Title & Chapter Number: Dark Council 10 (1-4)/11 Sequel to Solace
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: LOTR
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I lay no claim to any of J.R.R.R. Tolkien's characters. Only Garand is mine. I needed a beautiful male elf - don't we all? :o)
Warnings: None
Betas:
Cast: Thranduil/OC (Garand)
Timeline: AU/Pre-Fellowship
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: King Thranduil and his son Legolas are still struggling with the grief of losing their beloved wife and mother, when a young visitor to the palace teaches the king that comfort can come from unexpected places.
Notes: Inspired by Elisa's Photo Mainp "Sire", as seen at Lassegalen's Laire
King Thranduil, Prince Legolas, and Garand made a pact to carry on with the remainder of the day in the usual manner. Tomorrow would bring problems of its own, along with Rymir's return. They were determined to conduct their lives with some semblance of normalcy. The Elven King read over proposals from the Council, after meeting with them to clear the air and assure them that he harbored no resentment about the previous days' events. Legolas and Garand trained vigorously with Isil-Gar and Vilmaril, since both Elves felt a keen edge of dread and tension by simply waiting to see what tomorrow would bring. Doing *something* was much more comforting than doing *nothing*.
Isil-Gar and Vilmaril felt it, too, and for them it was especially difficult. Being warriors and guards, trained for action and poised for battle at any moment, waiting felt utterly foreign to them. But the Lord Thranduil was right, of course. They must wait for Rymir to come to *them*. Attempting to force his hand would be most unwise. So they spent their time in combat exercises with the Prince and Garand, to take everyone's mind off the situation, and because it was imperative that an Elven warrior never cease honing his skills.
After several hours of this, in which none of them were able to get the upper hand over the other, in spite of frequent switching of opponents, Isil-Gar called a halt. They all lowered their weapons thankfully. Vilmaril bent to place his hands on his knees as he tried to slow his breathing. He looked up at Legolas and laughed, saying, "I am glad that I will never truly have to engage you in battle, Highness. Your stamina has increased greatly since you first began your training."
Legolas smiled broadly as he massaged one shoulder in an attempt to ease the soreness. "And I am grateful that you are all my friends. Combat with any of you would be a long, drawn-out affair, indeed."
Garand then proposed a long soak in a hot bath, and they all sighed at the prospect, but Isil-Gar suggested that it might not be a wise idea for the King's Guards to allow themselves to become too relaxed. "Perhaps a swim in the cool lake would be just the bracing slap in the face that I need right now," he laughed. He turned to Vilmaril. "What say you, my friend? Hot soak or cool dip?"
The Captain's second in command replied casually, "I believe the lake has just the right healing properties to soothe me, after the battering I just suffered at the hands of you three," and he smiled innocently at the others. Garand smiled to himself thinking, I am certain it has nothing whatsoever to do with the chance to be alone with your lover in a peaceful lake on a languid afternoon, but he said nothing.
After saying their goodbyes, the four parted, Legolas and Garand heading for the palace baths, and Isil-Gar and Vilmaril for the lake just beyond the palace grounds. Moments later the Prince and Garand lay back in a deep marble bath, their hair floating lazily around their shoulders, as the hot water coaxed the aches from their muscles, and the steam caused their skin to tingle pleasantly. As they both began to revive, they started a conversation that became more and more lively, until they were giggling like school boys again, something they hadn't done for many years, in spite of their still close friendship. They talked together for quite some time, about the past, the future, everything *except* the present, a topic that was consensually off-limits.
Several moments later, Garand began to stir and Legolas sensed that he was ready to leave. He opened one eye and said, "Tell adar that I will join both of you at the evening meal."
Garand grinned. He'd learned long ago not to question his friend's uncanny intuition. "You are not coming out, then?"
Legolas closed his eyes again and sighed. "I intend to stay in this spot for a very long time," he murmured.
"Enjoy yourself, my friend," Garand bade him as he rose dripping from the water.
"That is the plan," the Prince replied cheerfully.
The auburn-haired warrior wrapped a large towel around his waist and bent to pick up his sweat-dampened clothing from the floor, tossing it down the laundry chute on his way out. For the sake of decency, he took the back-hallway route to his and Thranduil's bedchamber. Once inside, he went to his armoire and selected a tunic of the deepest teal, and gray-brown leggings, the color of tree bark. He'd been hoping to find Thranduil here upon his arrival. They'd had precious little time alone lately, with all that was happening, and he cursed Rymir for that. After he was dressed, he picked up his charcoal gray boots and sat on the edge of the bed to pull them on. When he felt something crinkle beneath him, he stood quickly and looked down to see a folded piece of paper on the bed. How did I miss that, he wondered. He sat again and opened it to find a note written in Thranduil's hand.
"My love", it began,
"I would have sent a messenger, but I knew not where to find you. Do not be alarmed, but I have learned something today that none of us was aware of. This situation is more dire than we thought, and it seems that Rymir has more spies than we knew. I can think of only one safe place in which we can meet, and that is the wine cellar below the northern wing of the palace. You can take the passageway through the panel behind my armoire. Keep to the left, and the passageway will open directly into the wine cellar eventually. Be very careful, meltha, but please come as quickly as you can. I am waiting for you."
Yours, Thranduil
Without hesitation, Garand tucked his long knife into his boot, and going to the armoire, moved it aside quickly. If Thranduil had not told him of the passageway, he never would've known it was there. As his keen Elven eyes scanned the wooden panel, the seams of the passageway door came into view, and the warrior pressed on it in several places before the door swung inward onto a narrow tunnel dimly lit by torches set into sconces on the wall at regular intervals. A sweet smile touched Garand's lips as he took the first torch out of its holder to carry with him. His beloved had even taken the time to light his way for him. Then the smile faded as he remembered why he was in that dank passage, and he made his way through it as quickly but cautiously as he could. Thranduil needed him, and time was obviously of the essence.
~*~*~*~
Almost thirty minutes after Garand had left the comfort of the soothing bath, Legolas reluctantly made ready to do the same. He stood and stretched lavishly before stepping out of the large marble basin. Again, his mind leapt ahead to what might possibly come to pass the next day, but he forced himself not to give his imagination free rein. The previous day he hadn't been as successful, and he'd spent the better part of the evening trying to plan for any possible scenario, until he realized he was driving himself half-mad with the anticipation of it. Thinking on it over-long only aroused his anger anyway, and that would be of no use to his father and his friend, when they needed him. Whatever was in store for them, Legolas would wait and *react*, whatever that entailed. For now, he was rested and relaxed, and he intended to have a pleasant evening with Thranduil and Garand, as he used to almost eighty years ago, when his friend first came to visit.
Clad only in a large soft towel, he glanced this way and that, making sure the corridors were empty, before sprinting quickly to his bedchamber. He dressed in a long, loose-fitting tunic of the deepest midnight blue, which he belted at the waist. Black leggings were tucked into soft boots, and after a quick decision not to braid his hair, the Prince opted to pull it back in a low ponytail, caught in a clasp just below the nape of his neck.
Judging himself presentable after a quick glance in an oval oak-framed mirror, he made his way casually along the corridor toward the King's study. It was not quite the hour for the evening meal, but Legolas thought he would meet his father and walk with him to the dining hall where they would join Garand.
He stopped short in the doorway of the study. Papers were strewn across the desk, and Thranduil was nowhere to be seen. Legolas had never known his father to leave anything in such a state of disarray, and a worried frown drew his brows together as he walked behind the desk to see if there might be some clue as to the King's whereabouts. Proposals and outlines lay scattered across the desktop, but a small leaf of paper caught his eye. He snatched it up and an icy stab of dread pierced his heart, as he quickly read. Something within that message caused him to pause in his reading, and look more closely.
"Oh gods, no," he whispered, as he fled the room to search for Garand, already knowing what he would find.
~*~*~*~
Isil-Gar and Vilmaril lay in each other's arms on the bank of the lake, where they'd quickly bathed and slowly made love only moments before. The warm autumn sun on their skin had them lulled almost to sleep, when Vilmaril raised his head to gaze into his lover's face. Isil-Gar's eyes opened.
"You think we should return to the palace," he said quietly, a statement rather than a question. "I think you are right."
Vilmaril stood first, extending his hand down to help his lover. They dressed hastily and were retrieving their weapons from the ground, when two members of the Border Guard approached them quickly from the brow of the hill behind the lake. They were both known to Isil-Gar, one a seasoned Guard, the other fairly new to the ranks.
When they reached the palace Guards, the older of the two spoke first. "Captain," he said, bowing his head in respect. Indicating his younger partner, he continued, "Tion has seen something while on patrol, that I thought you should know about. It may be of no importance at all, but ….." he trailed off. He turned to the young Elf and gently prodded him forward, to face Isil-Gar. "Tis all right, Tion. Tell them."
"Sirs," the novice Patrolman said, bowing slightly to Isil-Gar and Vilmaril. "I was on patrol near the road, when I saw an Elf acting very strangely. He dismounted from his horse, led him off the road, and tied him to a tree behind some thick brush. Then he set off on foot in the direction of the palace. At first, I thought perhaps I was reading something into his demeanor that was not truly there, but as I watched him, I became convinced of it. He was most certainly stealing back into Mirkwood. He stayed in the shaded areas, and he looked all about him repeatedly. Clearly, he did not wish to be seen."
"Why do you say `*back* into Mirkwood', Tion?" Isil-Gar asked cautiously.
"Because I recognized him, finally, as the Councilman who left here yesterday. He was not dressed in his robes, as usual. He could have been anyone, but for his black hair and strange eyes. I did not stop him; he is, after all, a Councilman, but I thought I should let someone know what I saw," Tion finished a little uncertainly.
Isil-Gar smiled reassuringly, and clapped the young Patrolman on the shoulder. "You have done well, Tion, thank you. You were both right to come to us with this. King Thranduil will appreciate your diligence."
In the customary Elven fashion, the two Border Guards saluted Isil-Gar and Vilmaril, hands over their hearts, before retreating to the quarters they shared with the others of their ranks.
Vilmaril turned to his captain and lover. "Well, *this* cannot be good," he said gravely.
Isil-Gar met his gaze with equal somberness. "No," he agreed. "It is already beginning", and clutching their bows tightly, they made for the palace at a swift run.
~*~*~*~
Thranduil stepped cautiously into the wine cellar. He'd entered it through the wooden door that opened onto a fragrant honeysuckle garden. Because Garand had hinted at the need for secrecy, the King approached the cellar from outside the palace, staying close to its walls before ducking into the honeysuckle garden. Garand must have already been here, preparing the room for their meeting. Several lit torches had already been set into the wall sconces, illuminating the large, high-ceilinged space, and the many shelves of wine that lined the walls.
The King couldn't imagine what this meeting was about, but Garand's note had sounded extremely urgent, hinting at some new threat concocted by Rymir. Leave it to *him*, Thranduil thought, to stir up trouble even in his absence. Clearly, his lover hadn't yet arrived, so the blonde Elf walked casually around the perimeter of the cellar, studying the many bottles of fine Elven wine, the hem of his gray-green cloak skimming over the dirt floor at his feet. When he reached the end of one row of shelves, the King's booted foot bumped against something, and he looked down quickly to see the boot of someone else jutting out from the dark corner between two wine racks. Snatching a torch from the wall, Thranduil bent and held it over the prone form lying in the shadows.
"Garand!" he cried. Kneeling beside his beloved, the King gently turned him over onto his back, inhaling sharply when he saw the twin rivulets of blood flowing from Garand's auburn hair, down the side of his beautiful face. His panicked heart hammered in his chest as Thranduil placed two fingers under Garand's nose. Thank the Valar, he was still breathing. The King nearly wept with relief. He began to gather Garand into his arms to carry him to safety, when a voice, colored with shock and horror, halted him.
"Your Majesty, what have you done?"
Thranduil turned quickly to see Rymir standing in the entryway of the wine cellar, his silvery-gray eyes wide with alarm.
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