Note: Hello, friends! Thank you so much for reading and following. Peerless is a little project I began over a year ago when I was feeling blue, and I've picked it back up this season. You'll see lots of chapters dropping this month because I am using NaNoWriMo to add to my word count.
This is an AU that blends some of the film culture with the history from the books. I wanted to work primarily with a fictional lead, and I knew I wanted a Thranduil/Legolas face off. The POVs I'm using are really pretty unusual, nothing I would attempt to pitch to an agent unless the circumstances were exactly right, but it seemed like a fun thing to try—so I tried it!
Keep in mind as you're reading that what I'm essentially doing is spilling out a first draft here. This hasn't been cleaned or anything, so I'm going to need to go back and do some pretty heavy edits later. I know we all love the fandom though, and that those who are following the story will forgive me those oversights. The good news is that I have the whole thing plotted and I can't wait to share it with all of you! As always, don't be shy. If you have comments or ideas, feel free to share. They keep me inspired and I write faster if I know readers are jazzed about the content.
Happy November, and be well!
When Legolas reached the door to the bard's room, he leaned in closer to the panel and knocked gently with the back of one hand.
There was no answer.
He knocked again, more loudly, and waited. Again, nothing.
Truly worried now, he tried the lock and found the door open. "My lady!" he called softly, letting himself in.
All of the drapes were drawn, lending the room a chill and gloomy feel. He frowned. This was not right at all. He glanced over at the bed, expecting to find her curled up and sleeping—he hoped she had not taken a fever.
But it was empty.
"Filauria!" he called again, and heard a soft noise by way of a reply.
The sound came from the elleth's sitting room, which housed a few instruments and a dining table in case she needed to take meals in her apartments or entertain others. When he caught sight of her—up and dressed, at least—he was relieved. Then he saw her face.
Her eyes were terribly swollen, the skin of her face and neck blotched from weeping. It seemed she had been pacing in her reception area, wringing her hands in distress. She caught sight of him at almost the same instant he noticed her, and she gasped and turned away from him, preparing to flee—where? The closet?
"Lady," Legolas cried. "Filauria, come here! What is the matter?"
But she shook her head and would not face him, determined to hide herself away somewhere.
The Prince reached gently for her shoulders and pressed her arms soothingly. "Turn and face me," he murmured, and she did, looking pitiful. He went on in gentle tones, as though she were a wild animal that might startle at his approach. "You must tell me what is wrong so that I may assist you. Remember my promise?" and he ducked his head to peer worriedly into her glassy eyes. "By this hand," he added, showing it to her. "Come, now. We are friends first. Please tell me."
Filauria sobbed once and looked past his shoulder, then shook her head.
"Here," the Prince said. "This will not do." And he led her carefully to her dining table, making sure she was seated and as comfortable as possible before dashing out into the hall and instructing servants to bring water and hot tea. He requested also a cool cloth for the elleth's eyes, then returned to her and took her hand.
"What can I do to ease you?" he asked softly, choosing a different tactic.
She was beginning to take slow, gasping breaths, and to quiet a little. Tears still leaked from her eyes, and she wiped at them hastily.
Belatedly, Legolas offered her a fine linen handkerchief, which she took gratefully.
She finally took a breath and croaked, "Thank you."
He smiled sadly at her and waited.
"I do not think," she continued through a hopelessly congested nose, "That I will be able to sing or play today at court."
"No one will force you," he assured her. "But of course, if you are unwell, I'd like to know why, and in what capacity I may be of service to you. Are you hurt? Sick? Valar help us, has someone mistreated you?"
The elleth's eyebrows came together and her face crumpled. She dropped her head into her hands and emitted two sharp sobs.
Legolas shifted uncomfortably in his chair and waited, unwilling to watch the carnage of a beautiful elleth crying. He had never liked it. With her, it was almost unbearable.
"I'm not sick," she finally managed to croak out. "But I cannot say I am well. There is… there is someone here I do not wish to see."
He was horrified. "Do you want me to go?" he asked, sitting up stock straight.
"Not you," she corrected hastily through her tears. "Some of the Lorien elves…"
"But I thought them your blood kin!" Legolas cried hastily. "Surely, part of you is glad to see them."
And she leaned back in her chair and sighed. It seemed the flood of tears had finally stemmed, at least for now.
I wasn't really even sure what it might be appropriate to tell him. I didn't want anyone to know—did I?
Sharing the whole thing might bring some relief, I told myself. You've never given anyone the whole tale.
On the other hand, I feared revealing this bit of history about our family might make me seem—what? Weak? Soft, or simply too dramatic. My deep feelings on the subject seemed to fly in the face of who I was as an elleth, of what I valued. Pragmatism. Beauty. Order. Peace. This was—this was a knot of discord in an otherwise sorted life. It was messy. Dared I reveal it to anyone else? To my Prince?
He looked into my eyes so earnestly, his own a deep, glowing brown. The palm of his calloused hand was warm, covering the back of my chilled one. I could sense the concern radiating from him.
I tried one last time to divert him and be done with it. "Really," I said, sniffing and pressing my free fingertips to my aching eyes, "It doesn't matter. I do not feel well enough to entertain the guests from Lothlorien, and I think it bootless to talk about. I promise I will recover quickly, my Prince."
But that wasn't good enough for him. He pressed against the flat surface of the table and stood, striding to the tall casement windows of my bedroom. He'd left the door open, and the sound of servants approaching was growing more insistent. Then he gripped the long, silken draperies and pulled them open, bathing the room in mid-morning autumn light.
He turned back to me. "At the risk of sounding pushy," he said grimly, "No."
A gust of wind lifted a small maelstrom of autumn leaves outside the window, and I allowed myself to fixate on them for a moment.
"Whatever is wrong," the Prince continued, "Whatever has happened, I wish to mitigate it. Even if you do not tell me today or tomorrow, you can depend upon my asking you about this situation every single day until you see fit to enlighten me. Don't you see how unacceptable this is? You are not ill, yet you clearly cannot perform the office you were hired to do—and then you tell me it is because the presence of another elf is so upsetting to you that you wish to conceal yourself in these apartments all day? It is completely unlike you! How can that stand?"
When Legolas paused, I looked forlornly back up at him. "It is my problem to bear and no one else's," I said softly.
He shook his head firmly. "Not any longer."
And so I told him.
It was painful, but we sat in my chambers with cool water and blessedly hot tea and talked the whole thing through. I told him how Dalyon and I had met young and fallen in love while my younger sister was away on a pilgrimage, how it had seemed the Valar had planned our union in the heavens. I told the Prince that my mother had looked favorably on the match, and how I had begun to plan our wedding.
Then I told him how, when my sister had returned to Lothlorien flushed with the excitement of travel, Dalyon had gaped at her beauty. How when he spent time with our family, he seemed to go out of his way to get to know her. And finally, weeping, I told him how my lover had cut ties with me, explaining that Yrathea was the one his heart desired to build a life with, and that he would always love me—as a sister.
Legolas was disturbed. "What did your mother have to say about this?" he demanded.
"Dalyon was of exemplary birth," I said helplessly. "She was just happy that one of us had captured his attention. It didn't seem to matter which."
He shook his head.
I bathed my eyes with a cool cloth dipped in water. The sounds it made it the little stone bowl were comforting.
"They are both here, now—today," I finished. "They attend the Lady Galadriel. I am not certain how long the envoy will stay, but I doubt anyone knows. I cannot bear to see them so happy together."
He wasn't looking at me when he asked, "Do you still love him?"
And I frowned and glanced down at my hands. Did I?
The room seemed to grow very still while I thought, and when I finally exhaled a breath and said that I didn't know, it seemed the Prince released one as well.
"I don't think so," I added. "I just," and my eyes stung with tears. "I just want them to go away. If I never saw either of them again, that would be fine. I wish I had never met Dalyon."
Legolas nodded thoughtfully. "What he did was unkind." He looked over at me. "And foolish. It is his mistake—and a grave one at that. Anyone whose heart works in that cruel way is an unfit match for Filauria Ilitris. She deserves much better."
His smile warmed me until I felt my cheeks flush.
After his visit, I took a languid nap and then soaked in the baths, taking care to scrub the rough areas with salts and apply oils to my dampened skin until I glowed with it. I showed my body the care and attention it so desperately needed. I knew what I had to do that evening, and I wanted to be rested and ready for it.
As I let the warm water bear my body and soothe my cramped muscles, I recalled one of the last things Legolas had said to me before he'd left my quarters.
It had startled me, because while everyone knew that at times his eyes changed color, very rarely was anyone privy to the actual turning. At first I thought I was imagining it, that it was a trick of the light or due simply to a reflection from my wide casement window. But toward the end of our conversation, I realized I had seen my Prince's eyes move from deep brown to a honeyed hazel, and finally settle on a dark blue.
He had stood before my window and taken his leave, saying, "This is not a thing you have to do. But it would put you in a position of power once more. Remember; you are not a weak, young elleth. You have come through much, and garnered attention from very powerful members of our society—simply due to your own excellence. You need not feel any shame, for you've done nothing wrong. If you still wish to do this, and you feel fear at any point, merely look over at me and I will lend you my strength and support. Just remember to look at me."
I ducked my head under the water for a final rinse with Prince Legolas' words in my ears.
Later that evening, I dressed carefully and took my time with my hair and face. I wore the gold gown, deciding that it probably couldn't hurt to appear in something Thranduil Elvenking had already admitted he preferred.
I arranged my hair simply but thoroughly, affixing tiny braids in a geometric crown pattern at the top of my head to connote that I was unbonded to any other. The rest I let fall in loose waves to my waist.
I met my own eyes in the looking glass before I departed, noting the determined gaze I found there.