CHAPTER 25
Waking slowly, Legolas dared not move for a long moment. He felt disoriented, as though he had been dreaming for a long time – heavy, scattered dreams filled with pain that made no sense, dreams where Elrond's touches had become bites, where the dripping sound of water turned into his father's mocking laughter, where cruelty had been tangled with kindness, darkness demolished light, and Elrond was lost to Legolas forever.
Thranduil and… and the rats were real. What of Elrond, of my my time with him in Imladris?" His stiff, still-sensitive fingers brushed the palm of his hand and he breathed a sigh of relief to feel the seared, scarred skin there. It was real. He was real. But the darkness was real as well, as were the dungeon, the rats, the despair. Legolas was not so foolish as to believe the bad things had all ended.
His fingers felt tender, as did his toes beneath the covers. The calluses on the tips of his fingers were gone; new skin was there, entirely worthless to an archer. He would have to regrow the calluses, and fletching and releasing arrows in any great number would be difficult for some time. If I am actually ever given the opportunity to fletch another arrow, he thought with some bitterness, much less protect anyone I love from harm again. Has Thranduil thought up some other diabolical plan to finally bring me out of the darkness? Where am I now?
Rolling over slowly, he pushed aside the shadows of dreams for the moment and slitted open his eyes. There in the nearest corner sat his own familiar bow and his ornate-peacock quiver. No matter he had lost them in Mirkwood's great forest, they were with him again, anyway. Is this Mandos' halls then? Opening his eyes a little wider, he saw the handles of his knives glittering in the sunlight streaming through the door. They sat safely in their sheathes attached to the quiver, old friends who appeared ready for service at his command.
Where AM I? Something gnawed at the edge of his mind, for he knew this room, had awakened here before. Its door stood ajar, as if someone had been checking on him frequently, someone occupying a much larger chamber beyond this one's narrow confines. A chamber connecting to this one as Legolas himself had felt connected in friendship and growing love with its owner before leaving for Dol Guldur half of a lifetime before.
Legolas could feel a cool breeze wafting from the open door leading onto the terrace beyond that room. Birds sang spring songs filled with the promise of nests and new life, offering fragile, unbelieveable testimony that he'd been given a second chance in this, his own life. Not daring believe it, Legolas narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin. If this was illusion and Thranduil or Mandos waited out there on that terrace, Legolas would confront them head on. One thing is certain: Elrond will not be there. Elrond is safe in the real Imladris, where Mandos and my father will not go.
Pushing back the covers, Legolas slipped out of the bed. His legs felt as wobbly as a newborn colt's, as if he'd not used them for a great long time and had no been meant by some to ever use them again. Sunlight streamed in from the chamber beyond, and Legolas sniffed the air. The scent of roses – subtle and seductive – wafted on the breeze.
A tall wardrobe dominated the wall beside his bow. Tottering over to it, Legolas found new clothing waiting for him, just as it had in the other Imladris. Needing new clothing in Imladris seems a recurring feature of this nightmare.
But was it a nightmare? The clothes smelled like Elrond, and Legolas couldn't recall ever dreaming of a scent before. He wasn't usually weak in dreams either, didn't find himself panting in fatigue as he moved from wardrobe to bed. No, this dream was far too real.
Pulling on a pair of new leggings and a tunic, Legolas found a set of new boots waiting in the bottom of the wardrobe. I would not think to dream of new boots, he realized, his heart beating faster and faster to think perhaps he wasn't in Mandos' halls. Not daring to believe, nor even to hope, he yanked on the new boots and hurried as fast as his newly healedbody would take him through the door leading into Elrond's chamber.
He nearly wept at the sight of the well-worn chair, the table piled high with books and what-nots. The chamber was empty but just over there was a robe thrown haphazardly over another chair. Grabbing it up, Legolas buried his nose in it. Yes… that was Elrond. And Elrond was not in the Halls of Waiting. Elrond was in Imladris. I think that I might be as well. Tears escaped his eyes then; he wiped them away on the robe. Yes, the chamber was empty, but it was exactly as he remembered it, and something told Legolas its owner would not always be away. He's just nearby… and I can find him.
He smile at the clutter, the endless books and the chair were Elrond had tried to seduce him – those were no dreams. The medicinals cabinet sat just over there, reeking of a strange combination of herbal oils and ointments – combinations Legolas was in no hurry to get to know again anytime soon.
The seal of Elrond twinged sympathetically in the palm of his hand: Legolas scratched at it absently and remembered all too clearly the first night he had spent in this chamber. How intimidated he had been by its owner. How quickly things can change. And how glad I am that they have.
But where was Elrond?
Pulling back the terrace door, Legolas slipped out into the garden. A brilliant array of flowers greeted him, nestled among evergreen shrubs and a collection of trees who had been only spindly sticks in the dead of winter when he had seen them last. The rose bush beckoned… the same that Elrond had originally introduced him to. Stepping down the steps to greet the rose bush properly, Legolas was careful not to test his ill-used muscles too quickly.
"Hello, old friend," he greeted the rose bush, now in full bloom. The rose that had bloomed in winter was a naked, shriveled bud now. As Elrond had predicted, it had known only frost and freezing for its efforts. Reaching out, Legolas broke off the bud, to offer renewal to the stem behind it. I think you are very much like this rose - so willing to throw away your eternity in a loveless bond. You were made for better things, Elrond's voice came back to him.
Legolas smiled to himself. He was right, I was made for him. What was hidden from me then is so clear to me now.
"The world turned from winter into spring while you slept," a low, familiar voice spoke from behind him.
Whirling, Legolas all but toppled over. Catching his balance, he grinned. "Mithrandir, it's good to see you."
Strong, spindly arms enfolded the elf: the scent of pipeweed all but choked him. "It is good to see you as well, youngling. Good to see you on your feet again and looking as if you might live after all. I'm not certain though that you should be out of bed. How do you feel?"
"Disoriented," came the honest answer. "As if I was a long time away and would rather not recall where I've been."
"An apt description. Have you seen Elrond?"
The elf shook his head. "He is not within."
Mithrandir frowned. "That's odd, as he's not left your side for the past week. Still, Glorfindel has been speaking of spring foalings and grumbling about the stable help's singular lack of talent. Your Elrond may be off to the stables to sooth Glorfindel's ruffled plumage."
"He came for me," Legolas said quietly, feeling the wonder of it for the first time. "He who should never – must never – leave Imladris. He came for me, and I can scarcely believe that I am here."
"Elrond loves you very much. But then again, I suppose you know that."
"As I love him."
No hesitation, no tension to that admission. Mithrandir looked up sharply at the elf only to find the blue eyes meeting his were extraordinarily clear.
Late one night, in a moment of shared confidences and swearings to secrecy, Glorfindel had relayed to Mithrandir the exact details of Elrond's bonding with Legolas. Mithrandir had the feeling that the Elf walking beside him was very much unaware of what had transpired.
"They love each other," Glorfindel had said. "I predict that their bond will grow stronger than any friendship or intimacy might allow."
"That is your prediction is it?" Mithrandir sighed and blew smoke out from his nostrils. "I fear that Elrond may ultimately succeed where Thranduil has always failed."
"Where is that?"
"Legolas may well shatter, break and fade while beating himself against the bars of this commitment made against his consent." Grey eyes held Glorfindel's blue.
"You love him," Mithrandir murmured, dragging himself back to the present. "That is well, youngling." He was careful not to ask what sort of love it was that Legolas felt. The wrong sort of love will break both their hearts.
"Is it so strange that I should love him?" Legolas' voice shook the wizard free of his ponderings. "He saved my life and much waits to be said between us. I must find him."
With that, Legolas strode out across the garden, heading for the stables in search of the Elf-lord who had saved his life. He saved your life, but at what cost? the wizard wondered. Certainly, you feel gratitude for what Elrond has done, but you cannot know yet that he has imprisoned you both in a passionless bond. I dread to discover the cost of that.
Five Days Later
Drumming his fingers on the arms of Elrond's chair, Legolas sprang from its confines to pace once, twice, three times around the private chambers that supposedly belonged to the Elf-lord.
Legolas was having serious doubts that Elrond still claimed these chambers, regardless his possessions were still strewn about. He knew that Elrond had not set foot across the threshold since Legolas had awoken, five days before. He is avoiding me. But why? What have I done? How have I hurt him? And how can I make it right if he won't even look at me, much less talk to me?
Over the past few hours, Legolas had walked what seemed miles of Imladris, only to beg a horse from Glorfindel: "A gentle mount, nothing too spirited to land me on my head as you seem to think that Thranduil's treatment of me has somehow interferred with my ability to stay ahorse."
His demands had been delivered in a tone so sarcastic, so drippingly dry, that Glorfindel had claimed to be, "Surprised the frost of your breath hasn't shriveled up and shattered on the stable floor while we've stood here arguing."
"I am not arguing with you. And contrary to all appearances, I am not angry with you," Legolas had offered. "I am frustrated with the Lord of Imladris. Either give me the mare and let me continue my search, or tell me where Elrond is."
He'd gotten the mare. She had allowed him access to parts of Imladris he hadn't seen, and enabled him to make a discovery almost more astonishing than the fact that Elrond had come to rescue him from Thranduil's clutches.
Riding deep into a valley behind Elrond's main house, Legolas urged his mare over one more hill. Clearing the crest of it, he stopped dead to see an Elven enclave nestled below: one whose layout and construction mirrored one he knew all too well. Riding hard down the hill, he had confronted the first elves he saw, who had shouted their joy at the sight of him, surrounded his horse and pulled him into their midst. Despite his best intentions to leave before the moon rose and perhaps to find Elrond presiding over the evening meal in the Great Hall, the elves of Mirkwood had kept Legolas busy with apologies, food, conversation and song deep into the night.
His friends and some he had thought became his enemies – mainly those who had captured and dragged him before his father – had left Mirkwood because of him. Because of him and his father's cruelty against him.
"We've renounced our loyalty to Thranduil," an erstwhile captor and childhood friend had said through gritted teeth. "We've broken all bonds, have sworn to protect and serve you and Lord Elrond. Forever."
"We won't be going back," another had said, pulling him into a fierce hug. "Forgive me, my prince. Forgive us all, we beg you."
"Bring up the subject again when I can wield a sword and properly pull a bow. It's then you'll have the fight I wanted to give you, first in Thranduil's chambers and again on the edge of the forest of Mirkwood."
Five pair of Elven eyes had widened at Legolas' tones. One or two Elves visibly blanched at the thought of confronting a very angry Legolas who appeared set on stalking and fighting them in Imladris' woods sometime in the future. His skills, they knew, were far and away better than their own.
"After the fight," Legolas had concluded, "I'll consider forgiving you."
"It's more than we hoped for," one of the Elves ventured humbly, "and much more than we deserve.
Secretly, Legolas was astonished to learn that fully two-thirds of Thranduil's army and their families lay in this valley, taking up their lives again as calmly and happily as you please, just over the hill from the Elf-lord whom Thranduil had done his best to make them hate.
"The King of Mirkwood lost more than his youngest son when he condemned you to death among the rats," one of his father's personal guard told Legolas as he was accompanied him back to the main house where he would resume his search for its elusive lord. "Thrandil lost us when he lost himself. We won't ever go back."
Legolas had found his people – another miracle wrought by Elrond's coming after him – but he couldn't find Elrond. The Elf-lord was always somewhere else, it seemed: out in the stables, riding fences in case they needed mending, tending an injured horse in the north field, looking over new homesteads for the people of Mirkwood, in meetings, negotiating yearling sales, inspecting new foals… it was always something. And it was nothing that Legolas should not have been sharing with him.
Legolas would have searched harder and faster, but much to his frustration, whether on horseback or on foot, he still tired easily. His body demanded more rest and far more sleep than ever it had, so that more than once Legolas found himself nodding off in Elrond's empty chamber, only to awake tucked in his own bed like an exhausted young elfling. More than once, Legolas awoke in the night to the quiet murmur of Elrond and Glorfindel's voices in the next room, but try as he might, Legolas could not seem to rouse himself enough to go to them. To join them. To see and speak with Elrond.
And so it was that, five days after awaking and finding himself safe in Imladris, Legolas sat on Elrond's terrace with a baby bow borrowed from Imladris' archery master. He twanged endless arrows from it and into a baby target set up in the garden, determined to build up the calluses on his right hand so that he might restore his real archery prowess.
He stayed there all day, and still Elrond did not appear.