Seasons Of The Heart
Disclaimer: Belongs to Sir J.R.R. Tolkien. This piece belongs to Xun Err!
Warning: Slash! For more info, please refer to first chapter.
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== 3: Autumn ==
A cool breeze wafted through the trees, shedding off leaves from the gray branches. They floated to the ground below, a glorious color mesh of gold, silver, yellow, crimson and russet. The air smelt of a gentle dryness, a slight hint of sunshine showing through the clouds. The sky was painted a light blue-gray, like watercolor against supple paper, applied on with a soft brush, clouds of whitewash plastered on it in streaks. Beyond the horizon sat the blue mountains, standing high and mighty, embracing the Mansion. Around it was a carpet of trees, in various hues and shades – it was the coming of fall.
A mirror-like lake basked in the pale sunshine, reflecting the skies and the mountains in its calm waters. There were leaves of gold and red at its edges, bobbing unsteadily as a small wooden boat rowed by. Two figures sat opposite each other in it, one sporting golden hair and the other, jet-black. The flaxen haired one rowed it steadily, while the other sat mobile, lazily stroking the waters with his fair fingers. After a while, though, he sat up and looked at the blond.
"Would you like help, Master Legolas? It seems to me unfair that you have to row this burden all on your own…"
Legolas smiled. He shook his head slightly and continued paddling to the center of the mirror-like lake. "It is no burden to me, my Lord. Fair it is, and everything of that nature is never burdensome."
The half-elf blushed and turned to face the clear waters again. "You say such pleasant things, Legolas."
"Pleasant, but true," he laughed. Inwardly, though, Legolas was a little worried. Elves never got sick, but somehow, the half-elf had showed symptoms of being ill of health lately. Sometimes he seemed pale, white, and often he was breathless. However, he said nothing. Legolas did not wish to rush things between them, either. He liked the slow pace… it was soothingly serene, like the slow pace of leaves falling to the ground.
"…Is something troubling you?"
Twin gray gems laid themselves in his blue ones. The elf sighed, stopping the boat in the waters. He pulled up the oars and set them beside him. Then, he turned to face the half-elf. "Something is, but I cannot fathom what… this is a strange matter. I do not know if I should pursue it with you."
"And why not?" the other asked, almost coaxing.
"Well, it involves you, my Lord," he answered tentatively. Elrond gazed at him for a while. His gaze dropped back to the crystal waters, and he played, once again, his fingers into the lake.
"No, the elves do not understand."
Legolas looked up.
Elrond heaved a sigh, and smiled gently at the elf. "Elves do not fall ill, Legolas. Throughout history, the sickly are Men. As children of the Stars, we have been blest with immortality and purity. But I cannot say 'we' now, Legolas. I am not an elf… I am a half-elf. Half-breed I would be, and half-breed I would live. I will gain immortality, but there will be sickness in my life."
"Plagued by it…" Legolas said in a hoarse whisper. "Is there no cure?"
Elrond smiled a littler wider. He lifted his hands to cup the flaxen haired elf's face. "Only you will ask me that… the others accepted it as a fact. There is no cure, Legolas, but sickness is no obstacle to love…" he pulled away, and returned his gaze to the water. In it he saw his reflection, seemingly elf, but no truly. "…Unless, of course, that is not the way you view it."
Legolas shook his head furiously. "No, no! That is the way it is, then," he said, assuredly. "I shall love you for who you are, not what you are. Half-breed, true-breed – they make no difference to one's behavior. Some may be great, and look fair, but in their hearts they are pitch black. We can take the first Enemy as an example."
Elrond chuckled to remember how the Air Lord had been fooled once. Furious as he was, nothing could be done other than wage yet another war. Till this day, the Lord Manwë was still annoyed when the subject of Melkor was brought up in his midst. Legolas smiled to see his beloved cheerful. He took his hand and kissed it tenderly.
"Yes, I shall love you as Elrond, not as Lord Elrond," he murmured, matching the whisper of the water.
"I thank you," he said. On his lap he had white flowers, collected from the woods as they journeyed to the lake. He had strung them up into a chain. He picked them up and placed them upon the elf's head, the white shining amongst the golden yellow treads of silk. "I thank you, Legolas, king of my heart. I shall always love thee, as well."
Legolas laughed heartily. "This is like a fairytale romance."
"T 'is so, Sir Knight," Elrond grinned. He planted a small kiss on Legolas' forehead. "Wilt thou pledge thy loyalty to thine Lord? Mayhap tell of thine great love?"
"I will," Legolas shifted a little, causing the boat to bob on the calm lake. He coughed, and bent to take the half-elf's hands in his. "I. Legolas of Ithilien, shall pledge my loyalty to my Lord Elrond of Imladris. My great love is deeper than the deepest oceans, where even the grand Ulmo may fail to tread, higher than the bluest skies, where even Lord Manwë may be unable to observe, where the Stars are kindled and rekindled, and the Lady shall see to this. My love surpasses theirs. This is mine, great love for thee."
"The Lord accepts it," Elrond giggled. They both broke into a round of laughter. Then, as quickly as it started, it subsided. They gazed at one another for a long while. And then, they lean in…
Around them, the leaves float to the ground. The autumn sun shone faintly, illuminating the greens of the woods that were slowly but surely turning a golden hue. Soon the trees would become bare, and the cold, bitter winds would come. Winter was just around the corner.
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To Be Continued
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Note: This is short… my muse is a little dry, I'm afraid. I'm sorry… Maybe I'll write something better than this boring old piece!