Part one: Many Meetings
"Adar, I . . ." Legolas' voice trailed off at the horror before his eyes. Thranduil lay spent between Yavisûl's legs.
"Legolas . . ."
"No, Adar. I understand now." The young prince said coldly, "You make me a concubine in my own house to satisfy your whims."
"No, my son. That was not the intent." The elf king said angrily, "Since you completely refused to lie with her, she came to me for comfort."
"What?! After the herbs you forced me to take nightly for twenty years?! And literally dragging me to her bed?! You accuse me of refusing her?! How dare you, my lord king?!" Legolas' sapphire eyes blazed. He felt betrayed and shamed.
"I was only trying to do what is best for our realm." Thranduil reached out to the prince, but Legolas pulled away. "What could I have done? I needed to forge strong alliances for our future, your future."
"You could have left me alone. Have you any idea how much shame has been brought upon me?!" He turned away from his father, avoiding the elder elf's embrace. "You know how much I love Ithilin. You could have just let me be."
"Forgive me, Legolas."
"Perhaps someday, Adar. But not now. Yavisûl is yours to do with as you please. I want none of it. I am bound for Rivendell and my rightful wife and son."
After the door closed he took off running. His heart hurt badly. He didn't want to believe what he saw. He also didn't want to believe that he meant so little to his father. Hot, angry tears ran unchecked down his face as he ran. He didn't know where he was going and didn't really care. All he wanted, right now, was to put distance between himself and his father.
Finally he stopped and collapsed to the forest floor, sobbing as though his heart would break.
"Legolas?" came a familiar voice.
The prince looked up into the face of his friend Tauredhel.
"Legolas, what's happened?"
"It is nothing, Tauredhel." Legolas stood and brushed himself off. "We are bound for Rivendell, Taur. Get Lanthir and Vanion and pack. We take the ill tidings of Gollum's escape. Hurry, we leave tonight."
"But what of . . ." The younger elf's voice trailed off in embarrassment.
"I have released her from her marriage vows, mellon-nîn." His voice was distant almost cold. He took little satisfaction from the words. He knew his father could stop him if he wanted and continue to force the prince to lie with Yavisûl. With a sigh he pushed the thought away. Then another struck him, one that made him smile for the first time in many years. Ithilin would be in Rivendell as well as their son Ararûn. He was nearing his nineteenth birthday. Almost a man in human terms but still very much a child to elf eyes. He wondered, too, who did the boy look like. He walked back to the palace with a lighter heart. He would be with his beloved again. In all the darkness that had plagued these last years, he could now look for hope in the dawn.
* * *
Only a half a days journey more and they would be in Rivendell. Legolas couldn't sit still. He fidgeted with the fletchings on his arrows or plaited his mounts mane just to pass the time. Tauredhel, Lanthir, and Vanion, took turns riding beside him, trying their best to keep him from brooding. What were they thinking? He wasn't brooding, he was thinking. Thinking of Ithilin. The softness of her skin beneath his callused hands. Her tender kisses on his lips, the tips of his ears, his neck, chest, belly, and . . . He could almost feel her small hands in his hair and her long slender fingers caressing his ears. Her soft supple body arching in to his. Though they would see little difference.
"The gate, my lord." Vanion said pointing ahead.
He shivered in anticipation as they rode through the archway. His horse had barely stopped before he hopped off and looked around for her.
"Legolas!"
The warning had barely been uttered when something hit him with such force that it sent both beings to the ground into a pile of leaves. Lips closed hungrily over his, fingers touching his ears then twining themselves in his hair. His surprise ebbed as soon as he caught a familiar scent, simbelmynë. His arms closed tightly around the slender waist, crushing the smaller being to him and returned the hungry kiss.
"My lord?" the three perplexed elves stood over the fallen prince, who appeared to know his attacker well . . . very well.
Legolas opened his eyes and laughed at the looks on his friends' faces. "A'maelamin, you have worried my friends with your assault of me."
"Should I assault them as well to make them feel more welcomed, my pretty prince?" came the pert reply.
"If they would not be offended, go ahead."
Ithilin eyed the three impishly yet kept Legolas securely pinned beneath her. "You would not take offense at having to share me?"
"Nay, lovely moonflower. However, I doubt very much that the three of them would be able to handle you." He said brushing her long blond hair out of his face.
"I see she found you." Another voice laughed.
"Yes. As well as a lovely pile of leaves. She's going to be picking those out of my hair for days." The prince chuckled, crushing her to his chest again.
The newcomer reached down and offered to help the prince up. "I'm glad you've finally come back, Legolas."
"Aye, Strider." The elf prince held the young woman tight to his side, not wanting to let her loose. "I am, too. I've missed this imp."
:You're heart sore, a'maelamin?: he heard her voice in his mind, :What has happened?:
:It is a very long story, 'Lin,: He sent back. "Where is the young one?"
"Down on the archery field, mellon-nîn." Aragorn said as he lead his friend and companions down some stone steps. "He's almost outgrown that bow you sent him last summer."
"Already?! He must be getting tall."
"Like you're so short." Aragorn snorted.
Tauredhel and the others exchanged puzzled looks, "Who are you talking about, my lord?" he asked.
Legolas laughed, "My son, Ararûn."
Again, his companions appeared confused.
"You'll see." Aragorn chuckled.
The steps opened out onto the archery field. Three elves stood with their bows nocked, sighting down the shafts. Two were the tall dark headed sons of Lord Elrond. The third was only slightly shorter than the twins, but his hair shone like new minted gold. As one they released their arrows.
"Ai!" the blond elf cried as his shot went wild and struck the side of the stable. "Elladan, why does this keep happening?"
"Because you are not concentrating, youngling." The elder twin replied, watching as the Mirkwood Prince stepped up behind the youngster. "Now try again."
"But-" the younger elf complained until strong arms wrapped around his and slender hands closed over his slightly smaller ones.
"Try again." The strange elf commanded softly. "I will guide you."
The boy drew another shaft and nocked it to the string. The older elf's hands were still closed around his, the grip firm yet gentle. He pulled the string taught, listening to the dark wood creak beneath his hand.
"A little more, young one," came the elder's soft voice in his ear.
"But-" he protested, but found himself complying anyway.
"Now release it."
Again the young elf did as he was instructed. This time, the arrow hit the target just shy of the twins shafts.
The scent of moonflowers reached the younger elf as a breeze wafted by. Recognizing the smell, the boy turned to face the new elf. The face, though unfamiliar, was youthful and gentle. The startling blue eyes were kind but sad.
"Ada?" he breathed tentatively, not daring to hope that it was true. Ararûn had never met his father, but was always eager to listen to his Uncle Estel tell stories of their adventures together.
"Yes, youngling." The prince answered, brushing a stray strand of pale blond hair from the boy's face.
"Ada!" Ararûn cried, dropping his bow and flinging his arms around his father's neck. "You've come home!"
"Yes, little one, I have come home." Legolas said in a choked whisper as he returned his son's embrace. A tear slid down his fair cheek. Twenty years of hell was definitely worth this. Never would he do to his son what his own father had done to him. Never would he break his son's heart by betraying him. Never would he make his son go against his heart for the good of the realm. This young elf, that he held in his arms, was far too precious for that.
"Adar, I . . ." Legolas' voice trailed off at the horror before his eyes. Thranduil lay spent between Yavisûl's legs.
"Legolas . . ."
"No, Adar. I understand now." The young prince said coldly, "You make me a concubine in my own house to satisfy your whims."
"No, my son. That was not the intent." The elf king said angrily, "Since you completely refused to lie with her, she came to me for comfort."
"What?! After the herbs you forced me to take nightly for twenty years?! And literally dragging me to her bed?! You accuse me of refusing her?! How dare you, my lord king?!" Legolas' sapphire eyes blazed. He felt betrayed and shamed.
"I was only trying to do what is best for our realm." Thranduil reached out to the prince, but Legolas pulled away. "What could I have done? I needed to forge strong alliances for our future, your future."
"You could have left me alone. Have you any idea how much shame has been brought upon me?!" He turned away from his father, avoiding the elder elf's embrace. "You know how much I love Ithilin. You could have just let me be."
"Forgive me, Legolas."
"Perhaps someday, Adar. But not now. Yavisûl is yours to do with as you please. I want none of it. I am bound for Rivendell and my rightful wife and son."
After the door closed he took off running. His heart hurt badly. He didn't want to believe what he saw. He also didn't want to believe that he meant so little to his father. Hot, angry tears ran unchecked down his face as he ran. He didn't know where he was going and didn't really care. All he wanted, right now, was to put distance between himself and his father.
Finally he stopped and collapsed to the forest floor, sobbing as though his heart would break.
"Legolas?" came a familiar voice.
The prince looked up into the face of his friend Tauredhel.
"Legolas, what's happened?"
"It is nothing, Tauredhel." Legolas stood and brushed himself off. "We are bound for Rivendell, Taur. Get Lanthir and Vanion and pack. We take the ill tidings of Gollum's escape. Hurry, we leave tonight."
"But what of . . ." The younger elf's voice trailed off in embarrassment.
"I have released her from her marriage vows, mellon-nîn." His voice was distant almost cold. He took little satisfaction from the words. He knew his father could stop him if he wanted and continue to force the prince to lie with Yavisûl. With a sigh he pushed the thought away. Then another struck him, one that made him smile for the first time in many years. Ithilin would be in Rivendell as well as their son Ararûn. He was nearing his nineteenth birthday. Almost a man in human terms but still very much a child to elf eyes. He wondered, too, who did the boy look like. He walked back to the palace with a lighter heart. He would be with his beloved again. In all the darkness that had plagued these last years, he could now look for hope in the dawn.
* * *
Only a half a days journey more and they would be in Rivendell. Legolas couldn't sit still. He fidgeted with the fletchings on his arrows or plaited his mounts mane just to pass the time. Tauredhel, Lanthir, and Vanion, took turns riding beside him, trying their best to keep him from brooding. What were they thinking? He wasn't brooding, he was thinking. Thinking of Ithilin. The softness of her skin beneath his callused hands. Her tender kisses on his lips, the tips of his ears, his neck, chest, belly, and . . . He could almost feel her small hands in his hair and her long slender fingers caressing his ears. Her soft supple body arching in to his. Though they would see little difference.
"The gate, my lord." Vanion said pointing ahead.
He shivered in anticipation as they rode through the archway. His horse had barely stopped before he hopped off and looked around for her.
"Legolas!"
The warning had barely been uttered when something hit him with such force that it sent both beings to the ground into a pile of leaves. Lips closed hungrily over his, fingers touching his ears then twining themselves in his hair. His surprise ebbed as soon as he caught a familiar scent, simbelmynë. His arms closed tightly around the slender waist, crushing the smaller being to him and returned the hungry kiss.
"My lord?" the three perplexed elves stood over the fallen prince, who appeared to know his attacker well . . . very well.
Legolas opened his eyes and laughed at the looks on his friends' faces. "A'maelamin, you have worried my friends with your assault of me."
"Should I assault them as well to make them feel more welcomed, my pretty prince?" came the pert reply.
"If they would not be offended, go ahead."
Ithilin eyed the three impishly yet kept Legolas securely pinned beneath her. "You would not take offense at having to share me?"
"Nay, lovely moonflower. However, I doubt very much that the three of them would be able to handle you." He said brushing her long blond hair out of his face.
"I see she found you." Another voice laughed.
"Yes. As well as a lovely pile of leaves. She's going to be picking those out of my hair for days." The prince chuckled, crushing her to his chest again.
The newcomer reached down and offered to help the prince up. "I'm glad you've finally come back, Legolas."
"Aye, Strider." The elf prince held the young woman tight to his side, not wanting to let her loose. "I am, too. I've missed this imp."
:You're heart sore, a'maelamin?: he heard her voice in his mind, :What has happened?:
:It is a very long story, 'Lin,: He sent back. "Where is the young one?"
"Down on the archery field, mellon-nîn." Aragorn said as he lead his friend and companions down some stone steps. "He's almost outgrown that bow you sent him last summer."
"Already?! He must be getting tall."
"Like you're so short." Aragorn snorted.
Tauredhel and the others exchanged puzzled looks, "Who are you talking about, my lord?" he asked.
Legolas laughed, "My son, Ararûn."
Again, his companions appeared confused.
"You'll see." Aragorn chuckled.
The steps opened out onto the archery field. Three elves stood with their bows nocked, sighting down the shafts. Two were the tall dark headed sons of Lord Elrond. The third was only slightly shorter than the twins, but his hair shone like new minted gold. As one they released their arrows.
"Ai!" the blond elf cried as his shot went wild and struck the side of the stable. "Elladan, why does this keep happening?"
"Because you are not concentrating, youngling." The elder twin replied, watching as the Mirkwood Prince stepped up behind the youngster. "Now try again."
"But-" the younger elf complained until strong arms wrapped around his and slender hands closed over his slightly smaller ones.
"Try again." The strange elf commanded softly. "I will guide you."
The boy drew another shaft and nocked it to the string. The older elf's hands were still closed around his, the grip firm yet gentle. He pulled the string taught, listening to the dark wood creak beneath his hand.
"A little more, young one," came the elder's soft voice in his ear.
"But-" he protested, but found himself complying anyway.
"Now release it."
Again the young elf did as he was instructed. This time, the arrow hit the target just shy of the twins shafts.
The scent of moonflowers reached the younger elf as a breeze wafted by. Recognizing the smell, the boy turned to face the new elf. The face, though unfamiliar, was youthful and gentle. The startling blue eyes were kind but sad.
"Ada?" he breathed tentatively, not daring to hope that it was true. Ararûn had never met his father, but was always eager to listen to his Uncle Estel tell stories of their adventures together.
"Yes, youngling." The prince answered, brushing a stray strand of pale blond hair from the boy's face.
"Ada!" Ararûn cried, dropping his bow and flinging his arms around his father's neck. "You've come home!"
"Yes, little one, I have come home." Legolas said in a choked whisper as he returned his son's embrace. A tear slid down his fair cheek. Twenty years of hell was definitely worth this. Never would he do to his son what his own father had done to him. Never would he break his son's heart by betraying him. Never would he make his son go against his heart for the good of the realm. This young elf, that he held in his arms, was far too precious for that.