Chapter twenty-four: All The King's Men
Legolas stood before the tall windows of the healing wing, his morose face looking down onto the citizens of Imladris as they ambled through the gardens, oblivious to his suffering. How could life go on so naturally, as if nothing had happened, as if his very own life were not about to end, drowned in a sea of bitter anguish?
The last three days had been a blur to him. His shoulder was healing well and the deep, bone numbing exhaustion was beginning to leave him, but he had taken stock of nothing, except for the unmoving body of Glorfindel, the eyes that would not open, and the hand that did not squeeze back, the light behind his blue eyes he could not see.
Friends had come and gone and he had barely acknowledged them with a curt nod, irritated almost, that they should distract him from his useless vigil. The humans had not understood, he knew, for Minulbên, Arhad and Eldonar had simply shared perplexed looks, asked after Glorfindel, and then left. He thought perhaps that they were still not aware of the relationship he shared with Glorfindel, of the sexual nature of elves that was so different to that of humans; not that it bothered him – it didn't.
Even the trees sang frivolously, as if Spring were upon them – did they not know what had happened? Of course they did – so what was wrong with them? Wherefore this obscene joy? he asked, his silent ire rising.
He had let himself go; his hair hung limp and dull, on his face sat a permanent grimace, and his movements were slow, as was his mind, its attention trained only on the bed and Glorfindel, his silent, unnerving stillness.
Elrond, Elrohir or Elladan visited frequently, as did Erestor, who would sit in silence for hours, just reading or staring into nothing. Indeed even now, the councilor sat in his dark corner, in his dark robes, with his own, undoubtedly dark thoughts.
They brought trays of food that were rarely touched and had long since given up on drawing the king into any semblance of a conversation for he would all but ignore them.
Legolas walked slowly to the chair beside the bed and sat once more, drawing one long leg up and tucking his knee under his chin. He felt cold, numb, his senses dulled, his heart a frigid lump of rock that dared not be melted lest it feel the terrible ache of impending loss.
He looked away for a moment, his eyes latching onto a small fern tucked inside an ornate pot upon the bedside table. It was a deep green, its droopy leaves furry and wispy, like a waterfall of living velvet. His hand reached out to stroke over the leaves, his thumb rubbing the smooth surface.
His skin tingled, and his face straightened - no longer melancholy but frozen in tentative understanding. He allowed his eyes to haze and he knew they had changed, and he felt the tendrils of his hair rise slowly, floating around him as the energy then delved inside him, connecting him with the outside world.
A tray crashed to the ground and a startled healer ran from the room, pushing aside a colleague who stood frozen in the doorway behind Elrond and his son.
Legolas though, was oblivious to this, for his mind walked within the dimension of the trees, oblivious of the small boy that stood in shocked paralysis outside the open door.
Moving his hand from the fern to Glorfindel's cheek, he brushed his knuckles over the smooth skin. It felt warmer and Legolas no longer knew if it was Glorfindel or himself. His lover's eyes cracked open then, filling with the green light that bent over him and a strangled sob escaped the king, his tears filling his glowing eyes.
Looking up at Elrond and his son, Legolas nodded slowly before whispering the words that he knew to be the truth.
"He will live…" and with that, he bent forward and placed the softest of kisses upon the lax lips, watching the blue eyes that shone green with his own light, and with love so strong Legolas knew they would never be torn apart, not even in death, not even by him.
"Wondrous light," he whispered softly.*
…
Later that day, Legolas sat dozing in a chair near Glorfindel's bed, as a healer fussed over their patient. Elrond sat before the king, pouring the steaming tea that had just been brought to them.
"Did you heal him? asked Elrond conversationally.
"No. 'Tis not within my power to do so – only plants, and smaller animals – I do not have your skill, Elrond."
"Then the magic…"
"They wished simply to show me, to reassure me that he would live; ease my heart…"
Elrond sat staring for a while, wondering at this collective intelligence that Legolas' powers pointed at, wishing he could understand it. Indeed, should he live long enough, perhaps he would, he mused.
"Have you met the boy yet?" asked Legolas, successfully redirecting Elrond's line of thought.
"Uh.. ah, no. I have been busy these last few days," he said rhetorically with a smile as he handed Legolas a cup of the fragrant tea.
"Yes. Elrond, I wanted to…"
"Don't. Glorfindel is dear to me – no sacrifice is too great for him."
Legolas held Elrond's gaze meaningfully, knowing he spoke the truth, before turning to his tea and taking an experimental sip.
"What now?" asked Elrond.
"We made a promise to the Dúnedain, Elrond. To tutor the boy, make him strong both in body and mind, prepare him for what he must do. Halbarad, the boy's cousin, has taken command until such time Aragorn comes into his own and for this task, Elrond, I would entrust no other…"
"'Tis not the first time I have tutored a chieftain, Legolas. 'Tis my duty, I believe, to do so. Hopefully, he will be ready…"
"I wonder how long we have, my friend, before everything changes and we find ourselves before the final battle," asked Legolas softly as he stared into his tea.
"Aye. I do not think it will be long. We have little time to prepare him. Let us pray he embraces his destiny and does not shy away from it."
They sat in ponderous silence as they drank their tea, until Elrond stood and nodded at Legolas. "Well then," he said, "perhaps I should go and meet he who will be a part of my family for the next few years," began Elrond. "And perhaps reassure him you are not some wicked elven mage, for he saw your power, my friend; that can be daunting the first time," he smiled knowingly.
"That is unfortunate. He is already wary of me for some reason I cannot fathom, Elrond. Elladan, though, has bonded deeply with the boy. Perhaps you should seek him out before you present yourself."
With another nod, Elrond bid Legolas bath and change, knowing that no force upon Arda would move him from Glorfindel's side until his ancient lover stood upon his own two feet, and a careful smile came to his stern face, lighting it for just a moment, with the joy that had once resided there.
…..
Elrond found his first-born son sitting in the gardens below, a young boy at his side who looked up at Elladan in rapt silence as the elf spoke, and as Elrond neared them, the words began to become comprehensible to him.
"You must not be frightened, brother. 'Tis not dark magic but green magic, good magic."
"If it is good, why does he kill with it? I have seen it Elladan, just like I saw him in the room just now, only in my dream he was atop a great horse and he held the mightiest blade I have ever seen atop his crowned head - he frightens me and I do not understand how that can be good…"
"What we do not understand often frightens us, young one," said Elrond as he approached the pair, "the trick is not to doubt the object of our ignorance, but to erase our ignorance – we must learn to understand," said Elrond kindly as he sat with his son and the young boy.
Aragorn stared up at Elrond innocently, and then his head swiveled to Elladan for guidance.
"This is my father, Aragorn. Lord Elrond Eärendilion, meet Lord Aragorn Arathornion," said Elladan formally.
Aragorn stood and bowed stiffly, making sure his arms were straight at his sides and his feet together, just as his own father had taught him.
Elrond nodded from where he sat, with a soft smile on his face.
"How do you fare, young Aragorn?" asked the lord carefully, sparing a quick glance at Elladan.
The boy was not quick to answer, and Elrond was impressed that at such a tender age, Aragorn was clearly thinking over his words before he spoke them.
"I am alright, my Lord. Elladan has shown me the house and gardens, and tomorrow he says he will take me riding around the village, with Minulbên, of course."
"That is good. You know, Imladris will be your home for a while, young one. You should take the next few days to become familiar with the land, and the people who live here. For now, you shall live with us, with me and my family – is that acceptable to you, Aragorn?"
"And my mother, too?"
"And your mother too," smiled Elrond, in spite of the deep sadness that assailed him at her plight.
"And Elladan…"
"Your new brothers have rooms on either side of your own. You know Elladan is very busy, and travels often as Herald to our king. Elrohir you have only just met, though I am sure you two will get on just fine."
"I have my own room?" asked the boy, only now showing the age he truly was.
"Just so, a new room, just for you. And," added Elrond with another meaningful glance at his son, "we must find you a new name, an elvish one…"
"Why do I need another name?" he asked in genuine puzzlement.
Elladan looked to the floor in sad understanding as Elrond continued. The lord would not lie, but neither would he scare the boy.
"Well, you live in the lands of Elves, have an elvish room, and so you should have an elvish name – you may use either, though."
"Oh, alright…" said Aragorn, accepting the simple logic. "What will you call me then, my Lord?"
It was Elladan who spoke next though, for a conversation he had shared with Galdithion in Crossmoor suddenly came to him unbidden.
'I can feel the apprehension, heavy on the air, a sense of dark expectation, of inevitable ruin…they are without hope, they wander aimlessly in a sea of grey, unable to find the door that leads to their own freedom…'
"Estel – Estel of the Dúnedain. You will be their door, their hope…" muttered Elladan, his eyes too bright, his eyes unfocussed, and Elrond's finer hairs stood on end.
"Estel?" asked the boy in childish puzzlement. "What does it mean, Elladan?"
It was Elrond who answered. "Estel – means hope – little one. You shall be the hope of your people, just as Legolas is to his."
Elladan smiled, Aragorn cocked his head to one side, and Elrond's eyes bored into those of the future king of men, suddenly unsure of what he saw there.
…..
Glorfindel was pushed into a hazy wall of pain and nausea. He struggled to free himself of it, but to no avail, for something called to a part of him that was involuntary, that he could not control. His mind simply held so sway over whatever it was inside him that answered the silent summons, and so he relaxed his straining muscles and allowed himself to be dragged along.
He breathed deeply, desperately trying not to pant, for the pain would only increase, he thought. Stilling his body, he returned to his breathing, concentrating only on the sweet air that entered his lungs, filled them, and replenished them.
There was something else, too. A scent of the forests, of pine and sweet water moss – Legolas.
His concentration wavered as his senses sought out his lover, his right hand fumbling and then finding the warm flesh of a hand that latched onto his own, squeezing and kneading desperately. He gripped back, pushing the pain down as far as he could, which was not much.
"Le…,"
"Shshsh – don't speak, here, drink a little," came a whispered voice, and then he felt the cold lip of a cup as it pressed softly to his numb lips.
Working his mouth as best he could, he swallowed the liquid noisily, frowning as cold drops snaked down the sides of his neck.
A cloth was pressed along their trail and he was dry again. He should open his eyes and allow himself to come fully to consciousness, for in spite of the pain, there was comfort to be had, light where there had been darkness for too long.
The calming hand returned, to his forehead as it stroked rhythmically and he felt hot breath upon his cold face.
"Come back to me, Glorfindel, for you are my *wondrous light…"
Wondrous light…he was needed, Legolas needed him and nothing else mattered. Within moments he had fully opened his eyes and turned his head to the side and the beauty that stared back at him. His lungs filled with air and his blood seemed to flow a little faster. He could feel his body again and although it hurt, his heart told him he was home.
….
It had been two days ago, when the criers had announced that Lord Glorfindel had come back to them. The valley-dwellers had exploded in joy and celebration, improvised celebrations breaking out throughout the land; even now, days later, the evidence of their joy could still be seen.
The dark-haired elf smiled stiffly, for smiles did not come easily to him, not any more.
He walked slowly, the ache of his body much improved since he had returned, yet still there, for it never really disappeared, not entirely. It was just as well, for if it did, perhaps he would no longer be able to do his duty as he did, where he did.
The last week of rest and recuperation had worked wonders, but the true balm had been to embrace his son once more. He had grown, had advanced in his studies, and although good with his books, he was better with his hands.
At first, it had been a shock to discover his son's ability, for it had never really transcended when he had been a resident of Imladris. Now, however, after two years away, the boy's tutors had shown him the canvasses and parchments upon which he had materialized his nascent talent.
Words had escaped him, warrior that he was, but the shock was followed by a surge of pride and just a little relief. Perhaps then, his son would choose the path of an artist, and not that of the warrior.
Turning into the more public area of the gardens, he bowed respectfully yet silently at the civilians he passed. They still stared at him, many of them not even remembering who he had been once, before he had left to darker lands. It was just as well, he mused, for the elf he had once been was no longer him. That, had been Melven Hadorion. Now, he was Glammohtar of the Company, respected, Noldorin lieutenant of the forces of Thranduil King, of Mirkwood and the Evergreen Wood, once lover of Lindohtar, the Bard Warrior; and thus he would remain.
….
Legolas bid good day to the councilors he had been speaking with, and turned to leave, relieved he had finally been able to break away from them. He was eager to get back to the healing wards and Glorfindel, albeit he had only managed to stay away for a scant few minutes.
As he turned upon the main path, his eye was drawn to an eagle's feather, and for one, sweet moment, he rather thought he had seen Lindohtar, his beloved Bard Warrior. Alas, the blue-black hair into which it was weaved, reminded him that it was not possible, for Lindo of The Company, had been slain; only one other would dare to wear that feather now though…
"Glammohtar!" he shouted uncharacteristically, causing a few heads to turn.
The dark-haired elf stopped dead in his tracks and whirled around, before striding towards he who had called out to him, his face straight, uncracked by smiles or expressions of joy, but his eyes gleamed with an intensity that showed respect, love.
"Hwindohtar!" he called back as he held his forearms to his commander, uncharacteristic emotion flitting over the dark warrior's face so fast it would have been easy to miss.
Their forearms clasped vigorously. The warrior salute was not enough, though, and soon they were locked in an embrace born of true friendship, a bond forged through hardship and suffering; Melven was of The Company, of Legolas' company – there were few he could trust as much as this, Noldorin warrior of the woods of his father.
"What are you doing here, Glamo? What has happened?" asked Legolas in mounting apprehension.
"Nothing untoward has happened, Hwindo. I was injured in the South, and ordered to take leave for a few months recovery here. Of course, Dima was thinking more of my spiritual well-being I think, for it has been two years since I saw my son."
"Are you well now? You must give me your latest news, of course."
"Of course. I have heard of your own escapades in the lands of Eriador, I trust you are well," said Melven, his eyes travelling over his captain's form.
"All is well, and Glorfindel will be, too, soon enough. And what of your son? Tell me," said Legolas, as both warriors began their slow stroll through the Lady Celebrían's gardens.
"I have missed much," began Glammohtar wistfully. "I cannot believe how much he has grown, how much he has learned. I reproach my former lover for many things, but in my son's education, she has done a fine job."
"Is he to be a warrior then?" asked Legolas somewhat rhetorically.
"Nay, I do not think so. I believe he will be… an artist."
Legolas stopped dead in his tracks, a frown on his face. "Artist?"
"Aye," smiled Glammo. "He draws, Hwindo – better than any child I have ever seen. I have hope, hope that the darkness will not reach him, at least not in the flesh…"
Legolas regarded his friend for a moment, seeing behind the cool façade Glammohtar perpetually wore after the tragic death of Lindohtar. The Bard Warrior had taken with him the joy from Melven's life; all except for that which the now stern Noldorin warrior felt for his young son.
"That is good, Glamo. That is very good," he said slowly, purposefully, before clasping the Noldo's shoulder, a long index finger brushing over the eagle's feather for a brief moment.
"Come join me in the Hall after dinner this evening. Regale us with the latest tales of The Company!" he said merrily, with one last squeeze of the strong shoulder.
"Of course, Hwindo. I will find you," said the warrior, before bowing, smiling, and leaving in search of his son.
….
Legolas had taken his lunch in the healing wing, together with Glorfindel, who only today had been allowed to sit up. It had taken him some time to adapt to the position and even now, his head felt too light.
And so, the king sat on the side of the bed, close enough to Glorfindel should he need help. Elladan, Gildor and Galdithion sat around the room, perched on tables, arm rests and window ledges, strangely quiet, introspective.
"It has been quite a journey," began Elladan, his voice soft, wistful almost.
"It has been – instructive," said Gildor thoughtfully.
"Enlightening," smiled Galdithion.
"It has been all those things," said Legolas with a smile at his most trusted elves.
"And painful," whispered Glorfindel from the bed, and they all chuckled timidly.
It was silent once more, until Gildor broke it as he stood and approached the bed.
"You," he pointed at Glorfindel, "scared me…" he said, mock anger in his tone that did not combine well with the smile behind his silver eyes.
"It will not happen again," said Glorfindel softly.
Gildor bent, and placed a chaste kiss to the High Constable's forehead and Legolas watched him with an indulgent smile, all traces of jealousy gone. Even so, Gildor's eyes glanced over Legolas for a moment, as if to convince himself he had not overstepped his boundaries. He had not.
"We have the boy, and for now, he is safe," began Legolas. "This is our greates deed for, if we had failed in this, our chances of a life without darkness would have been scarce at best. Pity that such a high price was paid for his deliverance."
"It will mark his life, of that I am sure," said Elladan. "Yet it will also make him strong. You know," he said as he stood, "the boy – Estel – he knew, somehow, that his father would die. From what I have been able to glean from him, he seemed to understand, on some deep level, that his father would not be with him for long."
"Foresight is strong with him, then," said Galdithion, and then as an afterthought, "Estel?"
"Aye," smiled Elladan. "That will be his name. It will protect his true identity, for a while at least."
"Hope," said Gildor, "'tis fitting indeed. He has a great challenge before him, and we must help him achieve it…"
"Yes," replied Legolas from where he now stood at the window. "And yet there is something in the prospect of his success that weighs on my heart. As if, by achieving it, some great grief will come of it – it does not make sense, for if we vanquish the Dark Lord …"
"Perhaps," interrupted Glorfindel. "Perhaps there will be a price to pay, Legolas. What we set out to do is what some would call 'wishful thinking'. There are always sacrifices to be had."
Legolas simply nodded, and the others exchanged worried glances. The implications were worrying, and yet they all knew that death was an acceptable price to pay. Even should one of them die, this had always been a possible outcome, nothing had changed.
Elladan, however, was not so quick to discard the king's words. There was strange chemistry between Legolas and Estel, both felt it and Elladan could see it. The boy could not specify the source of his anxiety, and Legolas too, could not fathom it. It was there, though, as clear as the light of day.
"You may find it strange, coming from me," began Gildor. "But I feel a celebration is in order. I rejoice at the return of Glorfindel, I am proud of the outcome of our mission. I have learned much and have gained a friend," he said with a smile, looking at Galdithion. "I have buried my ghosts and seen my path. All these things deserve much feasting and wine!"
"I agree!" shouted Galdithion.
"My father has announced a grand dinner and dance, for when Glorfindel is back on his feet, for to feast without the Balrog Slayer – in Imladris – is unheard of," exclaimed Elladan with a mock frown.
"Let it be so. Get thee better, Glorfindel, for patience wears thin," added Galdithion with a smirk, "I am Silvan and I need a party!"
The pale warrior smiled before lying back down, his fatigue returning. "Leave me to rest then," he said, "you too, fair king."
Legolas' eyebrow arched but Glorfindel held the imperious glare, and who was Legolas to argue with such heavy wisdom?
…..
Some days later, the arrival of Mithrandir was heralded throughout the Valley, and the day of feasting had finally arrived. Glorfindel would not be dancing the Greenwood reels, but he was well enough to sit in his chair and giggle at the antics of his fellow warriors.
"You are twisting it too tightly, ai!"
"You can take a sword to the gut without even the slightest of grunts and you whine like a maiden when I knot your hair!" scoffed Galdithion light-heartedly.
"Whine like a maiden…" echoed Gildor from a nearby chair, and then chuckled, before checking himself when four sets of eyes turned to him in shock.
"Well it's true," continued Galdithion as his hands worked deftly on the mass of pale blond hair, "isn't it, Glamo?" he finished, smiling softly as he worked.
Indeed Glamohtar had joined them, sitting silently upon the ground.
"It is indeed true, Constable," he said simply.
"How goes this time with your son, Glamo? I would very much like to see his artistic efforts," said Legolas, before cringing once more as Galdithion pinned back a newly twisted lock.
"Would that I could have him with me – in the Greenwood. Alas Mirel would not allow that."
"Then you will have to find a way to visit more often," suggested Elladan – you could join the United Forces, serve as envoy to the King and Herald, what say you, Legolas?"
"Glamo knows he need only ask…" replied Legolas somewhat cryptically, but Glamo smiled for just a moment before nodding and rising to leave.
"I shall see you all at the banquet this evening then, my son will be there for a short while before his mother carts him off to bed."
"Then join us, Glamo, come share our table," said Legolas.
Glamohtar stood in surprised silence for a moment, before bowing from the waist. "You do me great honour, my Lord," he said slowly.
"No honour is too great for a member of The Company, Glamo. The honour will be ours."
And with that, the dark warrior left the King's Men and Gildor turned to Legolas.
"If he misses his son so much, why has he not asked you to serve as envoy?"
Legolas smiled a sad smile, before turning his far-away eyes on Gildor.
"He will not leave the Greenwood unless he is ordered to. He cannot, for his heart lies there, upon the glade of a thousand woes…"
Elladan placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder and Gildor's brow furrowed in puzzlement, but the expressions on his brothers' faces told him now was not the time to ask. There was a party to be had and for the first time in centuries, Gildor was looking forward to it.
….
The merry tune of a flute and lyre permeated the early evening breeze – soft and perfumed. The citizens of Imladris had turned out in their finest, and not least so the King's Men, who wore their finest tunics of brocade and finely crafted embroidery. Their boots shone, almost as brightly as the metal at their waists and the mithril upon their brows, and Elrond smiled for a moment, his eyes glinting in fine memory of days gone by – good memories of friends long gone.
As he entered the pavilion they had chosen for this event, he smiled as he watched his people stand and bow graciously – even Legolas and his men – their men – holding out their arms in welcome invitation to join the King's table.
The pavilion was set upon a high rocky platform that lent spectacular views of the valley below, yet the roar of water was not too loud so that music and conversation could not be enjoyed.
Sitting, he was immediately poured a glass of cold white wine which he took in one hand as he admired their surroundings.
Close by, the squeal of young children caught his attention, his eyes fixing on an elegant young Estel, who danced in circles with an elfling of similar age, an eagle's feather stuck into his pony tale. They smiled their goofy smiles and squealed as the music caught up and they span around each other daringly.
Elrond smiled, for if he was not mistaken, the young elfling was Melvenion. Turning to the dark warrior at their table, he watched as Melven, uncharacteristically bereft of his feather, smiled subtly and nodded, answering Elrond's silent question to the affirmative.
Elrond nodded back before turning to the table and raising his glass.
"To safe homecomings, and future alliances," he said with a sideward glance at the children, and then at the men who accompanied them at the table.
They drank and then sat in comfortable silence.
"Well, I have heard you had quite a journey, young king!" exclaimed Mithrandir as he set upon his food with relish.
Legolas smiled as he reached for a stick of celery.
"That would be one way of putting it, Mithrandir…" he said ironically, before biting down on the crunchy stick without a care, his eyes involuntarily moving to Glorfindel.
"What is important is that we achieved our goal. We found alliance amongst the Dunedain, and have brought back their prodigal child," said Glorfindel as he ate duteously under Elrond's watchful eye.
"Aye, you have gone beyond our best hopes – the Chieftain is here. He is the key, we know this," said the wizard casually, "we have much to do in so little time; train him, prepare him, assure the alliance of elves and men," he said, before his tone changed and he looked up from his food, "you have given this world a fighting chance," he said wistfully – "all of you."
"That we have!" exclaimed Galdithion, the mood immediately lightening as the Greenwood constable slapped Arhad on the back. "Yet to what cost of hardship and learning?" he said theatrically, remembering his good friend Nanern of The Company.
Legolas giggled and Glamo smiled, but it was Elladan who next spoke.
"Legolas – "he said, pausing for a moment for dramatic effect, "lost – his boots!" he said as would a gossiping scullery maid.
A moment of silence and then incredulous laughter broke out from Elrond, Mithrandir and Glammohtar.
"True," began Legolas carefully, "but I got them back – Gildor got them back for me," he said, turning squarely to Gildor who smiled back at him and nodded meaningfully.
"In spite of the darkness that invaded those lands, in spite of the enemy's attempts, I did, indeed prevail…"said Gildor with his own smile and Elrond new that something had transpired – some hardship that had seemed to change Gildor, for the elf seemed more confident, lighter somehow.
"Your incursion into the lands of men could not have started in a worse place," said Arhad. "Crossmoor was – still is – infected by the cursed, unnatural, darkness."
Mithrandir stared at the human captain for a moment, before returning to his food. Elrond knew he would be questioning them all soon enough, gather his intelligence for the next step in their long journey.
"So hardship involved Legolas losing his beloved boots – is that it?" asked Elrohir.
"That, and the Moorhounds – now there is a story for innocent elflings on a stormy night," smiled Elladan.
"Moorhounds?" asked Elrond, his eyes fixing on a scowling Legolas.
"Aye, foul beasts with the sharpest teeth and claws that render its victims… tired."
"Tired? Bah!" exclaimed Elladan with a chuckle – "had you sleeping like a newly…"
"Herald!" shouted Legolas in mock anger, making them all laugh once more.
"So, lost boots, Moorhounds, unnatural darkness…" said Elrohir, before Gildor interrupted.
"Battles, forest chants, wild Silvan feasting…"
"Damn it all I should have gone too!" shouted Elrohir and the giggling continued.
"Well you were needed here, my son," said Elrond matter-of-factly.
"And this – journey of learning – as you put it," said Erestor as he sipped at his wine, "what then, did you learn?" he challenged.
There was silence for a moment as the travelers stared into their glasses.
"I learned of who I am, I learned of my own worth and that of my fellow travelers. I learned of duty and brotherhood, of honour beyond compare, of my place - in this world."
The silence continued as Gildor's words penetrated their thoughts.
"I – learned that love and duty are two, opposing forces, one as strong as the other. If one can bring them together, they would become a force greater than any known to elves. So far, I have not been wholly successful in this," he finished ruefully and Legolas smiled.
"For me, I learned that the human blood in me is noble and good, not weak and sullied. I have seen the strength and honour of men,"said Elladan as he looked to Arhad, Eldonar and Minulben, "and I am proud to be called Peredhel," he smiled.
"And this, lowly Silvan, has, perhaps, become the Lord he was named. I too, have learned of the strength of love and duty and yet – I do not believe they are opposing forces – but complementary - necessary allies in order to achieve great things. We could not have done the things we did without the strength of love, and neither could we have achieved it had our sense of duty and honor been less than it was – we succeeded only because we had both…"
Glorfindel stared wide-eyed at Galdithion, and Mithrandir, Mithrandir stared into and beyond the bread in his hand, a trigger pulling in his mind and setting it into motion – although what passed through the wizard's thoughts would not be known until years later…
"And I," said Legolas with an air of grandeur, "learned that human women have the biggest tits I have ever seen…" Galdithion snorted and Eldonar laughed madly as he slapped on the table, while Arhad' eyebrows rose into his hairline.
It had been enough to bring them all back to the present, to lighten the mood that had taken them, and Elrond was glad of that – there would be time enough – but not now.
"Well, I have heard of The Company," said Mithrandir, but what of this, now legendary group of five?" he asked merrily.
"We five? We," said Elladan as his eyes travelled over Glorfindel, Gildor, Galdithion and Legolas, "we are All The King's Men…"
THE END
*Wondrous light: a letter Legolas writes to Glorfindel after the events of All the King's Men.