Title & Chapter Number: Meleth Vrêg 4/8
Author(s): - Author's Index
Website: Hith a Naur
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own LotR or any characters, lands, or items from the Tolkien world. They belong to their respective copyright holders.
Warnings: Slash
Betas: Larien
Cast: Thranduil/Glorfindel, Elrond/Legolas
Timeline: TA
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: Glorfindel is sent to Mirkwood when Legolas sends a letter asking Lord Elrond's help with his father. When the Balrog-slayer arrives, he is not prepared for the changes he sees in the Elven-king.
Notes: None
He finished his tea and smiled at the figure before him. Thranduil licked at his fingers and forearms, cleaning himself of the blood and gore from his morning meal. The Elda sighed. Glorfindel had long finished breaking his fast; it never took him as long to eat as it did the King. He also didn't have half a stone's worth of raw flesh to consume either.
It had been two weeks since his arrival in what was once Greenwood the Great. Glorfindel had forbidden anyone to bring the King his meals except himself. It had only been a few days before that he began taking his meals with the King, surprising the isolated Sinda. Now, with a fire burning low in the hearth to chase away the damp chill that had settled into Thranduil's chambers, Glorfindel cleared his throat.
"Lord Elrond should arrive in a few hours, my Lord. Your son has gone to meet him." He could not meet Thranduil's amber gaze. Neither he nor Legolas had informed the King that Elrond was on en route to Mirkwood.
A low growl brought his eyes to the feral figure crouched against the wall. "I suppose I should have expected that the great Lord Elrond would desire to have his turn to gaze at the oddity."
Glorfindel's gaze darkened. "Elrond does not wish to 'stare' at you, Thranduil. He has always been your friend and ally; do not discount what he could do to aid you and your condition. He is a great healer."
Thranduil gave a low, mirthless chuckle. "We shall see."
He sighed and looked around the room again, as he did every time a silence fell between them. Glorfindel did not know what to say to the King most of the time. He would grow uncomfortable looking at him, his body remembering the heat and smell of the Sinda pressed against him and the frank statement of what he would have done to him should Legolas have not been in the room that day. Glorfindel knew, deep within himself, that he would not have stopped the King from claiming him, and the realization upset him.
"Why should it upset you, Glorfindel?" Glorfindel whipped his head back around to stare unbelievingly at the smirking Elf. "It is instinct," purred Thranduil. "Mating... Sex... Lust." The King licked his lips seductively before smiling at him, revealing the sharpened teeth Glorfindel could almost feel in his skin.
He shook himself and glared at Thranduil. "Do not be so crude, my Lord. We are above such base actions."
Thranduil leaned forward in his crouched position and regarded the elder Elf before him. "Are we, now? Or are we simply more adept at hiding it, at repressing it?"
"It is the mark of intelligence for a people to overcome base instinct in favor of more enlightened attitudes."
"Then am I becoming less intelligent?" Thranduil parried.
"The very fact that you can ask that question negates it," the Elda riposted. This was an old argument; it was old a week ago and showed no signs of being resolved any time soon.
"And the very fact that I could kill you in the space between breaths throws that intelligence into sharp relief." Thranduil was stalking now, pacing back and forth across the room, his eyes never leaving Glorfindel.
The Elda remained calm, and returned Thranduil's stare with a passivity he had learned to affect when these moods came upon the Sinda. "The capacity for violence, or the lack of one, is not a measure of intelligence. No one doubts the intelligence of the Dark Lord, yet his capacity for violence knows no limits."
Thranduil froze, leveling an acidic glare across the room. "So, I am no less intelligent, just more evil."
"Evil is subjective. Do you think the Dark Lord considers himself evil? Of course not. To his mind, *we* are the evil that must be purged. Similarly, the wolf is not inherently evil. It can only be considered such by outside observers. As I was saying yesterday...."
~*~*~*~
Elrond followed his lover closely, navigating the halls of Thranduil's home with ease. Legolas had been reserved when the Elf-lord arrived, and Elrond longed to comfort the younger Elf. The Prince had not been forthcoming in his missive to the Rivendell Lord, and Elrond had spent the last two weeks believing the situation was not that desperately dire or that Legolas was simply overreacting. But, when he laid eyes on his fair lover, he knew the situation was not as he had hoped. Legolas had lost weight, and dark circles beneath his eyes reflected his exhaustion.
"Have you not been sleeping, ernilen?" he queried, his eyes straying to the drawn features of his beloved.
Legolas sighed. "I have been... overtaxed. I hold audience in the mornings, make the rounds at the barracks at the mid-day meal, and then patrol until the sun sets. My day does not end there, though, as I must sit in council until late. I am thankful Lord Glorfindel has stayed, for he keeps Adar amused and handles all correspondence in my stead. I seek my bed only after the mid-night hour."
The Elf-lord stopped, wrapping his hand around Legolas' slender wrist, pulling the Prince into a darkened alcove. The Sinda melted into Elrond's embrace and rested his head on the Peredhel's shoulder. "Melethen," Elrond whispered, kissing the crown of Legolas' head.
"I wish I could have sent for you months ago, Elrond," he mumbled into Elrond's robe. "He forbade me from sending for you, but I could not let him go."
Elrond placed a finger under Legolas' chin and turned the Prince's face to him. Pewter met sapphire, and Elrond leaned in, gently kissing his lover's lip. "We will sort this out, seron vell. Have faith."
Legolas nodded, and then pulled Elrond into a heated embrace, plundering the Elf-lord's mouth with his own. Several moments passed before they broke apart, gasping for breath. "I have missed you, my Lord," the Sinda whispered.
"Oh, Legolas." Elrond hugged the lithe form to him once more before stepping into the hall again. "Let us seek your father."
The golden Elf nodded and led Elrond the last few feet to his father's chamber. "I want you to be prepared, meleth," Legolas said, his voice almost too low for Elrond to hear. "He is much changed..."
Elrond nodded. Legolas pulled out the long blowpipe he had used when leading Glorfindel into his father's den and looked fleetingly at his lover. He unlocked the door and motioned for Elrond to enter the darkened room, where they could hear an intense discussion in progress.
"The predator does not hate his prey," Glorfindel was saying. "On the contrary, he has the utmost respect for it, as he knows that without it, he would not survive. The evil man *hates* -- that is his weakness and that which sets him apart. Aeothain writes that--"
"Aeothain! What does a Man know?" Thranduil spat the word as though it were a curse. "What Man has ever known this condition? What Man could survive it! I doubt even a half-breed such as the 'mighty' Elrond there would have lasted this long!" The King turned to the new arrivals with a feral grin, his eyes shining as they reflected the light from the hallway.
Elrond swallowed a gasp. This was no simple illness that affected the Sinda. This was older than the Elves; an affliction so old that it had no name in the common tongue. In the High Elven tongue, though, it was called Feuyainatanwë. In the language of Men, the word might be translated as "Abomination," and it was this word the Imladris Lord whispered with a slight shudder.
Thranduil hissed, launching himself in a great leap from the center of the room. Legolas tried to bring the blowpipe to bear, but his father crossed the distance too quickly and had landed directly in front of Elrond before he could bring the weapon to his lips. Thranduil made no move to attack, though, and Elrond held out his arm to stay Legolas. The young Sinda complied, but kept the dart at the ready.
"How convenient that you should be here now, Elrond. Now that I am weak, and my son is not able to defend against you. You come into my realm, into my *home*, with Abomination on your lips and treachery in your heart," Thranduil accused in a low voice.
"Lord Elrond is here to help you, meldir," pleaded Glorfindel. "He is not here to take Mirkwood from you."
"He has you well trained," the King said over his shoulder before turning back to Elrond. "What say you, Eärendilion? Are you here for my crown?" (Son of Eärendil)
Elrond did not shrink from that piercing stare. He merely narrowed his eyes and leaned slightly forward. "And what if I am?" he responded in the same guttural tone.
Legolas watched with wide eyes as Thranduil changed. No outward change marked his features, but there was something clearly different about him. It was as if he could see his father become that which he had merged with, he could see him become the wolf. There was a curl to the lips; those same lips that used to smile down and kiss him goodnight as a child. Those hands that would bounce him as an Elfling on his father's knee were now clenching and unclenching, curled in on themselves dangerously.
"If you are," the Wolf-King growled, baring his teeth, "then I assure you that you will not leave this room alive."
The declared threat spurred Legolas into action. He brought the blowpipe to his lips and exhaled sharply, aiming the sleep dart at the fleshy part of his father's shoulder blade.
The point never connected, however. Thranduil, his senses heightened even further by the nearness of conflict, caught the motion from the corner of his eye and snatched the tiny missile out of the air, snapping the wooden shaft between two clawed fingers. He half-turned to his son with rage darkening the amber eyes. "Am I now to face challenge both from without and from within, ionen? So be it." (my son)
Glorfindel rushed forward to place a restraining hand on Thranduil's shoulder. "My Lord, no one here entertains the thought of usurping your position!" he implored. "We wish to help you!"
"Help me?" Thranduil scoffed. "Now you want to help! Your help was absent when looked for. Now it comes unwanted, unneeded, and much too late." He stalked across the room, the Elf clearly asserting control over the raging beast inside him. From the relative safety of his makeshift den, he looked over his shoulder through the veil of his wild hair. "Get out," he snarled through clenched teeth. "All of you."
~*~*~*~
Legolas locked the door before whirling around and glaring at the Imladrian Lord. "What were you trying to do, Elrond? Get yourself killed?!"
Glorfindel crossed his arms, looking at Elrond with narrowed eyes. "I was wondering that myself."
"I had to anger him. I needed to see how much of himself he has lost," Elrond replied coolly. "I had to know if there was something worth saving."
"What word you both said, 'abomination' -- what does that mean?" Legolas asked quietly.
Elrond took Legolas hand in his and led the distraught Elf away from his father's rooms, Glorfindel close behind them. "What has happened to your father, melethen, has happened before. Possibly several times, although only one instance is well recorded. How well do you know your history, pen-neth?" he asked his lover.
Legolas thought for a moment before responding. "Not as well as I would like, but I am learned in our history."
"Know you of Celegorm of Nargothrond? And also of Huan, the great wolf that was once his companion?" Elrond watched the younger Elf's face discreetly.
Legolas nodded. "I know of the Son of Fëanor and the beast."
"There is a description," Elrond said slowly, "in the journals of Curufin, his brother, detailing how Celegorm would often send his faer into the body of lesser beasts. And thus, fur-clad, would venture far from his form to observe events throughout his realm. Curufin also writes of the changes that befell his brother upon Celegorm's return from one such excursion in the body of a large wild cat." (spirit) Elrond stopped Legolas and turned the Sinda to face him. Glorfindel shifted uneasily beside his Lord. "It happened shortly after the flight of Beren and Lúthien, and she took his faithful wolf-hound. Without Huan's strength to assist him, Celegorm was unable to hold himself separate from the great cat, and when he returned to his own body, many of the aspects of the animal returned with him. Curufin marked these changes in his journals, noting how Celegorm seemed to merged with the wild cat. He secretly named his brother 'Feuyainatanwë' --abomination."
The Mirkwood Prince's eyes became wide. "Flâdnorol. I thought it was only Ada's connection to the Greenwood that allowed him to merge with the beasts!" (skinriding)
"Nay, the eldest and strongest among us have that ability," Elrond said softly. "I can perform this task because I possess Vilya. Galadriel and Celeborn, as well as Círdan the Shipwright, can cast themselves forth."
Legolas' dark regard fell on the Elda. "And you, Lord Glorfindel? Have you ridden in the skin of an animal?"
Glorfindel took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. "Aye. But not since the day the Gondolin fell have I done so."
Elrond's stricken gaze focused on Legolas. "And I forsook the practice, pen-velui, the day Celebrían was taken on the Redhorn Pass."
Silence fell on the trio, each lost in their thoughts, until the fair Prince spoke up with a quavering voice. "Why did Ada say help had come too late? Did Curufin's journals say how this 'merging' can be reversed?" He looked hopefully between his lover and his friend.
The Elf-lords look to one another, sadness and apprehension shining in their eyes. Elrond looked away first and Glorfindel took it upon himself to tell Legolas the truth. The truth the Elda had known since the first moment he saw the Mirkwood King.
"No, Legolas. Curufin writes about how he watched his brother slip further and further into madness and despair. He spoke often of the need for such a cure, but there was no mention of its existence," Glorfindel said, his voice heavy with resignation. "Then came the sack Doriath and his journal was silenced forever."
"Elrond?" Legolas asked, his tone higher than normal. "Tell me you can cure him, that Ada will be all right and return to himself now that you are here."
The Peredhel finally met his lover's eyes, tears shining in the grey orbs. "Nay, Legolas. Thranduil is now as he will always be. He now carries the spirit of the wolf. There is naught any of us can do."
"No!" Legolas cried and pulled away from the Imladrian Elves. "No! Ada... He cannot be lost to us!"
Glorfindel reached for the younger Elf. "Legolas, pen-neth, he is not lost to us. Your Ada is here, he is alive and he loves you. Never forget that!"
"That is not my Ada!" he snapped.
Elrond stepped in front of Legolas, silencing the Prince with a venomous look. "That is your Ada, as sure as I am your lover. He loves you. He is lost, that is all. Thranduil needs to accept what he has become and he must control it. I have faith in the arrogant King of Mirkwood, and so should you!"
Legolas' shoulders slumped in defeat and he all but collapsed into the Elf-lord's arms. Elrond looked over the golden head of the Wood Elf to address his Seneschal. "I will accompany him to his rooms, and will remain there this night. I would advise you, meldir," Elrond said, his eyes hard and serious. "Do not seek Thranduil's company this evening. Meet me in the private dining hall tomorrow at dawn; we must speak."
Glorfindel nodded and watched his Lord lead the Prince away. He sighed. What was he to do with a whole evening to himself? Glorfindel swiftly left Thranduil's caves and sought solace in the forest. As he walked among the trees, drawing strength from their ancient presence, he was aware of a shape matching his direction several paces to his left. He looked closer and found it to be the wolf he had seen when he arrived looking back at him with Thranduil's green eyes.
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