In your Eyes: Curiosity
The trees were still speaking to him, telling him the story of this place, how the first elves came here to build a shelter dedicated to all the races of Arda and how they tried to manage together. They spoke of legends and tales that few would have known and fewer still would remember, their voices and whispers soft to his delicate ear.
The younger son of Thranduil had to admit that the vale was truly bewitching, enchanting his senses and delighting his heart. But even the beauty of the vale could not relieve the tension in his body and the beating of his heart. He had to act as an ambassador and to convince Lord Elrond of the validity of his father's request. It was a difficult task and he was not sure he would be able to achieve it. Perhaps his father should have come by himself... But Mirkwood needed his presence. Mirkwood... So different from this vale. So dear to his heart.
To him, Imladris was beautiful and pure. So pure. The whispering of trees was full of that innocence that those of Mirkwood no longer possessed. All was so peaceful that it almost didn't seem real. And the elves... They were so... different. So... But he couldn't find the word. Impassive perhaps. But that was not exactly what he meant.
He glanced at the blond rider next to him. Lord Glorfindel of Imladris. Also known as Glorfindel of Gondolin, the one who died defeating a Balrog. Such warriors were what Mirkwood missed the most. And that elf was truly handsome. After discreetly watching the way the blond hair was catching the morning light, he shifted awkwardly on the back of Naralod. He was truly weary, but he had no time to think about it. His will was focused upon a single thing: his meeting with the Peredhel Lord of Imladris.
He slightly glanced at the fair being riding the white stallion. He was stunned to see how much this one looked like his father. He had immediately known who this elf was, even if he had never met him before. Something in his bearing reminded him helplessly of the King of Mirkwood. Something in his eyes no doubt. The likeness was not only physical. Those two huge cerulean eyes were full of... But full of what? Pride? Wildness? Determination? Perhaps all three at the same time. But it was an expression that Glorfindel had often noticed in Thranduil's gaze.
Looking at the fair features, Glorfindel decided he could not tell exactly how old the younger prince of Mirkwood was. His face was young. But his expression belied such an assumption. Glorfindel had rarely seen a youth, whose eyes held such an expression. The expression of someone that had seen too much, lived through too much and that had closed off his heart. Something that one did not usually find in young elves, eager to live and discover. But sometimes, life took it upon itself to strip them of their innocence and faith in the future. Which seemed to be the case of the young Prince. Never had the seneschal seen such glint in the twins' eyes, even after their mother's departure and Glorfindel found himself very grateful to the Lady of the stars to have spared them the feelings that could give rise to such an expression. Gathering his memories, he tried to find out if this one was born when the last council between Imladris and Mirkwood occurred a millennium and half ago. He had seen a beautiful and very sweet she-elf speaking with Celebrian. She had called to her two grown sons who had assisted in silence with the troubled negotiations between their sire and Elrond. Two sons, not three. Which meant that this one was less than 1500 years old.
The same idea as before crossed his mind, insistent and disturbing. If Thranduil had sent his son to Imladris, forsaking his pride in spite of his bitter feelings for Elrond, the matter must be very serious indeed. For years, they had had no news from Mirkwood, relying on information from the human villages of the forest. They knew that darkness was growing in the former Greenwood, that with the death of the Queen, a part of the Sindar had left their realm, some sailing to Valinor, others seeking shelter in Lorien. But they had no idea of the true strength of the Shadow in that part of Arda. Looking at the young Prince, at his clenched jaw and tense shoulders, he felt a shudder running down the length of his spine. Perhaps the situation was worse than they had thought it to be. Straightening himself in his saddle, he looked in front of him. He would learn it from Elrond soon enough.
The rest of their journey passed quickly as the house was not so far away. Soon, they reached the stables and dismounted quickly. Giving his reins to a stable boy that had come to greet them and turning himself toward the blond prince that had jumped down and was waiting, still, he told him:
"Wait here for me, please. I will come back soon."
Then, he walked away, heading for the entry of the manor. But changing his mind, he came back and added, fixing his gaze in the other's:
"I hope you understand that you will not be allowed to appear in front of the lord of this realm fully armed"
Feeling the weight of that gaze on him, Legolas only nodded his agreement and watched how the lithe figure disappeared into the house. Then, giving a swift glance around him, he noticed that the two guards had remained there on the order of the seneschal. They were trying to look occupied but the young prince knew that they were indeed closely watching him. He shivered slightly. Their presence increased his discomfort, reminding him that he was not in a friendly area and that he might go back to Mirkwood with a refusal of any future collaboration.
How would he announce such a thing to his father, he had no idea... And truth be told, he refused to think of it now...
His thoughts were disturbed by the arrival of the little stable boy that had taken care of the horses of the Noldo and that now approached the wood-elf to take charge of his mount. His voice was shy and his gaze slightly unsteady when he asked if he should take the white stallion inside. Frowning slightly because of the disturbance, Legolas lowered his gaze, studying the features of the little one, noticing the wild raven strands falling on his shoulders, the pretty face whose dark eyes did not dare to look at him, wondering what he had been told as he had not listened, waiting for the stable boy to repeat his words. The little dark-haired elf couldn't help a lovely pink shade from burning his cheeks and lowered his gaze to look at his feet, feeling uncomfortable under the close scrutiny. Seeing that the little one was too impressed to speak, he asked, his voice gentle and caring:
"Do you have any paddocks here, pen-neth?"
The stable boy looked up abruptly to stare at the blond elf. A slight frown was adorning his pale brow and there was so much curiosity in his dark gaze that Legolas could not hide his smile. Apparently, the horses of Imladris were very different from their mounts. No wood-elf's horse would ever accept being enclosed, let alone, to wear a saddle. He felt himself required to explain and he clarified his wish with a gentle voice:
"My horse is a bit wild, pen-neth, compared to yours." He affectionately patted Naralod's neck, the white stallion having approached them, his nostrils nuzzling the blond elf's neck, as if sensing that he was being spoken of, and continued: "And I doubt he would agree to being lead into a stable, most of all, by someone he doesn't know."
The little raven-haired elf gaped at the blond prince. He had never heard of horses behaving so. Seeing that the young one was so astonished that he had forgotten the question, Legolas kindly repeated:
"Do you have some paddocks?"
Hearing him, the stable boy realized that he had been staring at the wood-elf and his already hot and pink cheeks became crimson, the deep color spreading up to the tips of his pointed ears. Stammering, he invited the young prince to come with him:
"Of course, my Lord. If you would follow me..."
Next: The Lord of the Vale
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