Chapter 3 - Recovery and Rejection
Deep in the woods of Imladris, Aragorn watched Legolas from beneath the shelter of a tree at the edge of a shade-dappled clearing. The Elf was not aware of the ranger and it was a measure of both his distraction and his total concentration that this was so.
Positioned at one end of the narrow clearing was a thin wand of peeled willow. From his position, closer to it than Legolas, it was barely visible to Aragorn, but he knew that Legolas would be able to discern even the grain of the wood.
The Elf held his bow loosely in one hand as he studied the target. He was recovering well from his injuries; Elrond had said that they would soon be fully healed, though beneath the supple leather guards covering Legolas's wrists, Aragorn knew that there were still soft white bandages.
Legolas's eyes narrowed as he fitted an arrow from the quiver at his back. He altered his stance fractionally and then, as naturally as breathing, he relaxed into the shot.
Aragorn held himself still. Legolas with a bow was a study in strength, grace and effortless power. He had once tried to explain, when Aragorn had questioned him about it once, several years ago, how he felt when he was shooting, or fighting with the white knife he carried at his belt. His words had remained with the ranger.
During the day, the two friends had encountered a roaming party of orcs and had dispatched them with practiced efficiency; Legolas's bow had accounted for eight of the foul creatures. In the evening, as they sat in contented, silent companionship, Aragorn remembered the expression on the Elf's face as his bow had hummed: calm, yet with his eyes darkened to midnight blue, lit with an inner fire.
Aragorn had come to expect that look when battle was inevitable, that carefully controlled spark in the Elf's expressive eyes, which grew until it became the lightning at the centre of the storm. Legolas never actively sought any fight or conflict, but if such became necessary, he held nothing back. Every movement was lethally precise, mind, body and senses in perfect unison, swift and ruthlessly efficient. Aragorn knew that at the heart of battle, Legolas found an affirmation of life, a foil for his own immortality - potentially so easily lost in those moments - which only enhanced the light and life in his friend.
Legolas had been sitting relaxed, head on his arms, which rested on his drawn up knees. At Aragorn's question he looked up. He watched the young ranger searchingly for a few moments before dropping his head again and speaking quietly, watching the fire.
"It is like a song in my soul," he said slowly, as though trying to sort the feeling into words adequate enough to express it, "a rhythm running through all life. It keeps pace with each beat of my heart, each breath I take, dancing through and around me. It is who and what I am and its expression is in my bow and knife as it is equally in a song or the fire of the stars or the stillness of winter. I am my weapons and they are me, no more and no less. We are one and the same for that point in time whether that be a heartbeat or minutes or hours; there is no separation, they are an extension of my heart and soul and I am their point of contact with the world."
Now, as Legolas held his aim at the slender wand, Aragorn had the luxury of observing the Elven archer. He watched for the familiar, almost imperceptible signs: the bend in the fingers holding the shaft of the arrow; the slight tilt of the head, eyes unblinking and focused on the target, mouth closed, expression unchanging lest it upset his aim; the slender shoulders, pulled taught beneath the green tunic as they held the tension of the bow; the legs flexed slightly, not locked, feet planted lightly but firmly, weight evenly distributed, balance effortless; one arm bent so that the bowstring was drawn back to the same point by the Elf's jaw each time, the other out straight, fingers curling lightly around the exquisitely decorated wood; the utter stillness which marked the last few heartbeats, all held perfectly in balance, waiting. Then the arrow would explode from the bow, smooth and swift as the fingers sprang apart in one controlled movement and the missile would unerringly find the target. Aragorn had never known Legolas to miss.
He waited now, feeling the tension build, holding his breath without being aware he did so….then the moment was shattered as Legolas's hand spasmed and he cried out sharply in pain; the arrow skittered off at an awkward angle into trees at the side of the clearing.
"Legolas!" Aragorn burst from his hiding place, forgetting that Legolas had not been aware of his presence. The Elf turned his head to watch Aragorn approach, flexing his fingers gingerly.
"What is it?" Aragorn asked as he came up to his friend, "What happened?"
The Elf smiled ruefully. "I am impatient. I merely asked more of myself than it seems my body was willing to give." He flexed his fingers again, looking down at them, unknowingly echoing Aragorn's earlier thought, "Elrond says all of the injuries are almost healed…."
"So you thought you would come out here to see for yourself?" Legolas's smile widened. Aragorn knew him far too well.
The ranger was continuing, "As you did yesterday and the day before and…"
Legolas held up his hands, "I know, Dúnadan, it was foolish, …." He looked up at Aragorn, "But, you are a fine one to be talking about overtaxing injuries. You hate recovering. Elladan was telling me yesterday that last time they practically had to tie you down!"
Aragorn reddened, gesturing to the shade under a vast beech tree. "Come, mellon nín, I need to talk to you."
Legolas followed the ranger and seated himself under the branches, noting that the stiffness he had felt over the last few weeks was indeed fading. There would be few more incidents like the one Aragorn had just witnessed.
He looked expectantly at Aragorn as the Human settled himself on the grass beside him. He was surprised to see that Aragorn was staring down at his hands, twirling a blade of grass around his fingers, "Estel?" he prompted.
Aragorn looked up; Legolas saw the reluctance in his eyes, " What is it?" he asked quietly.
Aragorn hesitated a moment longer before saying, as gently as he could, "I came to ask you about the day Lînivren died." Legolas stiffened, but Aragorn continued, "You may be able to conceal it from most, Legolas, but I have seen your eyes when you think no-one is watching. It is burning inside you and I do not wish to see you suffer."
Legolas did not reply. He had thought he had hidden it, burying the pain beneath his joy at the bond with Aragorn and in concentrating on recovering from his injuries. Yet it remained.
He had reconciled himself to his mother's death, no longer blaming himself. Lînivren's last loving words to her son had been a balm to his heart when they had parted. He still grieved, but he felt the love of his mother and knew his grief would take its natural course, settling eventually into a loss which, though it would never leave him, would be tempered with the knowledge that her love would also never leave him.
No. What ate at him until he thought he might run mad, was his father's rejection. Never had Legolas doubted his father's love. For all of Thranduil's somewhat grim reputation, he had loved his son with a fierce pride. From earliest childhood, Legolas had known that he and his mother were to Thranduil the most precious of all the many treasures of his realm. Yet that only made his rejection more painful. Day by day, instead of lessening, the agony grew worse until Legolas began to doubt his own sanity. And so he hid his emotions, trying to convince himself and those around him that he was recovering from that pain as well as from his physical injuries. He should have known that Aragorn would see it and that his friend would not allow him to face it alone.
When Legolas did not answer, Aragorn touched his arm, persisting, "Legolas? What happened with your father?"
Aragorn sighed when the Elf still did not respond. He had not been truthful when he had said that he had seen the pain in his friend's eyes, but he had been reluctant to push Legolas into talking about it. It had only been when his father had taken him aside after dinner the previous evening that Aragorn had resolved to speak to the Elf.
"I am concerned about Legolas," Elrond had said from the shadows of the Hall of Fire.
Aragorn had looked to where Legolas stood, talking with Elladan and Elrohir, "Why, ada? What is wrong? He is grieving, but…"
"…there is something else. He has withdrawn from us. Outwardly, he is as one who is grieving, but he is hiding something and I believe it has to do with Thranduil."
Aragorn frowned, "But what right have we to interfere? If Legolas wishes to tell us, then surely he will, in time. Ought we not to leave it until then?"
"In other circumstances I would agree with you, Estel, but I fear that this may lead to greater tragedy if it remains unsolved."
Aragorn caught his breath, "What have you seen, ada?"
"Naught," Elrond reassured him, "but I sense a recklessness in Legolas that, if left unchecked, may lead him onto dangerous paths. It as though the loss of his father's love…." Elrond stopped, unable to fully explain the strange prickling of his senses whenever he looked into Legolas's eyes.
Fortunately, he did not need to. Aragorn was looking to Legolas with troubled eyes, "I was hoping that I had imagined it, " he said slowly. He looked back at Elrond, "I will speak to him. Mayhap if he can tell me what happened, we can begin to help him."
Elrond held Aragorn's eyes, "Take care, ion nín. It will not be easy, if it is possible at all."
"I know, ada, but we cannot now ignore this. I will speak with him tomorrow."
***
Now Aragorn waited for Legolas to speak, praying that the Elf would respond, for if he did not….
Eventually, Legolas raised his head. "Why do you wish to know?" he asked abruptly, not looking at Aragorn.
Aragorn winced inwardly, he had been expecting that question and he did not wish to answer it, did not in truth know how to answer it.
He considered his answer for a few moments before answering carefully, "Ada thinks, as do I, that this has affected you in a way none of us could have imagined. That you have become…"
"Mad?" The word was stingingly bitter.
"Reckless," Aragorn corrected, ignoring the Elf's tone. He continued as Legolas gave him a look which held more than a little anger, "It is as if you do not care what happens to you now."
That hit a little too close to the truth. "And how," Legolas's tone dripped with sarcasm, "Did you reach that startling conclusion?"
Aragorn could not help his surprise at Legolas's reaction. It seemed that not only were their suspicions correct, but that the signs which had prompted them pointed to a more serious problem than even Aragorn or Elrond had realised.
"Tell me it is not true."
The simple challenge produced a reaction in Legolas that Aragorn would never have believed possible. He leapt to his feet, staring down at his friend, "I do not answer to you, Dúnadan!" he said angrily.
Aragorn too now came to his feet. "Look at yourself, mellon nín. You are angry. Why? I have asked you to tell me of the day Lînivren died because I fear you are holding something back, hiding something which is of importance."
Legolas's eyes blazed and Aragorn took an involuntary step back. Whatever was wrong with Legolas, it was indeed far worse than they had imagined. Never had Legolas behaved in this way.
But what the Elf said next stunned him far beyond anything that had gone before. The fire in Legolas's eyes was suddenly, utterly extinguished and he looked at Aragorn coldly, "I do not need your help, Human."
For a few moments, Aragorn stared at his friend, unable to believe he had heard him correctly. Then his own anger rose to match Legolas's and he spat sarcastically, "So much for the legendary wisdom of the Eldar. Do not imagine for one moment, Legolas, that I care to hear your tale of self-pity. I merely wished to know why you had been indulging your misery so that your disposition may then improve."
It was a calculated risk. Despite his own anger, Aragorn instinctively knew that this was the only way to get through to his friend, to force him to face this. For one moment, he thought Legolas might strike out. He saw the slender fingers clench and the stiffening of the already rigid shoulders. But Legolas was an Elf and even though he was at the limit of his control, still he would not step beyond it. Aragorn watched as he forced himself under control, using all the force of his training and will to bring the wild anger back from the brink.
They stood in tense silence for long moments, then Legolas spoke, stiffly, "I apologise, Dúnadan. I had not the right to speak to you so." He paused before turning eyes filled with a new cynicism on the ranger, laughing mirthlessly, "And I will tell you what you wish to know. Though," he added in a softer tone, "you may regret that you asked. I know how much you cared for my naneth also."
He resumed his seat and Aragorn, still a little wary, shocked to the core by his friend's reactions, sat next to him. Eyes fixed on the memory, Legolas began to speak…….
……….The slight weight of his mother in his arms, her long hair falling over his sleeve, shimmering at every step of his horse; her beautiful eyes closed, her blood staining the front of his tunic. Trapped in a nightmare, Legolas's mind refused to accept the fact that she was dead. He held her close, trying to keep some warmth in the body that had borne him. He did not grieve, not yet.
Around him, warriors were silent and stunned. Tathar, riding beside him, kept glancing at his friend and Prince and at the sad burden he carried. It was not just Legolas who had not known their Queen was among them, none of them had. They had left in haste, intent on hunting down the pack of orcs and none had marked another warrior. Once, Tathar made as if to speak, but a single wordless stare from Legolas had silenced him. He had not dared try again.
Reaching the gates, Legolas spoke the words which opened them and the group rode inside. The guards stared at Legolas's burden but he, normally so warm and careless of rank, did not even spare them a glance, taking refuge for the first time in his life in the detached aloofness of royalty.
They reached the inner courtyard and Legolas slid from his horse, refusing for one moment to relinquish his precious burden. He walked along silent, echoing corridors followed by Tathar and the others, neither pausing nor faltering, focusing only on getting his mother to his father's arms where she belonged.
At the entrance to the throne room he did not wait to be announced. Walking past guards whose surprise turned swiftly to grief, he pushed the great doors open with his free hand.
The huge chamber was full of Elves listening to an evening entertainment. The throne next to Thranduil was eloquently empty and the King looked troubled and distracted. At first, he did not look up, but as word spread rapidly through the hall, a stunned silence fell. Thranduil lifted his head, looking to where his son walked through a path which had opened up before him. It was as if all held their breath, unable to comprehend or accept the scene before their eyes. The only movement was Legolas's as he walked slowly up the hall.
For a moment, Thranduil met his son's eyes. Then his gaze fell to the burden Legolas carried……and his world shattered. He sat motionless, disbelieving, as Legolas's slow, inexorable approach continued.
Finally, Legolas halted before his father's throne. Thranduil could not take his eyes from the slender form of Lînivren, lifeless and limp in her son's arms. Legolas leaned forward, gently placing his precious burden into Thranduil's arms. Thranduil looked down at his wife for a moment and then raised his eyes to his son.
Legolas held his gaze for a moment, his expression shuttered; then he turned on his heel and walked back the way he had come. None dared intercept him.
After he had left, the hall remained silent for the space of six heartbeats, then it erupted into chaos.
***
Legolas heard the door bang back against the wall and turned his gaze on the inner doorway. He was seated in the crook of one of the branches of the great oak outside what had been his sleeping room when he had lived at the palace: one of the few rooms to have a window to the outside.
As Thranduil came into the room, Legolas calmly and gracefully stepped down from the sill and faced his grief-stricken father and King. There was absolutely no tension in the younger Elf and to Thranduil's shattered mind, he seemed relaxed and distant, almost emotionless. Thranduil did not see the warning signs: the rigidly controlled way that his son moved, the look on his face, devoid of any emotion.
Legolas was fully aware that his father knew his opinion regarding his mother's skills and her right to use them. He knew too that Thranduil would assume his son had been aware that his mother had joined the hunters and had allowed her to remain. But he did not speak, some instinct, faint but strong, warned him against it. So he made no move to explain, said naught to exonerate himself, holding himself still. Though beyond the ice, his heart was breaking.
Thranduil was at a loss, conflicting emotions rendering him speechless. All he could feel was the need to lash out, to blame, to hurt. Legolas was correct in his thought that Thranduil had not considered the possibility that Legolas had had no idea of his mother's presence.
For long moments, father and son faced each other, Thranduil tried and failed to find the words to demand an explanation of his son, and all the while Legolas watched his father silently.
Eventually, it was that which caused Thranduil to react, that calm unruffled façade. How dare his son look so calm, so unmoved by the events that Thranduil could feel screaming through him, threatening his very reason? And it was his son who was to blame for this. Without considering the consequences of his actions or their cause, reacting only to the searing agony tearing at his heart and soul, Thranduil stepped forward and backhanded his son across the mouth.
Legolas's head snapped to the side and he staggered with the force of the blow, but he swiftly recovered his balance, remaining with his head to one side for the space of a few seconds, his curtain of silken blond hair, loosened from its braids in mourning, covering his face. Thranduil's knuckles throbbed from the force of the blow but as yet he did not feel the pain as he watched his son, breathing hard.
Infinitely slowly, Legolas turned his head until he once again faced his father. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth where the blow had split his lip, but he made no move to touch the bright stream, and his expression was unchanged.
Thranduil waited for a reaction, something, anything, which would give him an excuse to rage at his son, to find a release for this pain. But Legolas only continued to watch his father, a bruise already beginning to darken one side of his face. The same impulse that had warned him against an explanation whispered to him that there was a reason for this, so deep-rooted it had embedded itself in Thranduil's soul.
And suddenly Thranduil realised what he had done. But it was too late. It was done and could never be taken back. For a few more heartbeats, they stared at each other. Then Thranduil dropped his eyes, turning to leave. At the door he hesitated, pausing for a moment to glance back to his son.
Legolas was standing in exactly the same position, staring in front of him. Thranduil's expression hardened and he left the room. Neither Elf had spoken, words had not been necessary.
A few minutes later Legolas emerged from his rooms. He saw Tathar, but he did not speak and they stared at one another. Then Legolas walked away, down the corridor.
He sought solace that night in the forest and by dawn, he was far from the palace. He had but one thought, one goal. To find the orcs and kill them, whatever the cost. He no longer cared about what happened to him. It no longer mattered.
Aragorn was silent as Legolas finished speaking. He struggled to comprehend the scene Legolas had described to him. Elves never normally behaved towards one another in such a way and certainly not a father who adored his son, despite their differences, as much as Thranduil did Legolas. The loss of his beloved had clearly unhinged Thranduil, driving him to lash out at the one who, along with her, meant more to him than anything or anyone else.
Legolas too, sat motionless and silent. Reliving the memory had torn open the wound his father's rejection had inflicted, one far worse than any the orcs had caused. He felt again the utter desolation it left in its wake, the fact that despite his link to Aragorn, having effectively lost both his parents in the same day had caused damage from which he longed to hide. And he acknowledged that Aragorn had been right; he had wanted to make the agony stop, however that might be achieved.
He turned to look at the still silent ranger, "Well?" he asked, but without his previous sarcasm, "Does that answer your question?"
Aragorn watched his friend and slowly inclined his head. Something had occurred to him and he sought the right words. "Why was Lînivren there Legolas? Why did she conceal herself?"
Legolas hesitated, "My father never agreed with naneth going out with the patrols. He accepted it, reluctantly, but he asked her to promise him something……..."
Legolas smiled to himself as he walked down the stone corridor towards his parents' rooms. He and his father had for once managed to make their schedules coincide and were going to take the rare opportunity to go riding. Legolas was hoping his naneth could also be persuaded to come with them. His smile turned into a grin. Not that she would take much persuading, Lînivren was the match for both her husband and her son on horseback.
As he approached the door to his parents' chambers, Legolas heard raised voices came from within. He stopped, surprised; his parents never argued. Caught between concern and the knowledge that he should leave, he stepped back into the shadows where he could see through the partially open door.
"No," Lînivren stated firmly. "I know why you do not like this, Thranduil, but I will continue to go out with the patrols. You have never tried to dissuade me before."
Thranduil, seated in the window seat, turned to look at her. "I have never liked it."
Lînivren paused in her circuit of the room to look at her husband. "I know," she said quietly, " but you have always accepted my right to go. Why do you object now?"
"The danger is increasing," Thranduil replied, standing and crossing the room to his wife. He gently touched her face as she looked up at him, "The spiders grow more numerous and Dol Guldur…"
Lînivren studied the beloved features, "It is about Gil-galad is it not? Always when there is any threat to either myself or Legolas, it is the same."
Thranduil turned away, walking back to the window and starring unseeingly out, "I wish only…"
"To keep us safe…," Lînivren said, coming up behind Thranduil, placing her hands on the tense shoulders and kissing the soft fabric. She moved round in front of him, "But Legolas commands the patrols now. Does he know of your concern?"
Thranduil looked away. She had not expected an answer, knew it already. "I have as much right as does he, melleth nín. He is your Heir, I am your Queen. Can you honestly say that I am worth more than he is, either to you or this realm? Nay," she said quickly as he started to speak, "I know well how much you love us both, I have never doubted it." Lînivren paused, and when she spoke again her voice was low, intent, " But I will not let another of my homes fall into darkness and do nothing to help stop it."
"There was nothing you could have done at Doriath!" Thranduil objected, "The sons of Fëanor sought the Nauglamír and Dior….."
"But there is something I can do now," Lînivren interrupted him, "And I will, short of a direct command from you, as the son of Oropher, as King to consort, forbidding me to do so."
It was an unfair tactic, Lînivren knew Thranduil would never try to forbid her to go. She pressed her advantage, "Will you not now tell Legolas of the past? He knows there is something, meleth nín, and he has a right to know ….."
"No!" Thranduil shouted, startling them both. He continued in a lower tone, "Legolas does not need to know. It will serve no purpose for him to know now…"
"Then when?" Lînivren demanded. "Already he is curious, wondering why when he asks of…"
"I will tell Legolas, when the time is right; but we were not discussing that." Thranduil sighed, bringing his hands up to her shoulders. Part of the reason he had fallen in love with Lînivren was her fierce independence and yet now it only served to increase his fears. "At least promise me this. That if we already know, before you go out, that the danger is greater than is usual…."
"… then I will not go," she promised him. She looked up at her husband with the sensuous smile which never failed to heat his blood, before reaching up to kiss him. Thranduil closed his eyes and simply held her, "I love you," he murmured.
"Meleth nín," she whispered.
***
Aragorn's voice was low as he asked, "If she said she would not go…."
Legolas shook his head, "The night we received the report of the orcs, our two best trackers, other than my naneth, were injured. I know she went to adar just before we went out but I assumed she still held to her promise, as it seems, did adar. He must not have realised she had slipped out of the palace."
"And although they did not know you heard them discuss it, you knew of their differing views on the subject? It would explain why she concealed herself, "Aragorn said.
"Yes. Adar told me once how he hated the fact that she went out at all, though never why, and of her promise. I always assumed he was simply being over-protective. I knew their differing views, as you say, and Naneth would have been reluctant to make me choose between Adar's desires and hers. It was not a position she wished to put me in; hence her concealing herself."
"And she was a tracker," Aragorn added, "adept at concealing herself. Hooded and cloaked, she would have looked and moved as did all the warriors."
Legolas nodded and sighed, "And because she needed to stay away from me, she stayed on the edge of the group. It was why she was so vulnerable when we found the orcs…."
"But what does all this have to do with Gil-galad?" Aragorn asked suddenly. At Legolas's questioning look he said, "You told me your mother mentioned that whenever there was a threat to either her or you your father became over-protective and it sounded to me as if it had something to do with Gil-galad."
Legolas shrugged and frowned, "I do not know. Gil-galad fostered my father. I know little more than that. Whenever I asked, he dismissed the subject. You know my grandfather had no love for the Noldor. I assumed he fostered my father to Gil-galad purely for reasons of Alliance. How he could be connected to my father's over-protectiveness, I cannot say." Yet as he spoke the words, Legolas felt again the whisper in his mind, as he had felt when facing his father in his chamber the day of his mother's death. He shook his head to clear it; he had not the gift of foresight, likely it was some illusion born of grief and pain. And yet……
Silence fell between them once more, but as it lengthened, Legolas gradually became aware of a shift within him, a change which had come with the recounting of the memory, locked within him until now. It was as though reliving the events surrounding his father's rejection had purged the memory as a festering wound was lanced. The wound still remained but it would now heal; it no longer threatened to destroy him. Yet still there were things he needed to know….
He glanced up at Aragorn to find the ranger watching him quietly. Legolas suddenly knew that this had been his intent all along. He put the unanswered questions to the back of his mind. The smile he sent his friend was still laced with pain, but his voice, free of strain, carried light accusation. "You are every inch the cunning Human." The use of the term was deliberate, a more genuine apology than the one he had made earlier. He reached out and covered Aragorn's hand with his, " Should you decide to take up the right of your blood, let those who oppose you be wary."
They stared at each other, feeling the bond between them, knowing its strength. Then Legolas got to his feet, "Now," he said, picking up his bow, "How about one more attempt before we go back?"
Aragorn opened his mouth to argue, closing it again as he realised Legolas was laughing at him. Grinning, he rose and slung an arm around the Elf's shoulders and they began to make their way back to the house.
Later though, Aragorn wondered silently if Legolas would ever truly recover from his father's rejection. They had lost Lînivren to death, but Legolas's loss of his father seemed in its way, no less final. Aragorn knew enough of Thranduil to know that the Sindarin King did not forgive easily, even though the one to whom he had apportioned blame for this tragedy was not at fault. Aragorn could only hope that there was something, some force which could make Thranduil realise his mistake….and accept his own part in his wife's death. Yet it seemed a faint hope and Aragorn could not see how it was possible.
At least he could take comfort in the thought that reliving the memory had tempered Legolas's reckless agony, had halted the rising tide which would have destroyed his friend.
For now, that would have to be enough.