Title & Chapter Number: The Weeping of the Trees (Part 1 of the 'Pilgrim' story arc) 4/12
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: The Woodland Chronicles
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Middle-earth and all its inhabitants are Tolkien's, not mine. I'd risk bankruptcy to own Legolas, though. How much would he cost me? Would they give me Haldir as a bonus? Or at least for a reduced price... A girl can dream, right?
Warnings: Incest! Don't like it? Don't read it! Simple. Also: consensual bondage, heavy sap, and angst.
Betas: Jilly! You rock! Yes, you do!
Cast: Elladan/Elrohir, slightly Legolas/Thranduil, Elladan/Elrohir/OC, Elladan/Elrohir/Thranduil implied. Oh, and Haldir's there, too. :-)
Timeline: Third Age, approx. 440 years prior to the Fellowship.
Spoilers: Nope, I don't think so.
Summary: Elladan and Elrohir travel to King Thranduil's court in Mirkwood to attend the feast celebrating Legolas's coming of age. Not only will this event change the young Prince's life forever, but that of several other Elves as well.
Notes: Dedicated to Elisa and Jilly. You have both inspired me, in your own way. Thanks!
Chapter 4 - Child Of The Forest
Mirkwood, July 2580, T.A.
~ Thranduil ~
Are the twins lovers?
That is what I keep wondering. They've been here for several days now and although they haven't touched each other once in my presence, the glances they give each other are those of lovers. Or am I wrong? Are they just fond of each other in a brotherly fashion?
Well, whatever the case, it's none of my business. It is frowned upon, but not forbidden. And they are kind, gentle Elves; Legolas is getting along with them unexpectedly well. Perhaps because they are genuinely interested in *him*, and not in bedding him, like several others. I see no lust in their eyes when they look at him; quite the contrary, it's more like they find him endearing. That reassures me; I was genuinely worried when that Erestor was here a while ago. I had to try really hard not to be amused though, when I saw how indifferent my son was towards that Elf.
When he finds the time, Legolas seeks the twins' company. He watches them as they practise swordfighting, the three of them have gone for a ride together, and they can be seen on the archery range occasionally. It pleases me to see that the sons of Elrond find such delight in spending time with my son.
Legolas has surprised both the brothers and me. After only a few days, he is already able to tell them apart, but only when he can see their faces. It is true that I guessed it right once upon their arrival, but I can't tell the one from the other just by looking at them. I need to hear their voices, see how they behave, and maybe *then* I'll know. But today, one of the twins came down for dinner alone. Legolas looked at him as he came towards us and said, "Elrohir, where is Elladan?"
"He'll be joining us in a moment," Elrohir said, surprise coloring his voice. "But how did you know that I am Elrohir?"
Legolas blushed. "I - I don't know," he said, "I just can see it. Your eyes, I guess."
"My eyes?"
"Yes. They are different somehow. They seem... younger than Elladan's."
Elrohir smiled a little and eyed Legolas with an expression of surprise and unexpected tenderness. Ah, Legolas; how well you see those things, my son, my sensitive one. How easily you enchant people with your gentle soul, the softness of your shining eyes. Do you have any idea, little one, how guilty I felt when I first gave you a bow in your hands, an instrument to kill? No, you don't know that, for I made sure that my heartache didn't show on my face. But it was there. And soon you will be taught even more brutal ways to take a creature's life; the thought alone tears my heart apart, but it must be done. The Watchful Peace ended long ago, darkness is slowly overtaking our once so beautiful forest, and who knows what the future will bring? You must be trained like a warrior, my leafling, no matter how much it pains me to see you take up a weapon.
To see your child lose his innocence is without a doubt the most difficult aspect of being a parent. But I let the knowledge that Legolas will not lose his gentle soul comfort me. During his long, long life, Legolas will probably risk his life for the greater good many times, and I must teach him how to bring death to his foes without being touched by a weapon himself. For his own sake, and for mine... for I don't think I would endure should he die. I would surely fade, and die a slow death myself. That is, if I won't have taken my own life more swiftly by then.
Would Legolas have become a different Elf if his mother hadn't died, I wonder. Probably so. He was always a sensitive child, quick to shed a tear over a dead tree, or an injured animal. But maybe he would have been a bit more independent by now, less uncertain, if his mother were still here. Maybe...
He is a child of the forest, my son. It is hard to explain. His ears hear more, his eyes see more, he feels and smells more than any other Elf I know. He is a listener, an observer, not really a talker. He takes after me in that respect, they tell me, and I smile. I know it's true. But since he was born in this forest, he has a strong, spiritual connection with it that I lack, and envy. It is a wondrous thing. I remember the day my wife died. I was outside with Legolas, practising archery, and Legolas was totally into it, until suddenly he froze visibly. His bow dropped from his hands and I was about to reprimand him for his carelessness when he turned to me, his cheeks deprived of their usual rosy color. His eyes full of fear. His apparent shock nearly choked me.
"Adar," he said hoarsely, "it's mother... she is in danger."
I didn't have the time to ask for details, and within a matter of moments we found ourselves riding in full gallop over narrow paths, Legolas leading me and a party of warriors to where he knew his mother was. We were too late, alas; the Orcs had made it quick. After all those years, I am now able to feel thankful for that, but I will never forget the raw, cutting sense of despair when I realized that no healer could bring her back. And I will never forget the heart-wrenching grief of my son. As my warriors charged after the fleeing Orcs, I just sat there and cradled Legolas against me, trying to comfort him even as I was being consumed by grief myself. Sobs were racking his slender body so forcefully that it was torture to watch. I have never felt so helpless and lost in my entire life, not even when I saw my father fall in the Battle of Dagorlad, for I wasn't a father myself back then. This time I didn't only have my own grief to deal with, I had to cope with my son's as well. Be strong for him.
He kept crying, long after I shed my last tear. I'd never known that so many tears could fall from those beautiful eyes, those pieces of the sky with the Sun in them. But they did. And when the tracks of his tears finally dried up, it was as if all life had fled from him. The only things ensuring me that he was still alive were his heartbeat, his shallow breathing and the slow blinking of his eyes. I had to seat him on my horse in front of me as he was unable to ride back himself. Something odd struck me then; the sky had been a uniform blue before the tragedy took place, and the experts at my court had ensured me that it would be clear weather all day. However, as we rode home, I saw massive, dark storm clouds quickly pack together above Mirkwood. The air grew chilly and the summer breeze increased in strength, turning cold. The trees assumed a darker color, not to threaten us, but to mourn. The branches and the leaves whispered as we rode by, and somehow I felt that my son knew what they were saying. As soon as our party arrived at the palace, the first drops started falling, thick and cold. It was midday, but the sky was dark and it seemed almost night. That day, the worst storm Middle-earth has ever seen raged over Mirkwood, and it lasted throughout the entire night. I sat inside with Legolas on my lap, holding him. I believe he found at least a brief moment of rest, but I was awake and listened to the howling of the wind, the loud clattering of the rain and hail; the lament of nature. That was the first time I fully realized how strong the bond between the forest and my son actually is. Nature mourned with us, but somehow I knew for certain it was not my grief that had summoned the storm. It was Legolas's.
I had noticed things before, of course. Nature was gracious to Legolas from the very beginning, ever since the day he was given to my wife and me. Flowers seemed to turn towards him as he walked by. Whenever he fell out of a tree when he was little, he always landed on a soft, mossy spot, never on hard ground, or rock, as if Earth reached out to catch him, not wanting to see him in pain. Squirrels and other shy forest animals came to sit on his hands, play with his hair. Make him laugh. Does even let him come near their fawns. It was unlike anything I'd ever seen. *No one* had ever seen something like it, not even the Elders. "He may have Sindarin blood," they say, "but he has the spirit of a Silvan." And they are right.
But this, this storm; I'd never expected my Legolas to be able to, without intending to, elicit such grief from Nature. By the time the wind died and the rain stopped falling, morning had come already. It came hesitantly, as if the Sun, rising slowly behind the clouds, felt ashamed for having to begin the new day now that the Queen was no longer there to witness it. The clouds had shed all their tears, but the trees of Mirkwood continued to weep for the rest of the day, slow drops leaking from their branches. It was the saddest sound I'd ever heard.
We buried the Queen. The sky remained overcast the entire week, and no bird's song was heard. That week, I lived in fear for my son, for he was a shadow of his usual self. However, when I finally, several days after the funeral, caught a first quick, weak smile on his lips, I knew he would not fade. That was also the day Mirkwood saw the sun again, be it briefly, and heard the first hesitating blackbird. Silently we pledged to pull each other through, my son and me.
And pulled each other through we have, for more than six decades. As we leaned on each other, we grew closer than we had ever been before, much closer than my father and me have ever been. But I was still Legolas's father and had a task; I raised him with all the love I have in me and I pray to the Valar and my late wife that it is enough, that I did well... In only a couple of days, Legolas will be a man, and a fine young man he will be. I am very proud of him. Yet I can't help feeling just a little sad now that my only child is about to officially become an adult. How selfish of me. I smile bitterly and realize that maybe, the father has become a bit too dependent on his son, too.
We have never really talked about what happened that day, the storm... I think we both have no need for it, as if we feel that bringing it under words would spoil it somehow. No words in Sindarin, Quenya or any other tongue could explain it anyway. I know what I've seen and felt and that is enough. Legolas himself is aware of his gift, but I don't think he fully realizes the wonder of it, yet. As if he doesn't really have an idea of how to handle it. That is something he will have to learn throughout the years.
I did one thing, though: when I deemed the time right, I gently asked him how he had known that his mother was in danger. For some reason, I was not surprised when he answered me that 'the trees had warned him'. When I asked him what the trees had said to him while we were riding home, he replied that they told him that he should not blame himself for what happened, that he had done everything in his power, but that the Orcs had simply found the Queen too far from home. A cruel decision of Fate.
The sons of Elrond have lost their mother, too. My son and the twins of Imladris are kindred spirits in that respect; maybe that is why Legolas is drawn to them. But I also see how eagerly he listens to their stories. They have made long travels as orc hunters, have seen many corners of Middle-earth, and it seems Legolas wants to hear about every single Orc they killed, every meadow they stepped on, every tree they saw outside Mirkwood. The twins are patient, and tell him any story he wants to hear. He has a craving for travel, my Legolas. When you're that young, a forest, even when it's as big as Mirkwood, soon seems too small, and I suspect that he visits far away places in his dreams. One day, he will want to leave Mirkwood and make those travels he is now dreaming about; and I will let him go, as that, too, is part of parenthood. Let your children go and walk the path of their choosing.
I wonder what Legolas's path will be. Wherever he may go, I pray that the Sun and the stars will light his path, that the Valar will keep him safe. I pray for it every day.
I am roused from my reverie when Legolas walks by, his light footfalls almost soundless as he pads through the corridor. I rise to my feet to greet him and he notices me, turning his face to me. "Adar," he says, smiling, happy to see me.
Ah, my leafling, my son; you are more important to me than the air in my lungs. I curse Fate for taking the Queen's life, but I praise and thank her for giving you to me. I will never tire of my life as long as you are in it.
I draw him into my embrace. My father would have cringed at a public display of affection between King and Prince, for all the servants and officials to see, but I could not care less. The love of my son is my life elixir, and every now and then, I need a swallow of it. ... Is it, perhaps, my fault that Legolas is slow with finding independence? Have I involuntarily kept him small with the weight of my love? Have I offered a comforting embrace too many, should I have sent him back to bed when he came to me after a nightmare? Should I have said 'no' when my adolescent son begged me if he could sleep in my bed as if he were a toddler? But how could I do that, when he needed me, when he was so afraid? I could see the fear in his eyes, fear that he might lose *me*, too. I am not an indulgent parent, but I simply could not send him away in his grief. So I allowed him to sleep in my bed, I held him against me, let him feel my heartbeat. Awkward as it was, to have my adolescent son beside me in the bed I'd shared with my wife, I enjoyed those moments. I needed *his* comfort, too.
Should I have done differently? I don't know, but the thought frightens me.
"I love you, Legolas," I say, "my little one. My everything."
He laughs happily and throws his arms around my neck, leaning in to the embrace with body and soul. "I love you, too, adar," he says.
Daily court routine continues around us as always; servants hurrying to and fro, officials walking by, some alone, others in small groups. But they seem to move in slow-motion, their voices coming from far away. They do not even give us a second glance, used as they are to this. And for a long, silent moment, we stand in this embrace.
I love you. Such simple words. But to Legolas and me, they've become our salvation and our anchor. He speaks them to me, and I to him, and they still save us every day; but for the rest, and it's a rather sad truth, I think we've both become careful in using them.
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