Laer, Imladris, 2459 T.A.
Elrohir stood by the practice fields, watching as Elladan continued to spar with Glorfindel. He shook his head as his twin was disarmed and thrown yet again, but refused to stay down. His twin’s battered emotions were reflected in his black mood and sparring seemed to be the most constructive way to release his anger.
“Your brother is quite persistent, but Glorfindel seems to grow tired of besting him.” Haldir’s hot breath against Elrohir’s neck caused him to stiffen and quickly step away. Elrohir clenched his jaw and ignored the Galadhel. He was not going to take the bait. But Haldir would not be dissuaded. “I wonder why he is so adamant? Mayhap he is working off his frustrations… since his king left so suddenly.”
Elrohir spun and turned steely grey eyes upon the Marchwarden as he hissed, “What are you implying?”
Haldir leaned in close, his smile wicked. “I imply nothing. I watched as your twin opened his legs for Thranduil. Even though he is nothing but that Sinda’s slut, I would take him back to my bed... I will make certain to work him hard to relieve his frustration.”
Eyes narrowed in fury, Elrohir reached back, balled his hand into a fist and punched Haldir, then set upon him. His brother and father had been through far too much, and Haldir stood here, reveling in the misery he had caused! “You orc spawned bastard!” Caught off guard, and stunned by the ferocity of Elrohir’s attack, the Marchwarden went down and could do nothing but try to deflect the punches and kicks flung at him. “You Valar accursed son of a warg! How dare you!”
Soon Elrohir was dragged away from Haldir by Elladan, while Glorfindel pulled Haldir to stand. The younger twin was still furious and Elladan had to restrain him. “Tôr! Stop this!”
Glorfindel glared at Elrohir and Haldir. Elves under his command did not brawl. “Elrohir! Explain yourself.” Haldir wiped his cut lip and bloody nose on his sleeve; he was about to protest when he was cut off. “You will get your say, Marchwarden.”
After jerking his arm from his twin’s grasp, Elrohir straightened up and looked Glorfindel directly in the eye. “I was merely defending my brother from this… this son of a Nazgûl!” He turned to Elladan, his eyes pleading for understanding, “I could not stand idly by while he said such things, ‘Dan. He… he is the one that told Adar.”
Elladan frowned, his lips drawing tightly together and his eyes flashing. “I know that, ‘Roh. I do not need your protection from such as him.” He spoke contemptuously, and ignored Haldir. “Do me no more favors.” Elladan stormed away, leaving a stunned Elrohir in his wake.
Haldir looked up at Glorfindel expectantly, “Are you not going to do something about this unprovoked attack upon my person?”
Glorfindel smiled maliciously at Haldir, “Aye, Marchwarden, I am going to forget that anything untoward occurred here and you will do the same… or live to regret it.” The Elda’s voice was low and filled with tacit menace. His lord’s entire family had been buffeted by emotional storms since the King of Mirkwood left, including ice that had not yet thawed between the lord and lady. Now that he had learned that it was Haldir that set everything in motion, Glorfindel wanted to wipe the ground with the arrogant Galadhel, but his honor and sense of duty held him back.
Haldir’s eyes glittered, but he recognized that now was not the time to argue with the Elda. Raising his chin, he straightened his back and strode away with as much pride as he could muster under the circumstances.
Elrohir glared after the Marchwarden and then turned to follow his brother when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder. “What? Surely you understand why I hit him?”
Glorfindel nodded his head, “Aye, he deserves far worse than you gave him, but I hold you so that you will not follow Elladan.”
“What? But, I need to explain…”
“Leave him be for now, ‘Roh. He needs time. There is much for him to think on.” Glorfindel wrapped an arm about Elrohir’s shoulders and tugged him toward the practice field. “Besides, I need some help gathering and cleaning the weapons.”
Elrohir gazed after Elladan, but reluctantly acquiesced. “Very well.”
Elrohir walked into the rooms he still shared with Elladan. The tension surrounding his twin had continued to fester; the culmination occurred when he announced his decision to leave with Gildor’s band. The resulting outcry from both their parents had left Elrohir exhausted from defending his brother’s choice. Elladan had stormed out earlier, and would not be deterred from his course.
Elrohir found his twin dozing on his stomach, a wide mithril band cupped in his hand, with his pack at his feet, his belongings strewn half in and half out. Though they had never spoken of it, he well knew from whom Elladan had received the armlet. He knew what was going on in his brother’s mind and heart. He silently threaded his fingers through raven hair, sighing softly. They had never been parted for any length of time. This extended separation was going to be painful, but if it was what Elladan needed, Elrohir would support him.
Elladan awoke at the soft touches and quickly slid the mithril band under his pillow. “Tôr?” he asked, his voice fuzzy from sleep.
Elrohir sat down on the side of the bed before replying, “Though neither are happy, they have agreed…”
“And you?”
“I cannot lie to you… I do not wish to be parted. I would gladly go with you, but I have heard you, and I think I understand. I will be here when you return.”
Elladan sat up and drew his brother to him, hugging him tightly. “Thank you, tôr. I needed your agreement.”
Elrohir hugged him back and quietly whispered. “Always. I hope you find the peace you seek.”
Ethuil, Mirkwood, 2509 T.A.
Thranduil stood as the Great Gates slowly opened and watched from the top of the stairs as the colorful procession of wagons, carts, and elves filled the large outer courtyard. He smiled widely when he saw the familiar golden blond head as Gildor rode up. Hurriedly he strode down to meet his old friend, uncaring if Galion or Legolas could keep up.
Gildor grinned as he dismounted and met Thranduil. They embraced tightly. The king pulled back and surveyed the wanderer. “It has been too long. I began to believe that you were too afraid to travel in my realm…” his voice teased as he snaked an arm around Gildor’s waist. He turned, and Neledhon, Gildor’s second, had dismounted and was standing before him. Releasing Gildor, he grasped Neledhon’s arm in a warrior’s greeting. “Well met. I have missed our games of chance.”
Neledhon chuckled, “Only because you always win. Somehow there is no ‘chance’ when we play games together, your Majesty.”
Thranduil was nodding and smiling, happy to have such good friends back for a time, but his face froze when a third rider dismounted and walked slowly to the group. He could not hear Neledhon’s words as a thunderous pounding began in his ears. The sight of Elladan, even after this long, still affected the king greatly and only long practice at impassivity kept him from revealing just how much. When Elladan stepped beside Neledhon and wrapped an affectionate arm about the wanderer’s waist, Thranduil was almost overcome.
Quickly regaining his composure Thranduil nodded politely in greeting to Elladan. “Welcome to Mirkwood, Elladan Elrondion.” He silently prayed that the others had caught up to him just as he felt footsteps behind him. “I am sure you remember my son, Prince Legolas? And this is Galion, my seneschal. He will lead you to your rooms and see that you are well looked after. I apologize for such a curt greeting, but I have urgent business to attend to. Legolas and Galion are quite capable hosts in my absence.” He directed a firm glance to Galion before continuing, “It was a pleasure.” With that, he turned and fled, barely stifling the urge to run.
Gildor watched intently as the entire scene unfolded. Though Thranduil was a consummate actor, his slight flush and widening pupils gave away his feelings on meeting Elladan once again, and his abrupt departure signaled that this would be a tension filled visit, especially as Elladan seemed intent on publicly proclaiming that Neledhon was ‘his’.
Thranduil stretched his aching muscles and hurried toward his rooms. He would normally have soaked in the public baths after sparring, but he did not dare while the Wandering Company was visiting. The last thing he needed was to see an unclothed Elladan ministering to Neledhon. Sighing, his steps quickened at the thought of a warm bath. As he turned the corner to his rooms, he saw Gildor leaning against his door. Having been seen, he had no choice but to continue on to his rooms.
“Gildor, what are you doing here at this hour?”
Gildor took Thranduil’s arm in his own and tugged the king into his chambers. “Crack open your private stock and then we can talk about why you have been avoiding me… among other things.”
Protesting, Thranduil allowed himself to be dragged into his rooms. “I am not avoiding you.” Waving toward the sitting area, the king walked to his wine cabinet and poured two glasses of a deep, rich, red Dorwinion wine. Handing a glass to Gildor, the king sat down next to the Wanderer. “I have been busy and was looking forward to a nice long soak.”
Taking a sip of the heady wine, Gildor breathed in as the complex flavors bloomed upon his tongue. Finally satisfied at the vintage, he turned an intense stare to Thranduil. “You may fool everyone else, but you cannot lie to me.” He cupped the king’s chin in his hand and forced their eyes to meet. “I know you. Sparring with the last round, near midnight? Sitting in Council the entire day? That is avoidance, so tell me… why? Have I angered you in some way? If so, tell me, that I can remedy it. I will not have hurts between us.”
Thranduil slumped in the sofa. He was bone tired and heart sore. Leaning back, with closed eyes, he spoke, “It is not you. It is those shadows of yours…”
“Neledhon? But what…”
The king interrupted, shaking his head. “Not Neledhon… his… companion.” Thranduil wondered what Gildor thought of Neledhon’s relationship, but he left that question unspoken.
Gildor nodded. “Oh. I wondered.” He sighed, clearly remembering Elladan’s state when he joined the Wandering Company and now Elrond’s request made sense. “Elladan asked to join the company and I agreed, but Elrond spoke with me before we left. He requested that we not come here…”
Thranduil snorted, but did not open his eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
“You should speak to him.” Gildor’s voice was low and he expected an outburst at his comment, but instead Thranduil slumped further.
The king opened his eyes and turned toward his friend, “It is too late for that. Elrond loathes me and would see me dead before he would speak to me now. I only furthered the problems between us when I ignored his warning to stay away from his sons.” He shook his head ruefully, “Nay, no words can undo the past.”
Gildor disagreed, “You are wrong. It is never too late to make things right. I, of all people, should know.”
“Can we not change the subject?” Thranduil hated the almost petulant tone that crept into his voice. Even after all these years, Gildor still had the ability to make him feel like a misbehaving elfling with a mere look or shift of his voice.
“Nay.” Gildor shook his head, asking, “Is what Elrond says of you true?” Thranduil’s brow creased in confusion, so the wanderer continued, “That you have no heart.”
“You know me better than that…” Thranduil’s voice trailed off and his head fell back, his eyes closed.
Gildor rested his hand upon the king’s shoulder. “Aye, I do. But I need you to hear his side. He has cause to be bitter.”
Thranduil sighed, but did not open his eyes. “He does. I handled everything badly... Adar and half my people were slaughtered before my eyes. How was I to handle suddenly being thrust into my father’s place? I was king… responsible for what was left of my people… and totally unprepared.” He shook his head, not wanting to revisit the memories from that time. He had been hurt and scared witless, but could not fail. His voice grew soft, “I never intended to cast him aside, but he was not… we were not in love.”
Gildor stroked the king’s cheek, offering comfort. None who were there had good memories of the Morannon. “Do not deceive yourself, if he did not care for you it would not have been such a blow. And, now look at what you have wrought.”
Pained eyes opened and met Gildor’s. “Are you saying that I deserve this?”
“Nay, just that it should not be unexpected.”
“It was not a complete surprise, but I was shocked that Elrond would seek his revenge through Elladan instead of directly with me.” Thranduil closed his eyes and swallowed, willing the hurt away. “I never even saw him again, but I could feel his pain from his letter.”
Gildor pressed his hands against Thranduil’s cheeks and forced the king to look at him. “It is not about vengeance, pen neth. He truly believed that you intended to use and cast Elladan aside. He only wanted to protect his son. It is nothing you would not do for Legolas.”
Thranduil met Gildor’s glare and cringed. “Forgive me?”
“I am not the one you need to ask that of.”
Resigned, the king nodded. “You have made your point.” Exhaustion overwhelmed him and he tossed his arm over his eyes.
Gildor gently tugged Thranduil up. He had not intended to dredge up the past and flail the king with it. “Go take the bath that I so rudely interrupted. Rest. You look as though you have not in far too long.”
The king was drained, and revisiting all the old conflicts and emotions left him feeling vulnerable. He allowed himself to be pulled up, but wrapped his arms about Gildor, needing comfort and reassurance.
Gildor sighed and held tightly to Thranduil. At this moment the king reminded him much more of the young princeling that he had mentored than the confident ruler he had become. “Forgive me, pen neth. My intent was not to wound you, I was worried that you were angry with me. After all that we have been through, I could not bear for you to avoid me.”
Thranduil pulled away, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, “I know you would never knowingly hurt me. From the first, I placed my trust in you, and that has never been a mistake.”
“Then get some sleep. You will need it. I expect a full tour tomorrow, some sparring, and then you must introduce me to your newest courtesans,” Gildor leered.
Laughing, his mood much improved, Thranduil showed the wanderer out. After bathing, his sleep was more restful than it had been since the company arrived.
Summer Solstice, Mirkwood, 2509 T.A.
Elladan was glad for the familiarity of Neledhon’s arm as they entered the Great Hall. The cavern was so large that the ceiling was lost in darkened heights, but the visible portion was aglow and for a moment it was hard to remember that he was deep underground. The room sparkled under the glow of thousands of candles and lanterns whose light glinted and reflected off a myriad of surfaces: cut crystal, polished metal, and gleaming gems. The effect was dazzling and brought a smile to the elf-warrior’s features as he leaned in to speak to his lover. “It is amazing!”
Neledhon nodded and guided them toward the high table where he knew they would be seated, in deference to Elladan’s position. “Did I not tell you? Mirkwood puts on an incredible celebration… the feast is merely the beginning.” Smiling widely, Galion greeted the new arrivals and introduced them to the other guests as he showed them to their seats. Elladan noted that the king was not yet in attendance as he continued to take in the wonders of the hall. The buffet tables were groaning with the abundance of food and drink, and soft music filtered throughout the hall, seeming to come from everywhere at once.
Neledhon leaned close to his lover and whispered, “It gets better… just wait.” He grinned mischievously and then kissed Elladan tenderly.
As their lips met, Elladan stiffened momentarily, but then enthusiastically gave into the kiss and tangled his hands in his lover’s hair, holding tightly. Neledhon could not see that the king had arrived in the hall at the same time that he leaned in for the kiss. And now, the elf-warrior was unreserved in showing his passion for the wanderer, not bothering to stop until Thranduil and Gildor approached the dais.
The meal was a relaxed affair, and both Elladan and Thranduil kept their eyes diverted from the other except for the stolen glances that each took when the other was not looking. As dinner wound down, servants began to remove tables, replacing them with couches, benches, chairs and cushions. Soon the center of the room was bare and only the high table was left. More servants efficiently cleared away the last of the dishes before the high table itself was collapsed and taken away. This left the esteemed guests on the dais with the best view of the upcoming entertainers.
The first performers were the children. They walked in slowly, their green robes mimicking Yavanna’s finery as they raised their voices in heartfelt songs to the Lady of the Earth, the giver of the fruits that sustained and fed their souls as well as their bodies. The performance was warm, and earnest, and many proud parents beamed as everyone applauded loudly. The children were ushered out by their minders and changed before spending the evening at a carnival in the gardens.
Gildor smiled after the elflings. Even the few young ones from his troop had joined in and reveled in celebrating the Solstice in Mirkwood. The Silvans had once again created an unforgettable festival.
Bright, gay music swelled after the retreating children, and a company of entertainers burst into the room. More and varied colored lanterns were added as the jugglers performed amazing feats that left the audience in awe, but it was nothing when compared to the acrobats whose frenzied human pyramids, tumbles, dives and contortions left mouths agape. The crowd roared its approval as the company left.
Songs, both happy and mournful, were next as a makeshift stage was being built. Then the local troupe performed a play in honor of Oromë. The hour was growing late and Thranduil’s eyes more often rested upon Elladan, watching as he held and swayed to the music with Neledhon. He stared at the glass of wine in his hand and tensed to stand, needing to be away from this place of torment, but was stopped by a hand on his wrist. His eyes met Gildor’s and he turned to glance where the other indicated. Thranduil stifled a gasp as he glimpsed Elladan, standing in a lone shaft of light, wearing nothing but leggings and holding a bright sword aloft.
He should have known… the Wandering Company always performed a dance when they attended the festivities. That Elladan would star was something he had not contemplated. He tensed and icy blue eyes turned to glare at Gildor who was smiling as a primitive drum beat began. Suddenly, lights flared and Elladan was surrounded by the minions of darkness. The music swelled and a battle raged. As the half-elf was about to be overcome, a golden light appeared and Oromë strode in, loud blasts from his horn destroying the evil ones.
The crowd shouted and roared as Oromë lifted the rescued elf and swept him up into a blistering kiss. Thranduil turned his head and grimaced. He had seen enough of Elladan and Neledhon together.
Every muscle in the king’s body was rigid, held tightly in check to keep his emotions at bay. He needed to escape, but could not until the last performance was done. Once the formal entertainment was finished, he could leave and let the others delight in the wildness and freedom of the night, but there would be no revelry for the King of Mirkwood, not this Solstice. He refused to look toward the performers and merely stared into the glass of wine he held.
Gildor nodded toward the king and sipped his wine, unaware of Thranduil’s turmoil. A soft drum beat began to fill the room. It started so low that it could only be felt, but as it grew in intensity, a single flute added to the cadence. Soon a harp joined in and the soft sultry song began to speed up. As hearts in the hall quickened, the notes ceased and standing in the center of the room were four courtesans, two ellith and two ellyn. The silky garments they wore clung to their bodies like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. In the flickering candlelight, the cloth seemed to change colors, shifting and mutating as their bodies twirled and intertwined. The music resumed and the dance began in earnest. It started slow and sinuous, highlighting the lithe bodies and their flexibility. As the music swelled, the ellith fell aside, lying stretched out upon the ground, their arms held up in entreaty, while the two ellyn leapt and twirled, their dance growing increasingly erotic and throbbing. The final notes crashed through the room and Surion leapt into the other courtesan’s arms, where he was held aloft, his body parallel to the ground. As the final note died, Surion arched, his body bending into a perfect bow, long raven hair sweeping the ground.
The crowd was completely silent for a brief instant and then the room erupted; loud applause and cheers echoed throughout the hall. The king’s eyes slid from the performers and briefly met Elladan’s. The moment their eyes met, Elladan leaned over and nuzzled his lover’s neck, never breaking the charged glance he shared with the king. Thranduil growled under his breath as pain and anger flared in his chest. The four courtesans approached the dais, and he smiled at them, acknowledging each, but silently making his wishes known to the raven-haired beauty.
Standing, the King of Mirkwood said the Solstice blessing and gave his own blessing for the fullness of the coming year. Music and dancing immediately consumed the room as he stepped down and took Surion’s hand in his. Surprise showed on Thranduil’s face when Gildor wrapped his arm about his waist as they left the great hall together.
Unbeknownst to the king, silver grey eyes stared after them as the three elves left the festivities.
They arrived at the royal enclave and Thranduil smiled, taking pity on the two guards stationed at the entrance. “Go. I will not need you tonight and you have missed enough of the revelries.” At the hesitation displayed by his guards, the king chuckled, “This is no test… go! I will make sure your captain does not misunderstand.”
The guards needed no more words. It was the worst of duties to miss out on the festivities, but it was exceedingly cruel to miss them while being near enough to hear the music and revelry. They were off in a flash.
The three elves smiled after their retreating forms as they entered the private quarters of the royals. Thranduil locked the door behind them and entered the large sitting area. He poured three glasses of wine and nodded to the others. “Surion, this is Gildor Inglorion, head of the Wandering Company.” He tipped his head toward Surion. “Gildor, this is Surion. He is one of my newest courtesans and quite a talent, as you have seen.”
He handed the glasses out and then dropped gracelessly to the leather sofa. Surion stood awkwardly for a moment, but quickly gained his composure and placing the glass aside, he dropped to his knees before the king. With bowed head he spoke, his voice filled with promise, “Sire, what would you have of me? I am yours for the night.”
Thranduil looked at the bowed head, the raven hair reminding him too acutely of the only dark hair he desired. He looked up to Gildor and raised his eyebrows, the offer clear. The wanderer smiled, but shook his head, refusing. The king reached down and tilted Surion’s chin up, gazing into bright green eyes, “I am giving you to yourself for this night, my beauty. Go… do what you will… I ask but one thing… that you stay away from all of those in Gildor’s company.”
Surion looked up, confused. He smiled suggestively at Gildor but received no response, so turned his eyes back to his king. “If that is your wish, Sire. You know that I enjoy your company, although it has been exceedingly rare of late.”
Thranduil stood and pulled Surion to stand. He wrapped strong arms around the lithe form and kissed the courtesan’s temple. “It is my wish. On this night, I would see you free to do nothing, if that is your desire.”
Surion nodded, still hesitant, “A night to myself?” He mused, shocked at the notion. “With merely a book and some tea?” He wrapped his arms around Thranduil’s neck and stood on tiptoes, kissing the king brazenly before pulling away. “Thank you, Sire!” He quickly left the room, reveling in an unexpected night of freedom.
Thranduil watched him leave, a bemused smile on his face. He sat back down on the sofa, gesturing for Gildor to join him, inordinately grateful for the Elda’s presence.
After finishing his wine, Gildor broke the lingering silence, “So tell me what is on your mind that you refuse such a beauty on this night, of all nights?”
The king toyed with his empty glass and sighed, “I have lately come to the realization that I cannot have what I want and all others, including that one, pale in comparison. The act has lost meaning, as has so much…” His voice trailed away, and he dropped his head to the back of the sofa, closing his eyes.
Gildor scooted close and brushed blond strands away from Thranduil’s face. Lines and dark circles painted the fair face. “Pen neth, I had no idea… what can I do?” His brows creased with worry for his friend. He had never seen him so lost before, not even after his wife died.
Without opening his eyes, he spoke softly and asked, “Take him away from here?”
Gildor’s eyes stung as Thranduil’s pain wounded him. He pressed a soft kiss to the king’s temple, and nodded, “We will be gone before the week is out. But what of tonight?”
Thranduil opened his eyes and met Gildor’s blue-grey gaze. “Stay?”
Wrapping his arms about the king, Gildor nodded. He tipped his head and tenderly pressed their lips together. “Aye.”
As he strapped his belongings onto his mount, Elladan realized that he had left his belt pouch in the drawer of his bedside table. Not wanting to delay their departure, he rushed back to his room to retrieve it. In his hurry to return to the courtyard, he rushed through the corridors without paying attention.
Thranduil left the council chambers with relief. The wandering company was leaving and things could at last return to normal. Lost in thought as he turned a corner, he collided with a firm body. He froze as he recognized whom he had ran into. Elladan. The king’s eyes locked onto the Peredhel’s full lips and he unconsciously reached out to run his thumb over the petal soft flesh, wondering if it was still as inviting. His callused thumb grazed lightly over Elladan’s lips, recalling how their first kiss had been his undoing. A sudden intake of breath pulled Thranduil from his reverie and his eyes shot up to meet Elladan’s. Instead of meeting the remembered warm gaze, he saw only narrowed eyes flashing angrily. His hand hovered for a moment longer, then fell. He managed to croak out, “Forgive me…” before turning and hurrying away.
Elladan stood unmoving as he watched Thranduil flee. He lifted his hand to his lips, gently touching the still tingling skin. Closing his eyes, he collapsed back against the wall and drew in deep breaths. It was good that they were leaving. His resolve faltered from a simple touch. If they remained any longer, he knew he would no longer be able to stay away from Thranduil. Steeling himself, he straightened and rushed to the courtyard.
Gildor stepped from the shadows, saddened beyond measure. Both were so affected by the other, it was maddening that they were determined to stay apart. Shaking his head, he followed Elladan with slow steps and a heavy heart. They were leaving, but they should not be. He hoped that one day soon, they could face each other and talk.
Iavas, Mirkwood, 2509 T.A.
The grey rain sluicing down his arms and face, obscuring his vision, perfectly matched Thranduil’s foul mood. He barely heard the frustrated curses of his guards when the soaking rain kept the pile of carcasses from igniting. They could manage without him. At the moment he was lost in his own world.
“Sire?” Brandor tried to gain the king’s attention, but failed. He surreptitiously eyed Thranduil’s wounds and thought that none were life threatening. There were others to see to, and even though the king was not himself, he would want his warriors tended first. The captain stepped down from the raised outcropping. He surveyed the area and shook his head. They had been badly outnumbered, but somehow still prevailed.
A short while later the pyre was finally burning, and Brandor looked up when a rider approached. Recognizing the prince, Brandor stood and saluted. “Your Highness? Is there something wrong?”
Legolas jumped down from Amrûn and greeted the surprised captain with a strong clasp of arms. “Nay, Brandor. The delegation from Lake Town is here. They expected the king to meet with them.” The prince huffed slightly, his frustration evident. His eyes widened as he took in the number of wounded elves and the large pyre. “What happened?” His mouth suddenly dry, he swallowed. “Where is Adar?”
Brandor tilted his head toward the outcropping. “We were ambushed. It was a huge party… well organized… I fear what this means…” He let the words fade away. They had enough to contend with at the moment. Sensing the prince’s annoyance, he put his hand on Legolas’ arm. “Go easy on him, ernilen. He is… not himself of late.”
Legolas looked into the elder captain’s eyes. Brandor was loyal and steadfast, having served the realm under Oropher. There was almost nothing that he did not know about Thranduil, so the prince could be honest. “I worry for him. He neglects his duty and, instead, spends all his time out on patrol. It is almost as though he wishes to be injured… or worse.”
His voice low, Brandor sought to ease the prince’s fear. “He is more reckless than usual, but I never leave his side. Menelglar has his back. We will not let him fall.” The captain worried about his king’s mental state, but never doubted his fighting ability. “If he had not been here, we might not have prevailed. There is none better at inspiring the best in all of us. I know he needs to be there, but if being out here, fighting, eases his mind, can you not take his place in the palace?” He tried to cajole the prince. “You are a better diplomat than he ever was.”
Legolas smiled in spite of himself. It was true. His father was no diplomat, but he was still the king. He clasped Brandor’s arm and nodded. “I promise to shout no more than he ever has at me.” His eyes were bright, but when he turned and looked up at the solitary figure standing in the rain, his face fell. This was not going to be easy.
“Adar?” The prince hated how tentative his voice sounded. When the king did not turn or even acknowledge his presence, he touched his father’s shoulder. “Please, Adar? We need to talk.” His eyes scanned the king’s form and noted the many small cuts and bruises. Legolas sucked in air when he noted the gash on his leg. It was still seeping blood, and had to be painful; it was long overdue to be looked after.
Anger warred with fear and Legolas forced himself in front of his father and into his face as he snapped. “Adar! Stop this… this wallowing in self-pity! It is not like you nor is it becoming for the King of Mirkwood to behave so!” The prince’s heart thudded in his ears. Had he pushed too hard?
Thranduil blinked a few times and shook his head to clear it. Legolas stood before him, fuming, his arms crossed and his face contorted with anger… or was it fear? The words slowly registered and the king looked down at his leg. It should hurt, but the empty numbness that had slowly engulfed his heart seemed to have spread to his limbs and he felt nothing. It was like looking at someone else’s leg.
As his father finally looked at him, Legolas bit back a cry. The king’s eyes were wide, blank pools in a too pale face. The prince grabbed his father tightly and held him, fearing that his injury could be life threatening if he had no will to live. “Adar. I am here. Your wounds need tending.”
When he was in his son’s arms, Thranduil could feel once again. He realized then that Morgul poison was quickly overtaking him from his leg wound as the world came crashing down on him and he collapsed.
Galion rushed into the healing rooms only to be stymied from going further than the waiting area. Legolas was then summarily pushed from a room, the door hastily closed behind him. Galion looked up at the prince whose face was drawn with worry, his clothes and hands covered in blood. “How is he?”
The prince could only shake his head. Tears threatened and he could not speak and keep them at bay.
Galion moved to the prince and wrapped his arms tightly around the younger elf. Legolas was like his own grandson and he needed comfort. “Your father is strong. This is not the first time he has fought off vile poison. He will not leave you. He swore that to your mother.”
The strong embrace and reminder of his mother loosed Legolas’ resolve and the tears flowed. He was scared. If he lost his father, his people would expect him to take the throne. He knew he was no king, no leader, not yet, no matter what others might say. “He cannot die! I… our people would suffer.”
Galion pulled back to force Legolas to look at him. The prince looked lost and frightened. “You are Thranduil’s son. The blood line of Oropher is strong and no matter the circumstances, each takes on leadership in his own way. You could be king, if necessary, but do not count your father out just yet.”
Legolas nodded, still unconvinced, but certain that he could do what was needed. It was his duty and responsibility. “I know he is strong, but lately…”
Galion sighed and dragged the prince over to a sofa so they both could sit. Lack of sleep and food caused Legolas to look as though he would fall over any moment. Nodding, he replied, “He has been worrying me as well, your highness. The king is strong, but his heart has always been his vulnerability and seeing Elladan here… with another… it seemed to crush something inside of him.”
The seneschal was deeply worried for Thranduil. He had watched over him since he was an elfling. The possibility that he might lose him was too horrible to contemplate. He spoke, as much for himself as for the prince, “Your father will not give up, especially if we both remind him of his duty… to our people, and to you. Once the healers are done with him, we will watch over him, but for now, you should clean up and sleep. I will send for you if anything changes.”
A large yawn overtook the prince who was curled up next to Galion. He nodded and slowly stood, stretching out stiff muscles. “Aye, if I do not go now, I will be asleep in two heartbeats here. Watch over him for me and I will return in a few hours.”
Iavas, Lothlórien, 2509 T.A.
Elladan bolted up in bed, confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. Gradually his vision cleared and the dimly lit room came into focus. It had only been a dream… a horrible nightmare. The thundering of his heart slowed, and he tried to relax back into the bed. But instead of being comforting, the warm body next to him felt stifling. Huffing in frustration, the remnants of the dream refusing to be banished, Elladan stood and walked to the railing.
Lothlórien in the darkest hours before dawn was beautiful. The woods’ silence and diffuse silvery glow was soothing and restorative. As Elladan leaned upon the rail, breathing in the scent of mallyrn blossoms and moss, he calmed and the horrifying images dissipated. It was only a dream, but reminded him that he missed his home and family, now more than ever.
Glancing at the strong form gracing his bed, Elladan’s eyes were sad. Neledhon had offered him everything, and eagerly stayed in his bed once the half-elf tired of further pointless encounters. But Elladan ruefully admitted it was not burnt umber hair and clear grey eyes that he still dreamt of. He had hoped that his travels and the intervening years would weaken the hold Thranduil had on his heart, but seeing him again in Mirkwood merely highlighted how futile that hope was.
Sighing, the longing for home overwhelming, he relented. Elladan dropped his walls and opened his mind. He reached out, seeking his twin. It might have been years, but the feeling of warmth and reassurance and unconditional love instantly surrounded and enveloped him. Smiling, he could almost feel Elrohir’s soft, even breaths. //’Roh? Wake up, tôren.//
//Wha…? Who…? Elladan!// Elladan smiled. Why had he blocked out Elrohir? Even though he was awakened from a deep sleep, Elrohir’s joy was evident.
//I have missed you. I am in Lothlórien… but even here is not home.//
Groggy from sleep, but overjoyed that he was connected to his twin once again, Elrohir laid back and opened his mind and heart. The letters had never been enough for him, but he had been willing to wait as long as it took Elladan to realize that, too. //So you are coming home then? Giving up the wanderer’s life?//
He hesitated, but wanted to talk to Elrohir, to tell him everything just as he once did. //Nay… maybe… I am unsure. We visited Mirkwood…//
//Oh.// Elrohir scrambled for something to say. //Is it as eerie as I have heard? Or is that really just a tale to scare elflings?//
Elladan appreciated his twin’s diversion, but he did not want to be diverted. //He… // Closing his eyes, the vision of Thranduil in his element swam into view. //He is everything Adar said of him… and more. He even bedded Gildor while we were there!//
That news surprised Elrohir, but he hid his emotions for his brother’s sake. He could not reconcile the picture Legolas painted in his letters with the image Elladan recounted. Shaking his head, he feared that Thranduil had merely put on a show for his brother, but he could not speak of the confidences that he had been entrusted with. //Gildor? Are you certain?//
//Aye, he left the Solstice festivities with the king…and a courtesan. I saw him leave Thranduil’s chambers early the next morning…//
//What? Were you spying on them?// If the situation had not been such an emotional morass, Elrohir would have found the image of Elladan skulking in shadows, watching Thranduil, almost comical.
Elladan had the grace to sound embarrassed. //Nay! I… I did not sleep well, really at all, so I was wandering the halls early and saw Gildor leaving, in Thranduil’s clothes…// he finished rather lamely.
//I understand, tôren… I truly do.// Not wanting their time to be maudlin, Elrohir changed the subject. //Naneth heard the instant you arrived in the Golden Wood. She wanted to come sooner, but I believe she should have left by now. We all missed you, ’Dan.//
Elladan delighted at the idea of seeing his mother, but he needed to see Elrohir most of all. //Tôr?// He hesitated, knowing that since he was the one that had left, it was his duty to seek out his twin, but he also knew how well Elrohir understood him. So he continued, fumbling, //I… would you… could you…? ‘Roh, can you come, too? With Naneth?// He rushed on, //I know it is sudden…//
Elrohir smiled. He had missed Elladan and was glad that he was finally being allowed back into his brother’s life. //I cannot leave this moment… some of us still take patrol duty.// The hint of teasing was suffused with warm affection. //I will try to talk Rilfin into covering for me. If I hurry, I should catch up to Naneth before the mountain pass, or shortly after. I will come, tôr…I have missed you.//
//Thank you.// Somehow, in the aftermath of Thranduil, he had allowed himself to forget how much he benefited from Elrohir’s mere presence.
//Meet us at Redhorn Pass? We can ride to the Golden Wood together and you can regale me with your tales of far away places.// Elrohir was eager to be with his twin once again.
A sleep warmed voice called out, “Elladan?” Turning, he was greeted by the sight of a barely covered body, back arching as Neledhon stretched. “Come back to bed, melethron. It is chilly.”
Elladan smiled, as he walked to the warm bed and inviting body. //I will do so… soonest, tôren.//
//Soonest, ‘Dan.//