Part Two: Of Stone, Flame and Leaf
A wind was blowing quite fiercely, bringing with it droplets of the nearly frozen rain. But the rain was not as cold as Father's eyes. The silence in the hall was biting, and I almost wanted to turn and leave the room. But if I were to do that, the coldness in Father's eyes would melt, bringing in tears. I pained to see Father in such a way.
"Legolas."
Father wears the robes of state with such ease, but I myself drag the donning of such garments. Why must I be forever confined to fancy robes when I'm at the palace? Sleeves that trail and linger near the ground, layer upon layer of embroidered silk and of all things, a staff of gold and silver, fashioned after a flowering branch - how could I even form a free thought in such useless adornment let alone run and sprint? I would trade it all for my cloak and simple hunting tunic. Give me the woods because they do not know nor care for such things as titles and rank.
"Legolas."
I bowed as low as I could, letting the hem of my golden outer robe sweep against the floor. The sound of fabric against stone sounded like a crashing waterfall amidst the quiet gravity that claimed the usually music filled hall as its own.
"My lord, there are a great many things that I must say, and I have but little doubt that you also have many things as well. However, I must beg your forgiveness, and plead that you will ask no questions until my story runs out and my tongue has all but spent itself in telling. Please, my lord."
Someone chuckled from behind me, which took me by much surprise for I thought the halls were devoid of anyone but Father, myself and the guards. And the guards would never openly laugh at me, though I fancy what a riot and a scandal I am during the servants' meals and the subject of a great many jests and jokes among the festivals.
I turned to the entrance and in the dim firelight, I could barely make out a small figure. Small in both stature and aura - a hobbit. Peregrin or Meridoc to be sure, for both Frodo and Samwise would not find any sort of laughable humor in my dire situation.
"It has been so long since a hobbit managed to cover this King's eyes with guile. I know that of late, my son is most sought after, I myself being one of his most persistent persuaders. I pray, Master Hobbit, take to your room. This conversation is meant only to be heard by the family of Thranduil, and not meant to spoil the otherwise innocent ears and hearts of such fine hobbits as yourself."
I have spoken of Father's talent with rhetoric. But the words he uttered seemed to fill my mouth with a salt like tread of acrimony. He was mocking Meridoc [or Peregrin, I'm still not quite sure who it is. My eyes have been trained to see when among the sun and the green - I do not like the illusions that flickering flame casts upon stone.].
"My lord, do not use such harshness with one of my Companions."
"Legolas, come here."
Father was gentle and kind, a pure sincere kindness that brought even the most rebellious to their knees, but there were very few who would resist obeying one of his commands. I cast one last look at the entrance, hoping to give the hobbit at least a small glance of sympathy and apology but he was gone. The entrance was empty, save but the flickering flames and the sound of wind and rain.
"My lord."
I walked as gracefully as I could, holding one of my robes with one hand as the other held the staff and made a burden of the heavily jeweled thing. The guards parted way for me to move, and the servants slipped quietly away into the shadows, taking with them the plates of food and goblets of wine.
My heart fluttered ever so slightly, like a butterfly encased in a cage of wood, with each step. At one point, I felt as if I would lose my balance and fall to my knees, right before Father and his watching eyes. Everything was quiet, I couldn't even hear the sounds of cooking or singing or any of the other sounds of the hearth and family. Countless eyes watched from the darkness, from behind closed doors. I think Ledilor was among those who watched. I could envision the frown upon his fair face, the twitching of his slender hands and the ever so slight scowl in his eyes.
Every since I was old enough to handle a bow, my father spoke to me about receiving the throne, of taking a wife and making this forest realm as good as golden as our Southern kin's lands. But to live in such adornment and to dwelt forever it seems on the pettiest of affairs, that life is not for me.
"I am no King, my lord."
Father's eyes were fixed upon and it took whatever strength I had to look at into their depths of confusion, sadness and pain. I failed him, I failed his dreams and his hopes.
"Of late, your words have been as dark as the dreams you describe so quietly, mournfully by the fireside to Ledilor. What ails you, what drives your heart into such a chasm, as if you have no longer the strength to live the fate that was foreseen since the day of your birth?"
"My lord."
If he spoke of Haldir, I would have yield to his softness, and take from his hand the delicate crown he offered to me. But Father spoke of Ledilor and my heart cast an iron curtain around itself. There is nothing here for me in this great fortress of stone and formality. No trees, no free flowing rivers, and no company and friends to truly call my own.
"If I accept, everywhere I go, I will be cast aside, as if I didn't belong. Everywhere I go, they'll raise the trumpets and cry out, Hail King Of the Woodland Realm, Lord of the White Trees and Lord of Mirkwood. I would never belong anywhere anymore, if I accept."
"Legolas, you will be accepted, and loved, here among your people, among your kind, your kin and race."
"I do not desire that kind of acceptance."
"This is your path. This is your fate."
"No, Father."
A gentle murmur broke up among the crowd. I do not blame their cry of surprise. Ever since I was born, I followed the decree and called Father My lord, and Your grace. Under the decree, laid by my forefathers and ancestors, I never spoke of even one of the many tender thoughts I had about Father. In such formality, I would wither away and become a thing to be despised, and hated, an Elf I can no longer recognized.
"This is Ledilor's fate, not mine. It was never the path I was meant to take. I plead forgiveness..
Father."
====
He waited for Legolas to emerge from the throne robe, and as expected, Legolas no longer carried a royal staff and was no longer clad in the robes of state.
"You look good in hunting clothes. Don't listen to your father when he says otherwise."
Legolas had brilliant eyes, a beautiful merging of violet and blue and with those eyes, he turned to stare at him. A smile fixed itself onto Legolas' fair face, lifting the ceases of countless worries. He fixed himself onto one knee, a most unexpected gesture, and took his hand.
"Frodo."
A wind was blowing quite fiercely, bringing with it droplets of the nearly frozen rain. But the rain was not as cold as Father's eyes. The silence in the hall was biting, and I almost wanted to turn and leave the room. But if I were to do that, the coldness in Father's eyes would melt, bringing in tears. I pained to see Father in such a way.
"Legolas."
Father wears the robes of state with such ease, but I myself drag the donning of such garments. Why must I be forever confined to fancy robes when I'm at the palace? Sleeves that trail and linger near the ground, layer upon layer of embroidered silk and of all things, a staff of gold and silver, fashioned after a flowering branch - how could I even form a free thought in such useless adornment let alone run and sprint? I would trade it all for my cloak and simple hunting tunic. Give me the woods because they do not know nor care for such things as titles and rank.
"Legolas."
I bowed as low as I could, letting the hem of my golden outer robe sweep against the floor. The sound of fabric against stone sounded like a crashing waterfall amidst the quiet gravity that claimed the usually music filled hall as its own.
"My lord, there are a great many things that I must say, and I have but little doubt that you also have many things as well. However, I must beg your forgiveness, and plead that you will ask no questions until my story runs out and my tongue has all but spent itself in telling. Please, my lord."
Someone chuckled from behind me, which took me by much surprise for I thought the halls were devoid of anyone but Father, myself and the guards. And the guards would never openly laugh at me, though I fancy what a riot and a scandal I am during the servants' meals and the subject of a great many jests and jokes among the festivals.
I turned to the entrance and in the dim firelight, I could barely make out a small figure. Small in both stature and aura - a hobbit. Peregrin or Meridoc to be sure, for both Frodo and Samwise would not find any sort of laughable humor in my dire situation.
"It has been so long since a hobbit managed to cover this King's eyes with guile. I know that of late, my son is most sought after, I myself being one of his most persistent persuaders. I pray, Master Hobbit, take to your room. This conversation is meant only to be heard by the family of Thranduil, and not meant to spoil the otherwise innocent ears and hearts of such fine hobbits as yourself."
I have spoken of Father's talent with rhetoric. But the words he uttered seemed to fill my mouth with a salt like tread of acrimony. He was mocking Meridoc [or Peregrin, I'm still not quite sure who it is. My eyes have been trained to see when among the sun and the green - I do not like the illusions that flickering flame casts upon stone.].
"My lord, do not use such harshness with one of my Companions."
"Legolas, come here."
Father was gentle and kind, a pure sincere kindness that brought even the most rebellious to their knees, but there were very few who would resist obeying one of his commands. I cast one last look at the entrance, hoping to give the hobbit at least a small glance of sympathy and apology but he was gone. The entrance was empty, save but the flickering flames and the sound of wind and rain.
"My lord."
I walked as gracefully as I could, holding one of my robes with one hand as the other held the staff and made a burden of the heavily jeweled thing. The guards parted way for me to move, and the servants slipped quietly away into the shadows, taking with them the plates of food and goblets of wine.
My heart fluttered ever so slightly, like a butterfly encased in a cage of wood, with each step. At one point, I felt as if I would lose my balance and fall to my knees, right before Father and his watching eyes. Everything was quiet, I couldn't even hear the sounds of cooking or singing or any of the other sounds of the hearth and family. Countless eyes watched from the darkness, from behind closed doors. I think Ledilor was among those who watched. I could envision the frown upon his fair face, the twitching of his slender hands and the ever so slight scowl in his eyes.
Every since I was old enough to handle a bow, my father spoke to me about receiving the throne, of taking a wife and making this forest realm as good as golden as our Southern kin's lands. But to live in such adornment and to dwelt forever it seems on the pettiest of affairs, that life is not for me.
"I am no King, my lord."
Father's eyes were fixed upon and it took whatever strength I had to look at into their depths of confusion, sadness and pain. I failed him, I failed his dreams and his hopes.
"Of late, your words have been as dark as the dreams you describe so quietly, mournfully by the fireside to Ledilor. What ails you, what drives your heart into such a chasm, as if you have no longer the strength to live the fate that was foreseen since the day of your birth?"
"My lord."
If he spoke of Haldir, I would have yield to his softness, and take from his hand the delicate crown he offered to me. But Father spoke of Ledilor and my heart cast an iron curtain around itself. There is nothing here for me in this great fortress of stone and formality. No trees, no free flowing rivers, and no company and friends to truly call my own.
"If I accept, everywhere I go, I will be cast aside, as if I didn't belong. Everywhere I go, they'll raise the trumpets and cry out, Hail King Of the Woodland Realm, Lord of the White Trees and Lord of Mirkwood. I would never belong anywhere anymore, if I accept."
"Legolas, you will be accepted, and loved, here among your people, among your kind, your kin and race."
"I do not desire that kind of acceptance."
"This is your path. This is your fate."
"No, Father."
A gentle murmur broke up among the crowd. I do not blame their cry of surprise. Ever since I was born, I followed the decree and called Father My lord, and Your grace. Under the decree, laid by my forefathers and ancestors, I never spoke of even one of the many tender thoughts I had about Father. In such formality, I would wither away and become a thing to be despised, and hated, an Elf I can no longer recognized.
"This is Ledilor's fate, not mine. It was never the path I was meant to take. I plead forgiveness..
Father."
====
He waited for Legolas to emerge from the throne robe, and as expected, Legolas no longer carried a royal staff and was no longer clad in the robes of state.
"You look good in hunting clothes. Don't listen to your father when he says otherwise."
Legolas had brilliant eyes, a beautiful merging of violet and blue and with those eyes, he turned to stare at him. A smile fixed itself onto Legolas' fair face, lifting the ceases of countless worries. He fixed himself onto one knee, a most unexpected gesture, and took his hand.
"Frodo."