Chapter 7 - Legolas Finds Out the Truth
Legolas stretched luxuriantly, back arched, toes curled, palms pressed against the wall behind him, and then settled supine on the tiny cot, utterly contented, hands clasped behind his head, long lean legs splayed out on the mattress, eyes half closed, a dreamy smile on his comely face. What he had experienced was nothing short of amazing, not at all like he'd fantasised so often. Nor, basic physiology aside, was it anything like the lurid accounts he'd listened to friends and acquaintances relate or tales he'd read in forbidden erotic scrolls, and had absolutely nothing in common with the dry, clinical accounts about reproduction contained in the infirmary library. No, there was no description in spoken or written word that adequately described what had just happened to him. Song, he mused, might come near the truth, might almost touch upon the heights to which his spirit had been transported. Ancient ballads he had heard a thousand times suddenly contained new meaning, took on depth, lifted clear of what he had previously deemed excessive sentimentality and bathos.
Valar! How ignorant I was.
What he had experienced had completely changed his perspective, his very life. How strange! Although, he had often bemoaned the changes that overtook his friends once this threshold between youth and maturity was crossed. Before, he had considered the idea of a lover as almost an inconvenience, someone who would interfere in a warrior's calling, someone who would make demands upon him and cause him to forgo activities he might enjoy just to appease this lover's ego. He had seen it so many times and often teased his friends about their eager acquiescence to any and all demands their fair, female lovers made.
He did not personally know any male couples, though there were several among the elves in the city, so he could not judge what their interactions might be, but he had assumed it would be similar. That had bothered him before, to be so different among his peers, but it no longer seemed important now. He did know a female warrior under his brother's command who was mated to a female healer, and they seemed to behave just as the ordinary couples he knew: swinging through a spectrum of behaviour from billing and cooing ultra-sweetness to storms of fury and tears followed by wild and exuberantly passionate love-making.
Will it be the same for me?
He didn't think it possibly could be; his relationship with the healer was obviously different. For one thing, he could not believe any other couple were as well suited to one another. It was as though each was designed specifically to fulfil the needs and desires of the other. Their physical union would always be wildly passionate and exuberant. He and Nestaron had shared a fusion of flesh and spirit that transcended mere sex. This, he decided, was the real source of happiness and joy, this incredible experience of sharing body and soul with another being.
He sighed in splendorous wonder, reliving the pivotal moment when he'd first felt the healer's explosive release of seed, still stunned and thrilled and captivated, moved beyond the province of words or even of song by that expression of awe and astonishment on the Noldorin ellon's face, the sudden darkening of the grey irises to velvety midnight blue, the golden fire with which his aura came alight. A huge grin broke out on Legolas' features; he could almost believe it had been Nestaron's first time, too, so dazed and bedazzled had he been. He chuckled, proud to be the one who'd awakened a long dormant passion in the elder elf. A single taste had not been sufficient for either appetite; they'd groped, petted, squeezed, teased, kissed, licked, sucked, bit, and coupled in every conceivable orientation, including several he had never imagined, even when there was nothing left to give.
We shared something extraordinary, something unique between us.
It must be so; Legolas knew he would never forget the previous night and was certain the healer felt the same way. He could hardly wait to see him again and didn't have any idea how to get through the intervening hours. He must, of course, for Nestaron could not be disturbed during the healing of the sickly little child. He wondered if Nestaron would think it foolish of him to offer the Blessing of Tawar for a speedy recovery; Imladrians did not believe in Tawar. Would Nestaron find his creed risible, too? Legolas frowned; he didn't like calling his lover by a generic title anyone in Arda trained in the curing arts might use. His lover was so much more. A soft cough interrupted his musing and he glanced to the curtained partition to find a face peering at him round the barrier. "Minno," he said and sat up as the ellon entered, as unconcerned about his nudity as ever, the brawl forgotten.
"Here's the water Hiren ordered," the servant said curtly, dragging two large jugs inside and shoving the empty ones under the curtain, eyes studiously averted for the Wood Elf was stark naked. He'd heard about the foreigners' disgraceful display of exhibitionism and now he had to endure it himself. His nose wrinkled up in disgust; the small room reeked of sex.
"My thanks." Legolas did not like his tone at all. A pleasant 'maur aur' wouldn't have hurt. He bent an imperious scowl upon the underling which went completely ignored since the ellon would not look at him. He went about emptying the basin into a small drain Legolas had not noticed, being otherwise occupied through the night, and saw it was covered by a metal plate on the floor. That was interesting; they used a similar plumbing system in Ost-en-Thranduil, and he got up to observe, deciding to give the grumpy ellon a second chance to be cordial. "We reclaim wash water in Greenwood, too. Does this empty into a filtering conduit and then into a cistern below ground?"
"How should I know? I just empty the basins and haul the water," snapped the servant, daring a peak at the nude warrior bending so close beside him. The reek, he discovered, was heavily concentrated on this person. His features contracted in disgust that he made no effort to disguise; he did not approve of same-sex coupling even if it was Lord Elrond who did it. Well, he would have his own bit of news to share once this chore was done. The whoring slut stank like the breeding barn in spring.
"Is there really call to be so rude?" demanded Legolas, standing straight and folding his arms across his bare chest. "What is your name? I've a mind to complain to your master about your peevish tone."
"Oh, you think it's like that, do you?" laughed the water-bearer. "What makes you imagine our Lord will care anything more about you now he's had what he wanted?" He smirked at the open mouthed expression of shock this engendered on the uppity Wood Elf's face and left with a loud snort of disdainful disapproval.
"What?" Legolas finally found his voice, but the servant was already gone.
What in Bloody Mordor was the fool talking about? He felt a knot tightening in his stomach and a definite flutter of panicky dread near his heart. Why would the servant make such a remark? Did he know about the healer and their night of blissful union? Legolas' eyes moved to the curtain, comprehending for the first time how flimsy a barrier that was; anyone on the other side of it would have heard every sound he'd made. His face flushed crimson and he found he hadn't the courage to go peek at what lay on the other side. He could guess anyway; this was the infirmary office, out there was the infirmary itself. As for calling his lover Hiren, that made sense, too, for of course a water-bearer, among the lowest of the serving classes, would address almost everyone this way. Nestaron was probably the chief physician here in Imladris. Still, there was no need to attach that crude and scornful insult. Nestaron did indeed care, as the churlish wretch would soon learn. Legolas firmly shoved the unpleasant encounter from his thoughts.
He decided to begin his bath, confident Faron would be along anytime with his clothes, and stepped into the basin, considering that their plans must be radically altered now. He did not want to create disorder or cause a fracas in his lover's homeland, no matter Hiren Adar's wishes. A sudden stab of foreboding clouded his mental horizon as he considered how to go about breaking the news to his father. Perhaps, he speculated, it would not be necessary to reveal his initiation into adulthood. He never could keep anything form his Ada, though; he had an uncanny knack of knowing the minute anything significant happened to Legolas. The King's younger son could not pretend he didn't adore his Adar for that fact and the notion had him smiling now.
Ada loves me; my happiness will prevail over any misgivings he may have over my choice for a first lover.
That certainty uncoiled the weighty gnarl in his gut and he breathed easier. The water was warm and he hummed happily as he scrubbed, squatting down to gingerly clean places that had never been so sore and sticky before. Rinsing scrupulously, he raised his eyes to the array of jars and containers lining the shelves on the walls and spotted the ointment Nestaron had used. This he applied liberally inside and out, thinking it was rather a good thing the deed had been done in the infirmary after all. He sighed, much soothed, and got out of the tub to wash his hair, kneeling beside the basin just as Nestaron had done. The sudsy soap had a sweet fragrance reminiscent of honeysuckle and he inhaled; it was this very scent that had awakened him in the night, there to find the glorious healer wet and naked and near enough to touch.
Well, I touched him all right!
That made him snicker as he rinsed out the shampoo, recalling the delightful texture and weight of the healer's shiny onyx locks. Oh, that hair had been the first feature he'd noted, after absorbing the impact of the broad-shouldered swordsman's physique and the narrow, bare bottom propped atop clean, pink heels. From this memory he proceeded to the next: watching the healer approach with the candle, seeing the delight and desire transform his features as he beheld Legolas for the first time. No one had ever looked at him that way before, like he was a vision or a dream too magnificent to believe. Which is what he'd thought himself, that it was a dream. Never had reality been so spectacular as the night's activities proved.
That lackey was obviously a bigoted idiot; how could he know what his Lord felt about the midnight encounter? Wringing water from his tresses, Legolas straightened up, considering that he should really thank the odious underling, for he had given away a clue to his lover's identity. Legolas had known before that he was a healer and now he knew he was a Lord, which explained the ellon's noble and refined bearing. So, all he had to do was bring up his lessons on foreign diplomacy and run through the list of Noldorin Lords in Imladris who were also healers and
"AI!" Legolas shrieked. "Nay, it cannot be." He shook his head, but it was no use. There could be no other solution to the riddle: his lover was Lord Elrond, the son of Eärendil, the Herald of Gil-galad, the hero of the Last Alliance, the Keeper of Vilya, occasionally referred to as 'Peredhel fuiad' (Half-elven Scum) back home in Greenwood, and old enough to be his father's great grandfather. Legolas sat hard on the cot and buried his face in his hands with a groan. "What have I done?"
"What've you done? Tawar Mín Beria! It's all over the valley, muindor, what that Peredhel Fuiadhas done." It was Faron, arriving at this precise moment to comfort his kinsman, but he halted, eyes bulging as he surveyed the room, sniffing the pungent odours so distinctive to pleasures of the flesh. "Ai! I didn't really believe it until now."
"Faron!" Legolas raised woebegone eyes to his cousin, glad to have him near. "I I didn't know, you see. Though, it wouldn't have mattered had I known. Or mayhap it would have, I don't know," he babbled frantically. "But it is too late to change things now; we are lovers, Lord Elrond and I." He swallowed hard and discovered he could not say anything more, this statement having succinctly covered everything.
"Lovers?" Faron's brow contracted incredulously. "Is that what he told you? Aramë's Arse! It is called rape, Legolas." He sat beside his cousin and wrapped a consoling arm around his shoulder, searching for signs of fading, not that he knew what to look for because he'd never seen a living elf who'd been raped, nor any that had been raped by another elf. Those raped by orcs perished quickly, usually by decapitation or suicide if the orc was especially cruel and left them alive afterward.
"Rape? What nonsense are you talking? You sound like Mallavorn." Legolas pushed his cousin's arm off him and grabbed the bundle of clothes from his lap, stood and began dressing. "I was willing enough. In fact, he wouldn't proceed until I stated my desires bluntly. Where and how did this lie begin?" He shook out the leather leggings, now dry and clean, and pulled them on, peering at his friend in disgruntled confusion.
"It is a lie? But you were unconscious when you were brought here. I am sorry, by the way, for dropping my defences and exposing you," Faron apologised. "Anyway, I only know the word started circulating last night among the barracks that their Lord had bedded you; the Noldor were having great fun at your expense. Some servant told them; neither you nor the mighty Lord Elrond made any effort to be quiet about it." He watched Legolas dressing and was much relieved to see he seemed just as arrogant and regally insufferable as ever.
"I was not unconscious when it happened, I assure you, and it was not your fault I was injured. The Noldor are sneaky and dishonourable; no sylvan would have struck after a truce was called, and indeed, none did. Anyway, it was just a minor concussion and I am fully healed." He blushed, realising how that sounded, but then smiled for it was true. He made an effort to be serious. "Are we banished from Imladris? Has anyone been imprisoned for kin-slaying?"
"Neither, not yet. Filigod and Lord Erestor prevailed against the general desire for revenge, though we would have done our best not to actually kill the culprit. We were all set to castrate the great and noble healer, without benefit of sedation using a rusty old dagger, and thus prevent any future rapes from occurring." Faron grinned as Legolas' gaze went wide and fearful.
"Ai! You wouldn't! You mustn't, muindor!"
"Nay, we won't," Faron laughed, then grew solemn. "I am relieved beyond words that this was all a misunderstanding. If anything like that ever happened to you " He stood and abruptly seized his cousin in a tight embrace. "Muindor."
"All is well, muindoren," Legolas felt his spirit fill with warm goodwill and returned the clasp heartily, then released his cousin with a soft push that dumped him back on the bed.
They fell quiet, Faron watching as Legolas pulled on a shirt and left the ties half open, fussing with the gaping fabric so that the vivid red passion mark was clearly on display. A speculative expression overtook his features and, seeing it, his cousin paused, returning an inquiring stare. Faron's smile grew. "So, not a virgin anymore?" He was rewarded with a dazzlingly impish grin and blue eyes shining with a lustre that was almost ethereal.
"I should say not," Legolas laughed, cheeks reddening a little more.
"And?"
"Valar! Why didn't you tell me it could be like this, alhand?" (idiot)
"He treated you well, then? I am glad for that much." Perhaps everything would be all right after all.
"That word," Legolas informed smugly, "is so insufficient to describe last night that I refuse to use it. He treated me like a god. I have never been so thoroughly worshipped in all my days. I didn't know it was possible to feel such such a sense of belonging, of possessing and being possessed, of ecstasy and contentment. I understand what is important in life now and why everyone puts up with all the troubles a lover brings. I feel almost that I was broken before, or incomplete, and now I am made whole. Faron, why didn't you ever tell me any of this? And I pleased him, too, very well, indeed." Legolas met a stare of mixed alarm and envy on his kinsman's face and sat beside him again. "Faron? What ails you?"
"What ails me? Legolas, you talk as though you are in love with this Noldorin Lord and ask me if Iam ill?" Faron handed him a comb and produced a second from his pocket, set about grooming the wild golden mane. It was a moment or two before Legolas began doing the same and Faron knew he was thinking this through, gave him time to examine his reaction to the admittedly life-altering event, confident Legolas would realise he was perhaps exaggerating his emotional response. The silence went on through the entire braiding and binding process and then Legolas handed over the comb with a soft sigh, his expression worried while his eyes remained darkly dreamy.
"I think I am, Faron, and I believe he loves me, too," he said, head filled with tragically romantic scenes. "It's a lot more complicated than I thought love would be. What am I going to do?"
"Legolas!" Faron was shocked beyond any ability to produce a rational reply. "You can't be! He certainly isn't."
"What do you mean by that?" demanded the prince, jumping up and glaring down, fists clenched. It was one thing to hear such from an insubordinate water-bearer, another to have his own cousin say it. "Why not? Who dares think it? Am I not worthy of such a love?"
"Tawar nin Beria, Legolas, I didn't mean it like that!" Faron rose, too, disturbed by his cousin's extreme response."You barely know him; how could you love him after one night together? Think for a moment, muindor; this is Lord Elrond we are talking about. You cannot love Toradar's much maligned Peredhel fuiad!"
"Adar has misjudged him," Legolas mumbled cheeks going pale as he thought about that unpleasant pejorative that fell so frequently from his father's lips whenever the topic of the Last Alliance came up. Celon'lir said it, too, as did many of the older warriors. He had not, but he had thought it and laughed along with the others at the disparaging comments and jests. Faron's point was not entirely without merit, either; what did he really know of this ellon save that he was an imaginative and gifted lover? Yet, what he had seen in those eyes was surely more than base lust. Or was it? Mayhap it is worse even than that.Was this the reason Elrond had refused to give his name? Was it nothing more than a game to him after all? "Ai Aramë," he groaned and sat down again, sorrow shielded behind trembling hands.
Faron could see the light dawning and hated the hurt Legolas must be feeling right now, but reasoned it was better to be realistic. He rubbed the hunched shoulders gently; how terrible to experience one's first sexual encounter and first heartache all within the span of a few hours. Legolas heaved a heavy sigh and straightened, met his gaze with such a look of betrayal and despair that he caught his breath. "Muindor, are you going to be all right?"
"Of course," Legolas frowned and again shoved the consoling hand off him as he reached for the boots Faron had brought. Like everything else, they had been cleaned of the mud and muck of the journey and were soft and dry. The guards took turns caring for his habit and personal things, trusting no others to ensure he was properly clothed and accoutred for patrol. It was a responsibility in which they took great pride and arguments broke out if anyone tried to take the duty for more than his allotted days. This was the eighth day of Filigod's turn and he could see extra care had been taken; his eyes stung and he determined to show the ancient general more respect than he had done of late.
I should have listened to him.
He wriggled his bare feet into the boots, succoured by the familiar, and berated himself for being such a selfish leader. His troops deserved better than this mess in which he had entangled them. He stood, resolved to extract them from the fiasco unscathed and preserve them from any harmful repercussions. "I am no child, Faron, and relinquishing virginity is generally cause for celebration instead of alarm. Come, we need to stop this rumour about rape at once. I will not have any blood spilled because of my reckless behaviour."
He strode out into the infirmary and came to an immediate stop, finding every eye upon him. Those eyes were leering and scornful and either raked him up and down with salacious curiosity or averted quickly to deny acknowledging him beyond that first look. He did not like it one bit and felt his cheeks burning, but he knew how to carry himself with dignity, recalling that he was Ernil Legolas Thranduilion and represented all of Greenwood the Great, the longest continuously occupied sovereign realm of elves anywhere on Arda, be they Noldorin, Sindarin, Galadhrim, Gondolindhrim, Avarin, or Sylvan, Doriath and all Beleriand included. Still, it was not an easy stroll to make and the days ahead stretched into an eternity of similar marches under the scrutiny of condemning eyes. "Faron, I want my brother here," he whispered, and walked on, permitting his cousin to take the lead as he had no idea how to get from the House of Healing to the barracks.
They were met on the way by Filigod and Lord Erestor, who passed his own evaluating inspection over the Mirkwood Prince, one brow quirking up a little and an appreciative half-smile rearranging his patrician features. None of the Wood Elves liked that smug, suggestive sneer and Faron issued a low, menacing growl, hand unconsciously gripping the hilt of the dagger at his waist, but Legolas addressed it by ignoring it coolly. He inclined his head in a formal and regal nod of acknowledgement. "Lord Erestor, I offer my apologies for the subterfuge perpetrated upon your country. It was solely my decision and my order and no reflection of Hiren Adar's views or intentions, not of my loyal guards and kin. No harm was meant; I simply desired to learn about this fair realm unhampered by the restrictions implicit upon those of my station and those of my race." There, let him think about who he is dealing with here.Legolas' chin lifted and so did both of the seneschal's brows.
Erestor blinked and his oily smirk vanished as he gazed into a pair of flashing blue eyes very much like Thranduil's, though the face owning them was far the fairer. He had not expected this warrior prince to shoulder any of the responsibility for the blunders of the night, nor to demonstrate such erudite and dignified diplomatic acumen. He should answer him, but discovered he was having a bit of trouble disengaging from those eyes. There was so much in them he had not considered: embarrassment, anger, sadness, strength, and indomitable pride. This was not an amusing situation at all, really, and Erestor suddenly felt great sympathy for the young prince. Few people had to endure exposure of the moment their virginity was lost. A private and crucial milestone of life had become a public joke and a political disaster, and Erestor found his anger toward Elrond rekindled. He bowed low, hand over his heart. "Ernil Legolas, I regret that you felt the need to undertake such a subterfuge at all. May I add, I am pleased to see you well."
"Of course I am well," Legolas bristled, tired of hearing this remark. One would think he'd been cut to the quick. Hands on hips, he glared at each in turn. "Time to crush this ugly lie." He turned and set off at a swift pace, following the ominous sounds of his warrior's complaining voices plotting revenge in the sylvan tongue, hearing real outrage and fury in them.
His heart softened; they were good folk and were restraining themselves admirably, for it was plain enough they were ready to do murder to avenge their prince's honour. He entered the long, low building to a loud chorus of welcoming voices and was immediately engulfed in a throng of touching hands, scanned by anxious eyes as one and all had to be satisfied that he was really here, well and whole. Or nearly so.He smiled and permitted the pats on the back, the squeezes to his biceps, the hug from Mallavorn, comforted by this outpouring of affectionate relief.
"Mellyn, mellyn," he said finally and they fell silent at once. "Your kind consideration and devotion moves my heart. I am deeply gratified to know you all care so much." He saw lots of warm, sad smiles that made his stomach lurch. What were they so sad about? "Please rest assured no harm has been done to me in any manner. This notion of rape is ridiculous and must nevermore be mentioned. Lord Elrond is a noble and honourable ellon who would never take unfair advantage of anyone." Eyes bulged and brows arched skyward on almost every face at this, but none dared contradict him. "He did not know who I am and we all know why, don't we? So you see, good Filigod was correct; I have brought this unseemly notice of my personal life upon myself. My foolish notions about avoiding the duties imposed by rank and position have come to ill as he predicted." The warriors watched him intently, many a rueful smile admitting they had thought just this very thing, and still they were unaccountably wistful and dew-eyed. Legolas swallowed down a sudden surge of emotion and cleared his throat.
"I know each of you were prepared to defend me against what you perceived to be a great wrong. I thank you for such dedication and fealty, and ask your forgiveness. I would not place you in such a dreadful position purposefully, caught between duty to me and courtesy to our hosts. I am proud that you awaited the evaluation of our Captain before declaring war on Imladris." A few laughs and nods answered this and he made himself smile at them, though now his heart felt heavy. "Let us put it all behind us, for as you see there is nothing amiss. I am not a child despite what Celon'lir may say and the decision regarding where, when, and with whom I would share this irreversible experience was mine to make, the consequences mine to shoulder." And even as the words left his mouth he understood the sorrow in their eyes and knew his showed the same. He faked a mischievous grin. "I dare say I spent the night far more enjoyably than any of you." Lots of quiet laughter and nodding heads for that; he had them convinced. "Now then, let us show our hosts a co-operative and willing spirit, mellyn, and make the best of our time here. Oh, and Filigod is sending for Celon'lir and Urrusc this very morning."
"Aye, and rightly so," said Mallavorn. "They should share the shame, Tuiw."
Legolas drew himself up to his tallest and fixed a cold, murderous eye upon the hapless warrior. "What shame would that be, Mallavorn?" he demanded.
"Oh," whimpered Mallavorn, shrinking from the angry glares everyone turned upon him. "None, none, Ernilen."
"None indeed," intoned Erestor, coming to stand beside the young woodland royal. He was quite impressed with the maturity with which Thranduilion handled the volatile situation. Legolas had shouldered all the blame for the misunderstanding, concealing Elrond's duplicity in failing to reveal his identity. He might as easily have cried foul and trumpeted the lie of omission before his people to save face, inciting them to disruptive outrage, lodging a formal claim of ill-use, at the very least, before the White Council. It was an entirely unexpected and noble action and he wondered if Elrond realised what a prise he'd won.
"Imladris is honoured by the presence of so esteemed a visitor to our lands. Let this day mark the beginning of a new accord between our peoples." He placed a careful, cautious but firm hand on the prince's shoulder and offered a genuine smile of admiration and friendship. After a few second's hesitation during which the seneschal's soul was thoroughly swept, which left him severely stunned and shaken, Legolas clapped a hand on his shoulder, too, and gave a serious but grateful smile back.
"So be it," the prince announced.
"Do you mean we are staying?" Faron blurted out in surprise. This catastrophe was the gravest and most personally embarrassing one his cousin had ever caused and was more than enough to warrant a speedy retreat back home.
"Of course we are staying," barked Legolas, stepping away from Erestor as he passed a challenging eye over the lot of them. "It would be a shame if we departed without fulfilling Hiren Adar's directive, would it not?"
Alarmed and confused glances were exchanged among the Wood Elves. This disaster was clearly more serious than a lost hunting hound and suddenly the idea that Legolas had been wronged returned. Why else would he still wish to wreak havoc on Imladris? Erestor noted the uneasy mood and became nervous in kind. He touched Legolas' arm.
"I concur with that sentiment. We are pleased with whatever reason caused Aran Thranduil to reach out to the western realms. It is high time we learned about each other and discarded these tired old stereotypes once and for all," he said, again trying to divine the intent behind those inscrutable azure irises and failing. Nonetheless, centuries of diplomatic experience warned that those intentions were not entirely benign. This was Thranduil's son, after all. Erestor unconsciously took a tiny little self-protective step back.
"Agreed," announced Filigod loudly, hands raised up as though in praise. "Let the past be laid to rest; a new era of alliance is upon us."
"Let us pray it is so," murmured Legolas, eyeing his captain askance and receiving an encouraging nod in return; the message was aloft; Celon'lir would come. Legolas smiled thinly at the august counsellor so many centuries his elder and took the trouble to remind him they were equals, and he had been slighted. "Now, Lord Erestor, if you would kindly direct me to the refectory, I have not eaten since yesterday at dawn and am mightily hungry."
As expected, his soldiers would not permit anyone else to see to his needs and he was plucked from Erestor's side. They herded him out the door and across the yard to the mess hall, spontaneously renewing their oaths of allegiance, their love and loyalty firmer than ever, promising to abide by every directive he made, and gleefully relating the tally of blows given and received during the brawl, subtly hinting that his conquest of the Lord of the Vale was the most significant. He did not feel inclined to argue with them or elaborate on his plans and ate without speaking, listening to them all, flanked by Faron and Filigod.
Glorfindel suspended all duty for the guests, having heard everything and then clarified the facts with Erestor. He was as surprised, grateful, and admiring of the young prince's demeanour as Erestor, and equally suspicious of what inspired it. They both realised the need for a day or two for both sides to accept the uncomfortable situation. It was immediately apparent that all bets were now off and any plan to make the visit unbearable enough to chase the Wood Elves out must be abandoned.
First and foremost, the Noldorin soldiers needed schooling in restraining their tongues, for this appalling conjunction of ill-suited lovers might not have happened had they not baited their Mirkwood counterparts and incited a riot. Between themselves, Glorfindel and Erestor agreed it would be best if the Wood Elves left, but they could not suggest it under the circumstances. Such an unforgivable offence might just turn their northern kinfolk into outright enemies instead of potential allies. Suddenly, they were forced to handle the primitive, barbaric Wood Elves with the delicacy and courtesy appropriate for any of the High Elves.
As for Legolas, he was tired, weary inside his soul, the sensation not unlike the way he felt when he thought of his mother, dead so long ago that he could not recall her face anymore. He was no longer floating on a cloud of euphoric joy and the sudden fall from those heights was a numbing shock that left him empty and homesick for Greenwood and his father. He shook loose from guards and kin alike and went wandering amid the gardens, desiring solitude as his mind churned with many questions, heart trembling with the possible answers his reason provided. Not all the answers were ugly and foreboding, but he found it impossible to recapture the sense of belonging and happiness the night's intimate encounter had instilled. In its place was an uneasy dread and the first pangs of an embryonic sorrow he did not want to acknowledge.
Lord Elrond had chosen not to reveal himself and that was not so upsetting, for he had done the same and imagined their reasons were similar. It was so difficult to slough off the trappings of state and just be a natural elf, to be evaluated and accepted on the merits of one's real personality and disposition. What had Legolas' heart in a quandary was the persistence of that little farce. He had felt immediately after the act that it was wrong to go on pretending to be anyone but himself with this ellon who had claimed him, body and soul. Elrond had not felt that same compunction.
Why? Had he perhaps known all along who his partner was? Had he done the deed on purpose to debase him and create the shameful public fiasco in which they were now embroiled? Yet that made no sense, for the revered Lord's reputation would surely suffer when Legolas' identity came to light. Or was the opinion of the Wood Elves so low among these Noldorin folk that it was all a huge joke to them? Perhaps they would praise their Lord as a clever conquerer to have so neatly fooled and despoiled the virgin prince, taking what could never be given to anyone ever again.
Legolas inhaled sharply, almost gasping, feeling that he could not get any air into his lungs, sight faltering as he stumbled to a bench and sat heavily, grasping the edge of the seat for support. It could not be that; it could not. What he had seen in those grey eyes could not be a lie. He repeated this to himself until his heart regained a normal rhythm and his head stopped spinning, then wiped his brow, finding a film of sweat there. Thirsty, he hastened to a cheerful brook and cast himself down to drink. The water refreshed him and he sat calmly, considered his situation anew. Like his good warriors, he would draw no conclusions and make no decisions until his meeting with Elrond on the morrow. There was no point in imagining the worst until there was evidence to support so horrible a reality. He should trust his instincts. Exhausted, unwilling to think about it anymore, he stretched out on the bank and dropped into an uneasy and restless reverie in which his mother's faceless figure berated his irresponsible behaviour.
The gruelling surgery done, the child at last awake and able to speak, Elrond indulged in a brisk stroll through the grounds to cleanse his spirit, clear his head, and stretch his muscles. On a whim, he elected to take the path to the bubbling stream, eager for the quiet privacy the location's distance from the house ensured. He had much to consider and could not suppress the remorse assailing him as his conscience derided his callous remarks to Erestor this morn. He should not have spoken so of Legolas, and not just because he was Thranduil's son. The young warrior had given him something precious and he had sullied it, perhaps ruining the memory of his first time forever. He did not know what to do to rectify the harm done; indeed, he feared to learn how severe the damage might be and simultaneously felt an urgent need to go to Legolas and to avoid him. In this addled frame of mind, Elrond came upon his young lover sprawled beside the brook.
TBC
© 03/03/2012 Ellen Robey
Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.
Elvish names and such:
Celon'lîr (River Song - Thranduil's eldest)
Ûrrusc (Fire Fox - Thranduil's nephew)
Tuiw. (Sprout - a pet name for Legolas)
Faron (Hunter - also Thranduil's nephew)
Mallavorn (Black and Gold - one of the warriors)
Filigod (Little Bird - Thranduil's councillor)
Condir O Gladgalen (Mayor of Greenwood - Filigod's Official Title)
Giliach (Star Crossing - Cel's false identity while in Lorien)
Tôradar (brother-father: uncle)
Hîren Adar (My Lord Father)
Hîr Adar mín (our Lord Father)
Ernil (Prince)
Ernil Vain, (Pre-eminent Prince)
Ernil Daid (Secondary Prince)
ion-an'weath (son-by-bond - son-in-law)
aurlinn (day-bird, a wood thrush)
Minya'mmë (grandmother)
thêl dithen. (little sister)
muindor laes, (baby brother)
nâr (rat)
muindoren (my brother - often used between close kindred like cousins)
Gondaran (Stone-lord - an Imladrian page)
Peredhel fuiad' (Half-elven Scum)