Chapter 39
Standing on the steps at the entrance to Thranduil's cavernous palace Galion watched the small company approach as the doors closed silently behind them. He could see the stony expression worn by each of the silvan guards and the dourness of the dark haired pair of peredhel but what made his heart twist with dread was written upon the face of the golden elf at the centre of the group. Legolas walked with his head held high and a slight swagger in his step but his eyes held no emotion at all. He had seen Thranduil's face at its coldest and most diffident but never once had he seen cruelty there. Not so now with his son. The dark, dead eyes were set within a countenance, once fair and beauteous, now riven with contempt. A sly, cruel smile licked at the corner of lips constantly wetted by the flickering tongue that gave the impression of wanton anticipation. He wondered if his king had seen this in his mind and understood the sense of dread and sadness he had felt emanating from his form in the throne room. Of course Thranduil knew. He always knew. Galion sighed and wished he had not, for once, followed orders and sent the guards away. At least he knew the captain would be on hand if needed.
"My lord."
The group had reached the bottom of the steps and the patrol leader had bid them stand whilst bowing lightly and acknowledging Galion's presence.
"My Prince. My Lords. Captain." The butler gave a slight nod to each as he greeted them, his right hand over his heart. "Welcome to the Halls." His hand left his chest in the standard sweep of greeting. "Our King awaits your presence caun nin." (my prince).
Standing aside he gestured for the group to enter, then with a glance to ensure the doors were securely closed, followed them into the cavernous interior.
Thranduil shivered as a cold dread wrapped itself around his heart. His son had entered the halls.
Resisting the urge to wrap his long crimson cloak tightly around his frame for comfort like an elfling he instead encouraged it to drape majestically from his frame and flow over the throne to pool artistically upon the dais at his feet. Sitting tall and straight, his face a calm, regal mask belying his inner turmoil he waited, girding his resolve and hoping against hope his son was not too far gone for him to recall.
Duathion felt his pulse begin to race as he walked past the tall butler who had greeted them and into the halls. So close. He was so close now. With a conscious effort he brought his emotions under control, this was not to be rushed. This was the culmination of all his master had trained him for and he wanted to enjoy each moment to its utmost. As they walked along the high ceilinged corridor with its ornately carven stone, replicating the trees outside so as to make it more homely and acceptable to the silvans residing here he began to savour the anticipation, enjoying the sensation as it made his skin tingle and his mind feel alert and alive.
The airy corridor followed a winding path into the hillside yet was so cunningly crafted that it gave no sign of the weight of the earth above. Carefully placed sinkholes allowed light to filter down from the sky far above during the daytime and the great stone trees were adorned with beautifully fashioned leaves made of finest beaten metals affixed with tiny, chips of precious stones in hues of green and gold which rustled in the gentle drafts from above allowing the feeling that you were merely walking under the canopy on a balmy summers evening. As the sky outside began to darken, concealed candles were lit to emulate the moons gentle glow and that process had obviously just begun. Aragorn found his eyes wandering above as ever they did when he entered the realm. The scale, workmanship and beauty of the halls never ceased to amaze him, it was truly a work of art. He smiled as he remembered the way Legolas would tease him each time he entered and found himself staring upwards in awe as if seeing it for the first time. He glanced across at his friend and suddenly his grin faded. A stranger walked in Legolas' shoes, an elf he did not know and did not wish to, whose whole demeanor shouted predator. Whose eyes shone with feral anticipation, who appeared tense and poised like an arrow on the brink of release. This was not his friend and for the first time in their long history together he felt truly afraid of this wild creature.
~o~
The army moved relentlessly through the forest, keeping to the thickest, well grown parts where it was darkest. Following the horde on his horse the witch king drew on the power granted through his ring to ensure the noise of their passing was unheard. He had demanded silence of the creatures and although they had so far kept their mutterings and growls to a minimum, they were coarse and heavy beings who had no concept of the true meaning of the word. He wondered idly how long it would be before another scuffle broke out, orcs were never happiest unless they were tearing something apart, be it friend or foe, but for the time being they appeared content to just keep moving.
Trusting his horse to pick its own way the Nazgul turned his thoughts to his erstwhile captive and felt a rush of anticipatory desire run through his shrouded frame. After his own master's careful preparation and planning the blonde elf had been exceptionally receptive to their 'persuasion,' and the herbs he had both been forced to ingest and had spread upon his wounds had made it impossible for him to resist. The outcome had been inevitable and perfect. He was theirs. With a sigh of foetid breath the witch king smiled inwardly and reached out with his mind. A faint pulse of dark desire throbbed with increasing intensity in the distance, too far to yet be able to exhert control over yet close enough to plot its origins source. With a sharp cry he urged the hoarde before him into a faster run. His prize awaited.
~o~
The intricately carven doors to the great reception room opened without a sound and the hushed group passed through, their tension almost palpable in the air. At the far side, raised upon a dais stood the impressive throne, and upon it sat the still, imposing figure of the last elvenking on middle earth. His face an icy, regal unemotional mask, his tall frame clothed in silver silks and swathed in a deepest crimson cloak that fell to the floor to spread about his feet as if his very life blood flowed around him. Aragorn had never seen him looking so majestic and so frightening, from their first, wary meeting to the time when they had returned to the halls with Legolas disguised after his misguided banishment, and his mouth suddenly dried. There was no trace of the kind but stern elf he had come to know and respect as Legolas' father, this was a king, as unyielding as the stone upon which his throne rested and with the hardness of diamonds glinting in his ice blue eyes.
Approaching the dais under Thranduil's watchful gaze the young man felt his adoptive brothers close in beside him. A quick glance, left then right, rewarded him with the sight of identical, grim stares, fixed, not upon the king but upon the slender, golden haired elf who appeared to be the only member of the party unconcerned by the king's icy demeanor.
"Whatever happens Estel, do nothing."
Aragorn only just caught the faint whisper from his left and turned his head to meet the steely gaze of his eldest brother and frowned.
"We are guests here, Estel." Elladan continued softly as they finally drew to a halt before the throne. "And there are some things beyond even our ken. For now we must watch…"
"And wait." Elrohir finished as he placed his hand upon the young man's shoulder and squeezed in reassurance.
"My King." The patrol captain's voice rang out in ceremony as he stepped forward to speak, sounding loud after the silence of their approach. "I beg leave to…" his voice faltered as Thranduil turned his eyes to look down, his face still unmoving and cold then nodded almost imperceptively for him to continue.
"I beg leave to," he began again more confidently. "Bring before you a matter of grave importance."
The king tilted his head and nodded again, this time slowly and deliberately and Aragorn realized that although his eyes had swept through the gathering, they had not lit upon his son once.
"Continue." Thranduil's voice was pitched low and flat, completely without emotion.
"It is with the greatest regret that I must lay the charge of attempted treason against the elf known as Legolas Thranduilion." The captain swallowed hard before continuing as the king held his gaze. "For threatening the life of the great white stag and thereby endangering the spirit of Eryn Galen and its King."
Silence fell once more as the captain bowed his head then motioned to the two wood elves closest to the prince who went to take him by the arms and bring him forwards but they were foiled by the simple expedient of Legolas sweeping towards the foot of the throne and bowing with a great flourish.
"'Tis good to see you again, Father." Sarcasm dripped from the final word as his voice echoed around the chamber. "I see you have not changed in my absence."
His glittering eyes raked the king's form and face.
"Still as arrogant," he said coldly then leaned in and ran his tongue over his lips. "And still as beautiful."
There was a collective sharp intake of breath from the patrol behind him yet Thranduil remained expressionless and still as a statue.
"Come now, Aran nin." The young elf continued softly. "Will you not welcome your son?"
He paused and stepped back. "Ah, but of course, I forget."
He smiled wryly. "I am not your son, am I?"
He stepped forwards once more, tilting his head. "You disowned me, banished me, had me humiliated and cast out like some dirty rag after I had the nerve to defend myself."
Gaining in vehemence if not volume, spittle began forming at the corners of his mouth. "You and those 'cursed Noldo."
Spinning on his heel suddenly, he raised a hand to point at Elladan and Elrohir, who stood in stunned amazement, flanking their equally astonished human brother. "They dared call me kinslayer!"
The three flinched as he spat in their direction then turned back to his father.
"You compared me to them!"
With a sudden bound he moved up the dais to stand on the top step, leaned down and thrust his face level with that of Thranduil, his eyes glittering darkly, but the king remained motionless.
"I who did nothing but serve you and this forest, risking my life each and every day so that you could sit here within these stone walls and play king." Each word was enunciated with powerful care. "Counting your treasure and drinking yourself into oblivion in an effort to forget how useless you really are. Cowering like a craven cur behind your crown and your trappings because you know, deep inside, what you must do yet remain, teetering on the brink, unable to set the wheels in motion. Too set in Orophers ways, too stubborn to realise you can not win this way. We need to change, to adapt, to embrace what can not be overcome and make it ours."
As Thranduil remained unresponsive Legolas reached out and gently drew the fingers of his right hand down the king's pale cheek and sighed.
"Do you not see?" His voice became soft and silken. "There is only one choice left to you now."
Leaning in until his breath ghosted over Thranduil's emotionless face he ran his tongue slowly over slightly open lips and exhaled slowly.
"Let go. Leave." He paused for a second then his soothing, hypnotic voice continued. "Go find your rest and let me take over here. Unburden yourself as you have wanted for so long. You never wished to be king, never wanted this responsibility. So let it go. 'Tis not so hard, you only have to speak the words and all of your cares can be over. Instead you could find other ways to spend your days. Just think how pleasant that could be."
The younger elf reached out again to caress Thranduil's cheek then ran his fingers slowly down the pale length of his neck to draw gentle circles on the exposed skin of his upper chest.
"How very pleasant indeed." The smooth voice continued as the questing fingers sidled under the king's silk shirt. "Let go Thranduil and I will give you ease."
The pink tongue snaked out once more to wet lips opened and slightly pouted mirroring the desire shining from his darkened gaze as the prince leaned forward in readiness to capture the king's mouth with his own.
A/N
You wouldn't believe how many times I have re-written this chapter but the boys just didn't want to co-operate and I didn't want to rush the reunion between Thranduil and Legolas. Hope it works so far...
On the roll of honour this time we have - Obsidianglasses and bettsam0731 I'm really grateful for your continued support guys.
If anyone else out there would like to share their views I will be only too happy to receive them...