In your Eyes: The Balrog Slayer
He had expected a stern and disciplined elf-Lord, whose great charisma would have frozen those who dared look at him. And charisma he did possessed. , but not the one deriving from coldness and indifference. The elf walking next to him was full of life and joy. And that was precisely what surprised the young Prince and troubled him.
He would have liked to break the silence between them, to speak with that elf who had not hesitated to sacrifice himself to save his people, to understand how he had handled the pressure resulting from such peril. To know, to answer those questions plaguing his mind, haunting him. Asking to be given an answer. But he did not dare to do so. He had to behave as the ambassador of his realm, not like an elfling that had seen naught of the world. Thus, he kept quiet.
"How did you get injured?"
Glorfindel's voice, which had oddly resounded in the empty corridors pulled the young Prince out of his thoughts. Slightly startled by the unexpected words, Legolas looked at the Balrog-slayer, mechanically seeking his gaze. But he did not find it, as the golden Lord was looking right in front of him. He observed for some seconds the beautiful profile, noticing the elegant arc of the nose, the noble brow and the high cheekbones.
"Orcs", he answered, matter of factly, as if it was a trifling detail. And indeed, it was.
Glorfindel was struck up by the change of tone in the other's voice. He quickly glanced toward the younger elf, who had averted his gaze. He could feel the unspoken questions lingering in those bottomless blue eyes, the well hidden inward contradictions, but not enough for him not to notice them. During the whole meeting between the young Prince and Elrond, he had waited in the little antechamber, now and then hearing bits of the conversation between the two elves. And the few words he had picked up had confirmed what he had seen in the Mirkwood's elf.
Growing through in such times was not an easy thing and every action of the young elf betrayed the fact that his innocence had been violated, stripped off him too early. Life was more difficult in Mirkwood than in any other Elven realm. Elven youths came of age physically between their fortieth and fiftieth year, but it took them many years more to reach the maturity of an adult. But, confronted to the overwhelming presence of the Shadow, Mirkwood's youngsters had to forsake their childhood and their adolescence sooner than other youths so as to take their responsibilities. But such things did not go the easy way and left lasting traces. And Glorfindel could see those marks in the fair being walking next to him, like deep scars marring his heart.
He felt his own heart tighten in his chest and he inwardly cursed the Shadow for its evil doings. Swallowing with difficulty, he replied in the same tone as the young Prince had used.
"We are living through difficult times"
His words seemed the commonest of words, of the kind spoken to say naught. And indeed they were. But in those words he put all the knowledge of the world he had and all the hope he had for it. The words were without any importance, for what mattered was their unspoken meaning. Their silent comfort.
Legolas understood what the blond Balrog-slayer meant and he resisted the urge to close his eyes to dam the wave of memories awakened by the rush of sensations that seemed to run the length of his spine. But something inside of him refused to acknowledge those words's hidden meaning. Refused to accept that this elf thought he could understand him. And yet, it did not surprise him that the great Lord could. Had he not seen things no one had witnessed? The Balrog-slayer had met evil no one would ever imagine, but he had still hope. And, in honesty, it was that arrogant faith that made him grit his teeth forcefully.
He had ceased to believe a long time ago that Eärendil was still shining on the Woodland realm. He was not sure that he could still have faith in the future. For a while, when he was younger, much younger indeed, he had tried to believe that the future would bring some kind of amelioration. Each night, he had prayed the Valar to protect his realm and to stop the darkness from spreading. But no one had answered his prayers. Naught had happened and the situation had gone worse and worse. Worse and worse. Till it became desperate.
No, hope had only brought him deep disappointments. So, he had learnt to live from day to day, taking what was given to him and giving what was taken from him.
Shaking his golden head to chase those thoughts away, he failed to notice that the blond seneschal had halted next to a heavy wooden door and he almost ran into him. Raising his head to understand what Glorfindel was doing, he found his gaze locked with the other's cerulean eyes. He waited for what was to come, but the Balrog-slayer did not move, his gaze anchored in Legolas', seeming to search for something in the depths of those blue orbs. But he did not seem to find what he had expected, as he slightly averted his gaze, watching now the fair features of that face stretched toward him.
Unaware of the denial his previous words had awakened in the young Prince, he gently said:
"Do not worry, Legolas Thranduilion. Lord Elrond will help your people"
Legolas almost stepped back. Those understanding and knowing words were more than he could bear and he mentally winced at his evident lack of control when he asked, a little bit more harshly than he had meant to:
"What do you think you know of my fears, my Lord?"
But those blue eyes did not blink. Glorfindel did not seem surprised by the disproportionate reaction and his gaze did not leave his face. Softly breathing before he spoke, Glorfindel answered:
"More than you think. Do not forget, young Prince, that I have witnessed the fall of my city and the death of many of my friends..."
Silence was not broken, as they wordlessly stared at each other. Suddenly, the young Prince averted his gaze, taking a large gulp of air, willing to regain his composure, unaware that, for the first time since they had met, he appeared as young as he really was. Soon, he composed himself again and met the Balrog-slayer's patient gaze. Glorfindel understood that he had guessed true and that the Prince was actually hiding many doubts and pain behind his strong facade. But the blond councillor was taken aback by the unexpected question that followed. He had expected many things, but not that question, asked in such a wry tone:
"How can you manage to live with those memories?"
The words kept echoing in the bare corridor, but, before he could manage to collect himself enough to answer, sounds of hurried steps reached his ears, taking away his attention as it seemed obvious that the newcomer headed was heading toward them. A few seconds later, an anxious voice called for him and the golden elf cursed silently.
Erestor.
"Glorfindel. I was looking for you. Do you know where..."
But the councillor did not let his friend finish the sentence. Stepping aside a little bit, he glared at the raven-haired advisor and then, formally introduced him to the young Prince.
"Seneschal Erestor, let me introduce you to Legolas Thranduilion, the youngest Prince of Mirkwood"
Wickedly smiling at the surprise clearly written upon Erestor's graceful features, Glorfindel took a sweet revenge for the unfortunate intrusion.
"Prince Legolas will attend the celebration, tonight...", he mischievously added, perfectly aware of the effects such information would have upon his already tense friend.
The blond seneschal looked at the round shape formed by Erestor's thin lips, as he let go a silent and surprised ‘oh'. Then, remembering who he was staring at in such an improper manner, he deeply bowed and greeted the Prince in a musical and respectful voice:
"My Lord. I hope you will have a pleasant stay in the Vale..."
Feeling somewhat puzzled by the tension he could feel in the other seneschal, the blond Prince acknowledged the greetings. His eyes did not leave the dark-haired elf as Erestor turned over his old friend and whispered in a tone admitting no reply:
"I need to see you as soon as possible..."
Then, he turned upon his heels, his robes rustling noisily, walking fast until he eventually disappeared in a dark corner. Glorfindel turned towards the golden Prince again, meeting his interrogative glance. But, as he opened his mouth in an attempt to give an explanation, a crash of broken dishes resounded through the walls, making both elves jump, and cries of angered voices reached them. Glorfindel sighed heavily, recognizing one of the two voices. Slightly bowing before the Prince, he explained in an apologizing voice: "I am afraid I must leave you here, my Prince. Behind that door is the healing house. You may enter; a healer is waiting for you. I have to check if no one is wounded..." Then, he turned upon his heels and ran in the direction of the voices, hoping that Erestor was not frightening a poor and innocent maiden, whose only crime was to find herself in the wrong place at the wrong moment, leaving behind him a somewhat bemused Legolas.
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