sucked in a trembling breath.
"I hate all of you elves," he snarled, as tearing sounds could be heard, fingers flying in the dark. "I hate you all for turning me into this. I hate your king!" With a screeching tear, the tunic was torn open.
With a strangled cry, Legolas struggled abruptly, blinded by panic.
"No one can hear you scream, little one," whispered the man, crushing the elf's shoulders against the hard ground. Pebbles and patches of weed lacerated the skin of the elf. "If not Rolof, then I will help you remember."
Let me show you how much I love you...
"Stop!" The cry was a feeble.
You were there at the village...
You knew the people...
He should not have come out into the night. Legolas fought to breathe as fervent hands fumbled with the remainder of his clothing. He could no longer think; the night was spinning, spinning out of his sight. His eyes rolled back.
And then, he screamed.
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Anxious murmurs milled about the front of the Last Homely House as hoof beats approached. Lights flared to life as torches and lamps gathered in the courtyard. The tall warrior leaped off of his horse, holding a limp youth in his arms.
Turning swiftly, Elrond led the way to the House of Healing. As the warrior elf followed, Erestor trailed behind, dispersing the milling elves with curt commands.
It did not take long for Elrond to check for injuries. The slender body was scratched and bruised, but otherwise untouched. Erestor slipped into the chamber and stood by Glorfindel as Elrond looked upward.
"What happened?"
Glorfindel's gaze burned into the limp body of the youth. "Do we not know?" His voice was strained, bitter. "Did we not already know?"
Silence thickened. With a soundless rush of his robes, Erestor disappeared out the door. Glorfindel closed his eyes.
"I was late, wasn't I?" The whisper was voiceless. "He denies you entrance."
Elrond looked upon the youth's determined face, determined to keep all probing healers at bay. Gray eyes turned toward dark blue, and Elrond rose slowly. "I will heal him," he said, his gaze flitting from the shifting light in Glorfindel's eyes, to his bloody lips, to tangled wisps of hair. "I will heal him."
"It is too late." The night air unfurled as Glorfindel looked away. "He lingers in darkness – and he is too young, too innocent, to understand what has happened. He cannot even cross the threshold, to fade."
Elrond did not know what to say. "There will be a way," he said uncertainly. "We will heal him."
"Will we?" Tumbling blue threatened to sweep Elrond in its wild currents of sorrow. "When will Erestor be able to stand here with us, without running away?"
Elrond's breath trembled, silent.
The crickets did not sing. Glorfindel turned, and slumped onto a chair. His eyes glazed, forlorn, as he gazed at the unconscious youth.
"Forgive me," he whispered. A pale hand rose to rest against his forehead, shielding his eyes. "I seem to have grown no wiser since my adolescent years."
A mournful silence caressed the dark of the night.
Elrond slowly approached the warrior elf, and gently fingered disarrayed strands of golden hair. Glorfindel's head bowed. "How will I look at Thranduil in the eye again?" The voice was thick, broken. "How will I watch his raging grief a second time?"
The elvenlord gave no answer. He soundlessly wrapped his arms around the lowered head, enveloping the golden warrior into the warm shadows of his embrace.
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Gama strode into the clearing, when the man by the fire looked upward.
"Where is the elf?" the older man inquired, frowning as Gama shook out dirt and twigs from his hair. Gama growled.
"Lost him."
The older man's expression darkened. He glared menacingly at the younger man. "You lost him?"
"I was outnumbered, Rolof." Gama irately plopped down by the fire, and held out his hands toward the flames. The nights were becoming cooler with the scent of autumn.
"What happened?" said the older man, just as irritated. Gama glowered.
"I was only going to scare him a bit," he said, "but some other elf showed up on horseback before I could bring him." He paused upon the dubious look the other man gave him. "He threw a sword at me, Rolof. A sword! And it almost chopped off my head."
An exasperated sigh escaped Rolof's lips. He crossed his arms. "What will you do now?"
Gama leaned over the fire and poked at one of the potatoes with a twig. "He will leave sooner or later, following your trail. Then we can close up on him."
"So?" Rolof demanded.
Gama shot him an irritated glance. "We will have revenge, or course."
"How?" Rolof was watching him suspiciously. Leaning back, Gama crossed his arms.
"The elf-king took my family. He either killed or banished the villagers. All fifty of them." He cocked his head. "I shall have to demand the same loss."
Rolof snorted. "You said the king seemed to be without a queen, and he looked too young to be a father. And how will you make him turn over his people to you?"
"Elf-children are known to be treasured," said Gama proudly. "If I hold the elf-child hostage, his clan will resent the king should the king not comply with the demand; either way, destruction within the elf kingdom is inevitable."
Rolof stared at the young man's smug face. "That is the most ridiculous idea I have heard since your plan to turn the elves against each other back in the -" he suddenly stopped, realization dawning upon his features. "If we catch the elf," he growled, "you are not going to harm him. Do you understand? Leave his body unmarred."
Gama laughed mockingly. "Oh, I think it is too late for that. I do believe I awakened some unpleasant memories in that pretty head of his. He called a name of Roloth."
Rolof bit back a growl. Throwing a twig into the fire, he stared into the flames. "We are wasting our lives on meaningless acts," he mumbled. "If you ask me, I would choose pleasure over revenge and hate." He looked up at Gama. "Let it go, Gama. Enjoy the chance given to you. The child is a gem."
"I do not have your sickly mind," snapped Gama. "I care for my missing family, not some pretty boy-child's body!"
Rolof's expression darkened. He threw another twig into the fire. There was silence.
"All the same," murmured Rolof, "leave him unmarred."
"So that I can offer him, untainted and pure, to you?" sneered Gama. He sat up straight. "Have no fear, Rolof. I find no pleasure in boy-children, and if I do mar him, it will be out of vengeance, not lust."
"There is little difference," muttered Rolof. "The consequences are the same."
"They are not," snapped the younger man.
Silence reigned once more.
"He is mine," said Rolof suddenly. "I was the one who found him; I was the one who recognized him and told you the story. You would not even be here if not for me."
Gama's eyes glittered. "If I remember correctly," he snarled, "it was your father who harmed the child and earned the wrath of the elf-king. It was his deeds that brought on the destruction of the village, and further banishment of the people – my family included!"
The night was dark. Silence was laced with crackling of the fire.
Rolof ran a weary hand through his hair. "We are treading the path of our forefathers," he murmured. "They tried to live new lives."
Gama leaned back against a tree, dark eyes burning into the flames. "Even so, they met no better fates." His voice was bitter.
The two remained silent, as the fire continued to burn away.
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To Be Continued