Chapter Sixteen: Ghosts and Intruders

Thranduil kept his back straight and proud even as his heart sank. "If you need accommodations they can be arranged."

Glorfindel nodded, worry clouding his face. Legolas looked more troubled then even Thranduil, and Aragorn stood close at his side, one hand on his elbow. "Sire, I am sorry…"

The king held up one hand, which was finely covered in a dyed-green deer hide glove. His fingers were trembling visibly. "Do not apologize Lord Glorfindel. I know that Elrond has poisoned your mind. Excuse me."

He walked away slowly, spine as straight as ever. His posture betrayed nothing but pride, inside, though his heart was breaking.

Quickly, a court aide stepped forward. A tired smile fixed upon his face, he looked to Glorfindel and then suspiciously at Legolas. "Can I show you to your rooms?"

~*~*~

Thranduil's realm had two main components: his great palace, which went underground, and the outside where most of his subjects dwelled in small thatched huts and atop little tree houses. In the latter wonderfully spun ropes would be dropped down to allow entrance or the boughs could be climbed. For those who lived upon the ground, life was a bit simpler. But it was the simplicity of the beauty that made the dwellings so spectacular. Home touches rested on ever door, and art was everywhere even if it did not seem art.

The inside of palace, however, was the most stunning sight in the entire Woodland realm. Though the halls were carved from stone, rich tapestries spun of the finest material and the best make hung all about. They told stories and hid scars.

The floor was made of a fine stone, that Aragorn could not place, that shined so brightly in its polish that his reflection greeted him. Stretches of plush green carpet that appeared quite soft lay upon the floor, not a speckle of dirt rest upon them.

Torches with warm red light hung in little brackets beside the tapestries, creating a warm glow with impressive ambience. Here and there a window rested also, but Aragorn decided he preferred the torches. It was a truly magnificent kingdom to say the least. 

"Here you are," the aide said. He indicated three rooms at the end of the one deep-stretching hall. "If you need aught we will see it done."

He bowed courteously and made a quick retreat down the hall. Aragorn raised his eyebrows at Glorfindel—he wasn't exactly impressed with how the elf had handled the previous situation—smiled at Legolas and picked one of the rooms on the right and stepped inside, leaving Legolas and Glorfindel to sort out their own arrangements.

The interior was just as dazzling as the exterior. Here the entire room was carpeted in a rich shade of forest green, and a large bed with four posters and a matching green canopy sat near the left, beside a window, which had drawn green curtains of the same shade.

The first thing Aragorn did was slip off his boots. He felt they were far too dirty to touch such beautiful carpeting. Next he squelched his toes in the carpeting and found it was just as exquisite as it looked.

Thirdly, he looked about properly. Tapestries hung here too, and there were three closed doors around the room. He opened the first and found what seemed a nice spacious closet; he slipped his boots inside of it and went to the next door. A bath. And the third, which was separated from the rest of the room by two wide, sliding deep-brown polished doors, turned out to be the gateway to a magnificent stone balcony.

The view was just as impressive as the rest and he smiled brightly at the whole of Greenwood forest.

~*~*~

Thranduil at first tried to retire to his quarters, but his mind would not let him rest nor forget. So finally he had taken to his feet and wandered about his halls, his mind was elsewhere, however.

Silver eyes, soft, sweet, beautiful silver eyes, bright in a smile and laugh and fiery when insulted or proud: his mother's eyes. Thranduil sighed and knew where his feet had carried him before he even looked. He brought his hand to the cold, unused door handle. It shone bright gold, with little silver and white gems flanking it.

His hand lingered there a long time. He was afraid to face the ghosts inside.

~*~*~

After a brief rest, Aragorn decided to go and see Legolas. He contemplated putting his boots back on, after all he was in another's palace but then his boots were very dirty…He decided against it and stepped out into the hall.

Problem. Which room was Legolas's? He most certainly didn't want to find Glorfindel on accident. Itching behind his ear he, closed his eyes and tried to figure out which room was more likely to belong to the elf that he actually wanted to see. He had no idea.

Completely randomly, he choose the room beside his own and knocked softly on the door. A few seconds later, Glorfindel appeared on the other side. He raised his eyebrows at Aragorn.

"Uh, sorry," Aragorn said, hoping he could get away with just that. No such luck.

"What are you doing out here? And where on earth are your boots?" Glorfindel asked, gazing down at Aragorn's exposed feet.

"Uh. I was looking for Legolas…"

"Why?" Glorfindel asked sternly, crossing his arms around his chest and leaning against the rounded stone doorway.

"I wanted to speak with him," Aragorn said crossing his own arms. He didn't feel he needed to explain himself to Glorfindel, or anyone for that matter.

"You should leave him alone, Aragorn."

"What?" Aragorn asked standing up straighter.

"You heard me," Glorfindel answered, his tone remaining exactly the same.

"Why would I do that?" Aragorn asked, his voice rising.

"You overwhelm him." Glorfindel stood up straight and he seemed impossibly tall.

"I do no such thing."

"You force yourself upon him."

"Our relationship is consensual. And besides, we have done naught but talk!" Aragorn told himself it would not be a good idea to smack Glorfindel.

"Is that truly what you think, Aragorn? He can never have a fully consensual relationship with you, he has been conditioned to think he needs to do what Men say or he will be hurt. Memory is different for elves, Aragorn. Those Men will be with him forever, vivid and bright. When he is awake, when he rests, when he dreams. Always pain," Glorfindel said, his arms straight at his sides but fire in his eyes.

"I would never hurt him! And what of you, Glorfindel?" Aragorn managed to keep his voice low, but sharp and biting.

"What of me?" Glorfindel said sounding perfectly reasonable.

"I have seen you. Don't think I have not! I see the way you watch him, they way you talk to him, the way you touch him."

"I would never act on my feelings no matter what my body craves."

Aragorn shook his head. "So you say."

Glorfindel slammed the door in his face. Aragorn glared at it for a long moment before deciding to go and knock on the other door, he knew now to belong to Legolas.

He knocked softly upon it, trying to even out his breathing and calm his ire. The door fell open as his knuckles touched it and he peered inside. "Legolas?" he said into the darkened room, all the torches had been put out.

"Legolas?" he repeated stepping into the room fully. Legolas was no where in sight, but the door to the balcony was cracked open. Aragorn stepped onto the balcony and when he did his heart stopped for a moment.

Legolas leaned far over the balcony, which was far high enough to kill if fallen—or jumped—from. He sprung into action and pulled Legolas, albeit roughly, away from the rail. "What are you doing?" he demanded.

Legolas regarded him for a long moment. He looked from Aragorn's face to his fingers which were wrapped tightly around his forearm. Then he smiled softly and pressed his fingers onto Aragorn's. "Not what you thought."

Aragorn let his hand drop, but first he rested his hand upon Legolas's jutting hip. Legolas smiled and again touched his hand. "I was just looking. And thinking."

Aragorn considered this for a moment. He brushed Legolas fine braids back and traced his ear with his finger. "You could have fallen."

Legolas tried to hide a smile. "I would not have fallen unless I had wished too."

The Man let his hands fall back to his sides and he remembered Glorfindel's words. Legolas stayed still and silent and Aragorn wondered if perhaps Glorfindel had been right. Then Legolas moved back to the railing and sighed softly.

Aragorn thought that he would not speak again, when he did, his voice was just above a murmur. "I remember this spot. This balcony, or one like it anyway, and these trees. They know my name, Estel. They call to me." He went still and leaned over the railing again stretching one hand towards the branches. Silence stretched around them for a exceedingly long time. Aragorn could barely stand it. Legolas standing there, leaning over the rail his posture slumped and his face troubled.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, his heart racing oddly in his chest. Legolas looked at him and offered a tiny smile.

"I remember. Most of it anyway. I left from a balcony just like this one, I was…angry and upset, and I left my bow…That's exactly how they found me, I thought they were…" He shook his head and let himself lean against the railing so that his chest touched it. "My father…my father."

"You are a prince then?" Aragorn said very gently. Legolas shrugged his slender shoulders.

"As much as I ever was." Legolas pulled himself upon the railing. His knees pulled to his chest, and his hands clutched at the thin bar. He didn't teeter at all and looked like a glorious sentinel, fairer than any statue.

"Legolas?" Aragorn said. "What are you doing?"

Legolas turned halfway, and smiled he reached for Aragorn's hand. Aragorn reached out and their hands stayed together for a moment.

"Flying," Legolas said and he dropped Aragorn's hand and spun back around. Then he flung himself from the rail.

"Legolas!" Aragorn screamed, leaning quickly forward over the rail to see where Legolas had landed. He hoped he was still alive at all.

But Legolas had not landed on the ground at all. He was in the boughs of a close tree; he glanced up at Aragorn and smiled. Then he was gone and all that was where he had been were leaves.

~*~*~

Moving through the leaves quickly, but silently, Legolas was almost positive of where he was going. The trees whispered at him as he passed and accused him of tickling them. They flicked leaves gently at him and he knew this had been his home once.

Then he came to where it had been he was heading: a balcony, just like all the others. Only this one was his. He sprang from the trees and landed easily upon the stone. Cautiously, he crept toward the closed doors and tugged them apart, they moved aside with only a bit of force, and inside he stepped.

The room wasn't lit, and the brackets for the torches sat empty. But the window and the open balcony allowed enough to be able to see. He sat in the middle of the room and glanced around, his breath caught in his throat.

To his right sat a huge bed, it was made immaculately. The pillows were tucked away and the blanket wrapped around the sheets. At the foot of the bed he found a trunk and his heart jumped.

On his hands and knees he crawled toward the trunk. Its lid was beautifully carved, with leaves carved into the polished wood that had later been covered with gold-laced paint. For a few long moments he ran his fingers over the lid and then down to the seams on which it open. Carefully, his fingers found the latch, they lingered there for a long moment until finally he flicked it up and pulled the lid open.

He closed his eyes and for a moment he wished to slam the lid back down and run from this room, this place. But he did not. He looked down at the contents and his head felt funny and light.

He pulled out an elegant cloak; two shades of green and so light it was like nothing more than water in his hands. Gently, he lit it trickle through his fingers and he remembered its warmth.

He rested it upon his thighs and looked back to the trunk. This time he pulled out a short bow and a nearly empty quiver, he nearly dropped them back and his fingers trembled. The bow was marked with elvish runes, beautifully sculpted and fit for a master.

Laughing, he placed them against the trunk so they stood upright. He could remember now, leaving it behind in his haste and anger. The way he had been so mad over nothing. If only…

He shook his head, there was no use thinking like that, now or ever.

~*~*~

Thranduil lingered still outside the door to the dead. Then in a burst of foolhardy courage, he pushed the door open. He yelped loudly at what he saw and nearly jumped back across the threshold. His ghost stood then, and dropped something back into the trunk.

"I meant not to startle you," said the intruder.

"What are you doing in here? This was my son's room!"

"It was my room," the intruder said, crossing his arms across his chest.

"You are not my son! Nay," Thranduil shook his head and clinched at his robe. He pinched the fabric.

"Ada…"

"Do not call me that!" Thranduil's fingers trembled.

"You are my father."

"My son is dead. He is dead!" Thranduil balled his hands up and tried not to cry. The intruder took a step forward.

"I am not dead."

Thranduil's voice was not even a whisper, but the intruder heard him. "And you are not my son."

"Sire…"

"Get out." The intruder made no move to leave. "Get out!"

"If that is the way you will have it," the intruder said taking a step back and scooping something that had rested beside his son's trunk: Legolas's bow and quiver.

"You will kill me then?" Thranduil asked. The intruder shook his head.

"Never could I slay my father."

"Get out!"

The intruder walked towards the open hall door. "You will come to see eventually, I will wait." Thranduil slammed the door behind him, then with his fist he beat upon it until his sobs stopped him.

He lay there sobbing against the door until the sun departed and the moon cast its silver gleam upon all of Greenwood. Once he collected himself he gathered up his son's old cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. He sat there until the sun rose again.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~