A/N: Hi everybody! I'm back from my summer holiday (2 weeks in southern France, near the Atlantic) and I'm really glad to have access to internet. Stupid French campings don't even have wi-fi. Luckily I did have my laptop, so I could write this chapter (and the next, but I'm not quite satisfied with that one so I'm going to fight it into something I like). Researching has been ... complicated a bit by the lack of internet, but I could write well enough without certain variables (such as names). I didn't spend my whole holiday holed up behind my laptop however, I spent at least a week jumping head first in 6-foot tall waves (well, from where I stood they were all 6 foot tall. The ones that actually were that tall, were very rare), only to be dragged with the wave back to the beach, land ungracefully on whatever bodypart had the unfortunate luck to be closest to the beach and run back into sea. It was fun!
But anyways, I had ideas aplenty for this story (amongst others), so I've written quite a lot. This chapter is longer without author's note than the last one is with. I'm quite content with this chapter, so I hope you are too. Oh, and for the inquisitive minds: No, this will not be a slash story between Legolas and Glorfindel. I won't go further than a Platonic relationship (ignore the irony of the word 'Platonic') between the two, because I'm a really crappy smut-writer. Something that is, in my opinion, inherent to being a boy my age.
I have noticed that I have only sporadically thanked any reviewers, so I hereby wish to say thanks to all of you. Your reactions and advice have greatly improved my writing, and this is my most reviewed story by far! So thank you all!
Please enjoy!
After having settled in their respective rooms, which were quite up to standards (though Aerolas found them to be only barely satisfactory, and Legolas thought they were more than perfect), both princes made their way to dinner.
Meals in the House of Elrond, Rivendell, were famous for their etiquette. So much even, that only very rarely did people (elves, mostly, but sometimes humans joined the meal, and very occasionally the odd wizard – Gandalf – or Dwarves in need) actually enjoy the meal. It was more a social undertaking than an actual meal, more of an intricate meeting with various political leaders in setting so drenched in etiquette and norms that they could almost be tasted.
Luckily for them, both Aerolas and Legolas had been trained almost since birth for this kind of social undertakings. Aerolas was more at ease naturally with others than Legolas, who was usually very silent during mealtimes in Mirkwood. But even the older prince conversed quite a lot, once his shields were worn down by continuous attempts to start a conversation by one of the elves of Rivendell on his one side, and the leader of the Rangers of the North on the other. It was safe to say, of course, that the younger prince had conversed with nearly everybody by the time the first course was finished, and had formed 'friendships' – depending on their usefulness – with half of them.
Both princes survived the usually strenuous meal, quite successfully actually. Legolas learned a lot about the state of the North and the West of the Misty Mountains, and he had earned the approval of both the Rivendell elf, Lindir the minstrel, and of Aravir, son of Aranuir, the Ranger Chieftain, by the end of the meal.
But as the meal ended and moved on to the Hall of Fire for entertainment and further conversations for the night, more and more elves left. Legolas saw his chance clean to make a discreet escape to the outer gardens of Rivendell.
After he had left the Hall of Fire, which was filled with elves and a few rangers as well, Legolas made his way towards the gardens of Rivendell. The gardens were famous, throughout elfin lands at least, for their rare flowers and other kinds of plants. Many herbs in were medicinal in nature, and most of them could only be found in the carefully tended gardens of the Last Homely Home west of the Misty Mountains. It was even rumoured among the elves of Mirkwood that there were plants from Valinor in the private herb garden of Lord Elrond. They were said to heal even the gravest of wounds, a skill for which Lord Elrond was known for as a healer.
As Legolas made his way through the gardens, his senses were assaulted by the smell of the many flowers and herbs in the air, but a heavy, oppressing feeling as well. It seemed that the storm which had drenched them in rain earlier today had temporarily ebbed in power, but wasn't about to go away. The air felt like there was a heavy thunderstorm coming.
Legolas observed the many elves and the occasional ranger frolic around in the garden. Several couples were seated on benches in secluded areas, others were strolling around and admiring the view and the smells. Legolas made his way towards one of the more secluded areas, which was sheltered from the light and the sound of the hall of fire by a hedge made of a plant Legolas couldn't exactly place. It looked like a bush common to Mirkwood, the Elventhorn, but it wore no thorns and where Elventhorn rarely grew higher than one feet, this one was at least five feet in height. In the clearing that was behind the hedge were a couple of benches - one placed at either side of the only path. It was quite deserted, but to Legolas, it didn't feel lonely.
Legolas allowed himself to relax, for the first time in Rivendell. He was normally closed around people, choosing to wear the mask of the emotionless prince most of the time, and didn't generally relax until he was sure he was out of sight. He was alone in this section of the gardens, luckily for him, so he could be at ease.
Having observed most of the plants and herbs in sight in a good half hour – which was quite useless without an explanation of the names, functions and properties of the plants he didn't know – he chose to look at the stars. That was not often done in Mirkwood, partially because of the trees that obscured most of the sight and partially because spiders didn't hide between the stars. But the Mirkwood elves were still elves, and therefore it was in their nature to watch the stars. So Legolas sat back watching the stars, content for now.
A long time later, Legolas was startled out of his daze by a sound. He had, quite common amongst elves, drowsed away from watching the stars. The action of watching them was so akin for sleeping to them that it was almost impossible to distinguish an elf sitting still and observing the stars from one sleeping away in the place where elves go when they dream.
"I rarely see an elf so aware when asleep." A voice from Legolas's right said.
The small elf turned around and saw Lord Glorfindel, the most imposing amongst the Lords of Rivendell, standing to his right.
"Don't try to deny you were asleep, I can see well enough the difference between a sleeping and an awake elf." Glorfindel said with a smile. He was expecting the Mirkwood prince to deny falling asleep in the gardens, like Erestor always did when he caught him asleep. But strangely enough, the lithe elven prince seemed to accept his words without a problem, even moving over a bit on the bench to invite him to sit.
"A storm is brewing." Legolas said when Glorfindel had settled down on the bench. If you didn't know the two elves weren't related, they could be passed off for father and son. Both were alike enough blond, both had blue eyes and Legolas was certainly a lot younger than the imposing elf lord.
"There is always a storm brewing in the east." Glorfindel replied.
"I don't like storms." Legolas said.
"Neither do I, but I cannot control them. So I must face them and withstand them instead."
"What will happen if we fail?"
"Then all will be lost." Glorfindel asked.
Legolas was silent for a few minutes, pondering over Glorfindels answers.
"You've watched in Galadriel's mirror." Glorfindel concluded.
Legolas looked at the older elf with a questioning look.
"I can see it in your eyes. You worry about what you have seen, you worry it may come to pass and everything will be lost forever." Glorfindel said.
"I ..." Legolas started, but paused and let out a sigh. "I fear the darkness."
"I cannot honestly tell you I do not fear the dark." Glorfindel started with a sigh. "But we must keep hope in the faith that every storm will pass."
"But what will happen once the storm hits? And what will pass in the storm?" Legolas said.
"You have seen in the mirror what can happen if the storm passes." Glorfindel said.
Legolas shot Glorfindel a questioning look. The older elf couldn't know – could he?
"Hmpf." Glorfindel snorted.
"The lady's mirror has been showing the same things for eternity." He clarified. "It is always the next storm that will come to pass, or maybe another storm further up ahead. I have looked into the mirror myself a long time ago, and only a few more times before my return. But the mirror will show the same thing over and over again, the same sort of predictions of the future that will come to pass in a completely different way than you have seen."
After the older elf's words, both were silent for a while.
"Have you seen it?" Legolas asked.
"Seen what?" Glorfindel said.
"Have you seen ... the eye?" Legolas asked, very softly, afraid to speak of it.
Glorfindel let out a sigh before answering. "Only once, of all the times I watched that dreadful mirror have I seen the eye, and that was a long time ago, before the fall of Sauron. But this is grave news indeed, that the eye has been seen in the mirror. Tell me, when did you gaze into the mirror?"
"Not more than a fortnight ago, when we were in Lothlorien." Legolas said softly. "The fourth vision I saw, the vision with the eye, was different from the others. It felt like pure evil, like it was trying to draw me in and drain me from energy. As if it were trying to suck me through the mirror and eat me alive, only by the feel of it. It's gaze was burning, as if a hot iron was scorching my soul without leaving marks. I felt powerless, completely and utterly worthless." The small elf let out a shiver of fear from the memory.
"It is indeed grave and worrying news you bring here. My own experiences with the eye and it's owner are not even as vivid as you have described, but it comes close to what it felt like before I died." Glorfindel said. "Though it must be said that I have never come close enough to it to feel what you have just described."
Glorfindel took a look at the young elf that was next to him on the bench in the gardens of Rivendell. He was curled up in fear, like he was reliving the memory. He was shivering, despite the relatively warm weather. It was almost strangely warm for this time of the year, so it was still quite pleasant to be outside. Glorfindel noticed that the elf looked very, very small, only an elfling not yet really out of his childhood. It struck him as strange, since he knew that both of the Mirkwood princes were old enough, if his information was correct, to be seen as adults in body. And this prince looked like a quite young elfling in body, but in mind he was like an elf that had seen more than one age.
His attention was drawn back from his thoughts by the small prince pulling his knees up to his chin and hugging them. He looked even smaller than before now, with almost un-princelike frail arms circling his legs and a blond head resting on the knees. Glorfindel could guess what was bothering the young prince. He'd seen the eye when it was less powerful - a very long time ago, that was - and it had been emotionally very draining. He could certainly understand the young prince feeling ... depressed by the vision.
"If you feel troubled by what you have seen in the mirror, you can always talk to Elrond." Glorfindel said softly, about to admit something more personal than he had admitted to any stranger in a long time. "He has helped me very often when I was troubled by what I had seen or encountered."
The doubtful look that the little elfin prince shot him was enough to confirm the suspicions he had already had on account of how Thranduil had prepared his sons for their first meeting with Elrond.
"I do not exactly know you what Thranduil has told you about Elrond, but I can guess that it would be something along the lines were he would deceive you with words and talk you into things you would not dream of doing. I know you will probably not trust him, but I can honestly tell you that Elrond has always helped me when I was troubled by things."
Glorfindel paused to prepare what he was going to say. It was important, it could affect how the Mirkwood Prince looked at Elrond – and consequently Rivendell – forever.
"And it is true, but not commonly known, that Elrond and Thranduil have an old feud. A family feud, so to speak. I don't know what it is about, nor how it started, because it isn't my place to speak, but I do know that Mirkwood and Rivendell have had an ... uneasy relationship for as long as I can remember."
The small elf nodded, and relaxed a bit. Glorfindel copied the action after a few moments, relaxing on the bench in the gardens of Rivendell, watching the stars.
The storm both Legolas and Glorfindel had seen coming, broke loose that night. Blinding flashes of lighting were followed by harsh claps of thunder, accompanied by winds that pushed against the buildings of Rivendell and rain that pelted everything in sight. It was like Manwë himself had lifted up the ocean and blown it over the West. Even the power of Elrond had no answer for this force of nature, no answer to the torrents of rain, the thundering booms of thunder and lightning and the raging winds that accompanied them, and it was for this reason that almost all elves retreated inside, closed as many doors and windows as possible and assembled around the fires in the larger halls. Among the ones that didn't venture towards the safety of the fires was our little elfin prince.
Legolas was horribly afraid of storms. He knew it was childish and very unbecoming of a prince to be afraid for such trivial things as storms, and he knew that storms couldn't hit him inside, but he couldn't help being terribly afraid of them. He had always been sensitive to sounds, especially sudden eruptions of noise like thunder, and the loud, rolling booms startled the small prince. After the first clap of thunder he hid as far underneath the bedcovers as possible, covered his ears with his hands and tried to stop being so worthlessly afraid.
He hated himself for being so unbecomingly afraid of storms. Elves shouldn't fear storms, they shouldn't be frightened by mere sound and light, by water and wind. He was a prince, and princes shouldn't be afraid of anything. And yet, Legolas was. He hated the loud noises, thunder only predicted something bad. It had stormed on the day that his mother had died, most Orcs attacked during times of storm, his father's mood was always the worst during a storm and even Aerolas knew – and abused – the fact that Legolas was frightened by storms.
A harsh clap of thunder struck, and the small prince startled and huddled closer underneath the bedcovers. He was bad, worthless, for being afraid of storms like this. He wasn't worth to be a prince, or even an elf. Elves aren't afraid of storms, and neither are princes. He was foolishly stupid, a pathetic child not fit to be a prince at all.
Delicate tears formed in Legolas' eyes as he realised that his father's and brother's words were indeed true. He was a disgrace to his family, to his kind, he was unworthy and unfit to be a prince or even an elf. Nobody wanted him, and with good reason, for he was just a useless burden.
The small and lithe elf underneath the bedcovers curled in on himself and cried. He didn't deserve to live like a prince, he didn't deserve to live at all. Maybe it was best if he just died. He was a burden for his family and his kingdom, and he had been for as long as he lived.
A/N: I feel sorry for Legolas, and for having to end the chapter on this depressing note, but I felt I needed to stop here. There'll be (most likely) more depressing things for Legolas in the next chapter, but I certainly do plan to make him into the happy prince Tolkien portrays.