Mirkwood: Father and Son
Legolas swiftly dismounted, stroking the broad neck of his mount to thank him and taking comfort in the simple sensation of the velvety coat upon his palm. Then, with a little slap on the buttocks, he indicated to his mighty stallion that he could rejoin the other horses that were grazing on a close hill. The Prince watched as the white frame of his beloved companion melted into the equine crowd and then quickly headed for the stone bridge that seemed to sink into the earth but actually led to the underground palace.
He had two alternatives: either go to his old room in the palace to take a proper bath and clothe himself in formal robes before standing before his father or go and see his father first, in spite of his dishevelled appearance.
After a short moment of hesitation, he decided it would be wiser to go and see his father. In his message, the Kinghad asked him either to come back with the whole patrol, or to entrust the command to one of his lieutenants. It was not in his father's habit to interfere with his sons' duties. Such request would only have been motivated by a matter of importance, which made him decide that his appearance would be of little import.
Once his decision was made, the young Prince walked toward the wing where his father's rooms were to be found. He passed by the sentries guarding the main door, recognizing one of them as one of his fellows from the novices' training fields. They exchanged warm greetings but Legolas had no time to linger there and he hurried to reach the Great Halls. Sadness spread in his heart as he thought back to happier times...times when life had been easier and friendship the most important thing for him. But such priorities had changed when they had left their novice training and had been confronted with real foes that were less friendly than their training masters. A lot of things had changed for him when he had seen the first of his friends falling under the blow of the Shadow, a friend he had known since his early childhood.
People noted that he was a skilled warrior and a good leader, trusted by his men and trusting them back. But they did not understand the distance he had put between them and him. They often compared him to his brothers who had created a true climate of camaraderie in their patrols. He knew that even if people understood his determination to protect his realm, they did not understand what they perceived as coldness and haughtiness. He did not blame them for their lack of understanding but he knew that the distance he put between himself and his fellow warriors was the price of their survival. It was what enabled him to keep a clear mind no matter what happened. Grief was a lethal and disturbing emotion with his kin.
Lost in his thoughts, Legolas crossed the Great Hall quickly and climbed the high marble stairs leading to the eastern wing, oblivious to the conversation that stopped on his passing and of the many Elves that bowed when he walked next to them. He had little love for the decorum that was in place with royalty but he had learnt to understand its necessity.
He turned left immediately after the stairs and kept on his quick march toward the King's quarters, careful not to skid on the large marble slabs paving the ground. He did not spare a glance toward the shining chandeliers hanging from the high decorated celilings nor toward the magnificent tapestries and paintings adorning the walls. He had little love for that underground place and was indifferent to the riches, preferring instead the wild side of the forest, though he was well aware of its permanent dangers but feels its call too strongly to ignore it. He was above all else a Wood-Elf, aware of his special bond with nature and animals and despising the thickness of the walls of the palace which did not let the light of the day pass in.
Hurrying, he failed to notice the figure coming out from the dark curve of a corridor, walking in his direction with no less determined steps, and he bumped rather violently into the individual. Backing a few steps, he mechanically opened his mouth to apologize for his inattention when he recognized his older brother. A single glance toward the closed features and darkened eyes showed him that Vercatauro was in a very bad mood.
The two siblings wordlessly stared at each other; tension arising between them as both tried to get the upper hand in that silent battle of wills. Without averting his gaze, Vercatauro stroked his robe as though to smooth out the soft fabric with a graceful motion of his hand. Still maintaining eye contact, he announced, his voice cold and impersonal as if speaking to an incompetent servant, "Adar is waiting for you..."
Such coldness made Legolas frown slightly. He had done naught to anger his brother. He had not seen him once during the two weeks spent in the woods. They were not the most loving siblings, for they even argued every time they had to spend more than five minutes in the same room, but he had never heard such a tone in his brother's voice. Refusing to let himself be intimidated, he held Vercatauro's gaze with a skill learned from years of practice before he replied, mockery clearly underlying in his voice, "What a coincidence! I was just on my way to see him."
A rude snort was the only answer to his sarcasm and silence fell once more on their face-off. Legolas felt his brother's gaze roaming over his whole body and inwardly sighed as he knew what was to come.
"What a dress... I hope you are not going to meet Adar looking like a filthy human..."
Disdain resounded clearly in Vercatauro's voice but was echoed by the contempt in the younger Elf's when he replied more harshly than intended, "It is a sure thing that you are not going to dirty yourself if you remain all day long in this wonderful place, strutting about, and changing your ceremonial robes twice a day." Not waiting for an answer, he spat, unsuccessfully trying to hide the anger he was feeling. "Now, if you will excuse me, Adar is waiting for me."
Without waiting for his brother's answer, Legolas resumed his initial walk, trying to repress the wrath that rose in his chest. He knew he had let his anxiety get the better of him but he had not been able to hold back. He would never understand Vercatauro. Such arrogance in a brother of his! How could it be possible? So self-centered and over-confident... So selfish! Fortunately, Sailacel was not like him. Not that their relationship was in any better shape. But, at least they were not at each other's throat every time they met and they had a common goal in the protection of the Kingdom as both were leading patrols.
He breathed deeply, trying to quiet himself, well aware that he was being unfair and that something he ignored could have pushed his sibling to behave so. Still more agitated than he thought befitting for an encounter with his regal father, the youngest Prince of Mirkwood straightened himself as he reached his destination, trying to improve his disastrous appearance without much success. He smiled at the guard standing at the door, knowing how boring such appointments were but also aware of their necessity. The King's life was priceless. Whatever happened, the Kingdom should not remain without a leader.
He paused for some moments in the antechamber of his father's rooms, facing the heavy wooden doors that closed the King's chambers, unwillingto admit to himself the apprehension he felt towards whatever his father was going to tell him. Only urgent matters might have justified his forsaking a patrol and, even under grievous circumstances, it had never happened before. Taking another deep breath and drawing some strength from the thought that he had faced much more dangerous foes than his own father, he knocked twice, leaving a short time between the knocks, and making sure to be heard without startling the King.
Some seconds after the last vibration in the wood faded, a steady and strong voice invited him to enter. A shudder ran the length of the Prince's spine as he thought about the armies that voice had subjugated and led to battle. He would be happy if he were half the warrior his sire was. Opening and closing the door noiselessly, he took a few steps forward, noticing the well-known golden-haired figure sitting at the desk. Halting in the middle of the room, he bowed deeply while apologizing, "Adar, I am sorry for my delay. I have come as soon as I was able to do so... I hope you will forgive my unworthy appearance."
When he raised his gaze again, he found himself facing his father's benevolent features as the King had arisen from his seat to welcome his son. He was soon enfolded in an embrace, which he leaned into. Identical blue eyes crossed each other and Legolas felt relieved when he saw his father was not angered by his tardiness. The blue eyes were not clouded by worry. Curiosity threatened to overwhelm him then. Why had his father asked him to come so quickly if there was no true urgency? But the Prince had no further time to ponder this thought as his sire beckoned him to sit with him at his desk. Indeed, Thranduil was well aware of his son's repugnance toward their enclosed place and wished him to be relaxed as they had many matters to discuss.
Legolas was the only one of his children living outside the underground protection of the palace, in the warriors' quarters. It had been thus since five centuries, since he had been grown enough to make his own decisions. He himself had not been overjoyed by his youngest's request and had been reluctant to accept it, wishing to keep all his children near to him. But his beloved queen, who had always felt their child's uneasiness inside their place, had pushed him to agree with that arrangement at the condition that Legolas kept on taking his meals with his family. He had also kept his room in the castle and left some of his belongings there...
Seeing the expected discomfort in his youngest's composure, the King of Mirkwood smiled sadly and chastised his son tenderly, "There is no need for such decorum in this place, ionen. You may speak freely" He paused as if considering a sudden thought then corrected himself softly with no less love in his voice, "With respect but freely."
Legolas tried to conceal his bemusement. He had not seen his father in such a good mood for a very long time. The King was not happy, but relaxed and even rested which was more than he was able to recall since his mother's death. Not knowing what to say, he nodded.
He quickly glanced toward the thick walls to hide the strange nervousness he was experiencing. Something in the scene was amiss. There was a kind of expectation in his father's gaze that he did not really understand and it only served to increase his awkwardness. And feeling the King's eyes upon him did not help him to calm down. His sire's voice brought him back to the present and he locked his worried sapphire-like eyes into the caring blue gaze fixed on him, "You are dirty and look utterly exhausted. What happened?"
Legolas sighed when he recalled briefly the events of the day. He knew his father would not be pleased. "We found the shelter of the Orcs that had been seen near the border between the southern and the eastern area..." With a cynical chuckle, he added, "No need to say that they were not eager to give up without a fight."
The King frowned slightly when he heard the unusual weary tone of his son's voice. It must have been indeed a difficult fight to make his youngest react this way. Bending his head forward in concern, he asked, "How many were they?"
The younger Elf did not miss the sudden shift in his father's voice and he knew that the father had made way to the King and warrior. Passing a soothing hand on his restrained shoulder, he replied, "I would say between fifty and seventy." He sighed then continued, trying to explain the events of the day. "It would have been easy to kill them with arrows as we circled the entry of their cave and they were not able to get out but Spiders attacked at the backside..." Waiting some seconds to allow his father a time of pondering to assimilate the information, he added then, "It is most unusual to see Spiders protecting Orcs..."
Thranduil did not answer immediately but his son noticed the lingering wrinkle marking his smooth brow, a unique indication of how disturbing his father deemed that information. His eyes narrowed, the King asked, not sure he really wanted to hear the answer and not willing to ask the real question that burnt his lips, "How many wounded?"
Legolas, knowing well what was hidden behind his father's words, answered first the unspoken question in the same tone, serious and nonetheless slightly detached, "Fortunately, no one was killed. Some are wounded, but none were fatal."
An imperceptible sigh of relief left the King's slightly parted lips and he closed his eyes briefly, sending mute thanks to Elbereth for her mercy. Mirkwood's strength was slowly decreasing, gnawed a little bit more every day by the unceasing blows of Sauron's minions and every new attack seemed a little bit stronger than the previous. As a King, he knew that the cloud of discouragement was hovering upon the warriors. He declared, as much for himself as for his son, "I will go and see them as soon as they are brought to the Healing wing."
Aware of the fact his father was not waiting for any answer, the Prince satisfied himself with nodding his approval. Suddenly, it truly mattered little why his father had asked him to come. The news of that unexpected alliance between Orcs and Spiders was worrying enough to make the King forget other matters. Spiders were not known to move - least of all, attack - during the day. Legolas leaned against the back of his seat, enjoying the rest he was allowed to take after two weeks of patrol. But after a while, his father's voice pulled him of the half-dreaming state he had slipped into. "I have asked you to come quickly," the King smiled softly as the foggy mist disappeared from his youngest son's eyes but he became serious again and continued, "because I have received a letter from a winged messenger of Lord Elrond of Imladris informing me that a troop of sixty warriors left the Vale a week ago and should reach our eastern border by the end of the week. What do you think about it?"
The younger Elf's features did not betray any signs of surprise or expectation. But it did not really surprise the King as he was used to his son's distant behaviour concerning the matters of their realm. "That is wonderful news, Adar..." answered the youngest Prince in a tone that belied his words. He continued, "It will enable our warriors to be relieved and to take some rest." Noticing his father's slight frown and remembering the tense relationship between the two rulers, he asked cautiously, not wanting to anger the King, "Are you not satisfied with Lord Elrond's help?"
"Most pleased, ionen," reassured the King as he briefly closed his eyes to concur with the calm that was in his voice.
A new silence wavered between them as Legolas seemed to ponder his father's words, not really convinced. Nothing prepared him for what his father blurted suddenly, "I want you to lead the troops that will work with the Imladris' warriors." Words spoken in a calm and decided voice clearly resounded in the room and Legolas raised his head to meet his father's gaze, understanding that his father had made up his mind for a long time about this subject and that he would not change his decision. His approval was not required. It was the King's bidding. The young Prince tried nonetheless to protest, "Are you sure you want me to do so? Perhaps Vercatauro or Sailacel would be more appropriate for such a task?"
A stern frown adorned Thranduil's fair features when he looked at his son with a piercing gaze, reminding the Prince that the King did not like to see his decisions contested. His voice was cold and firm when he asked, "Do you judge yourself unworthy of my trust, Greenleaf?"
The young Elf nervously bit his bottom lip, realizing that he had achieved exactly what he had sought to avoid : he had angered his father. "Nay," Legolas answered hastily, trying to make his father understand that he was not contesting his father's judgement but that he doubted his own capabilities. He repeated more calmly, "Nay, Adar... It's just that..." For some seconds, he sought the words that eluded him. "Vercatauro is the Crown Prince and it might be his place...And Sailacel is more experienced than I am..."
Then, he held his tongue and lowered his gaze, feeling uncomfortably like an Elfling trying to find excuses for his mischief. Hearing his son's confused and precipitated explanations and recalling that he was still young, Thranduil's features softened considerably as his eyes lost their harshness. The King decided to soothe his son's doubts and chose to explain. "For many decades, Vercatauro has studied the way of court and has begun to assume his duties as my heir. Even if he has been informed of what happened on the fields, he has not been at the head of a patrol for a long time. As to Sailacel, he is used to the western area... And if I am not mistaken, the last reports indicated an increasing activity of Shadow in the southern area... That is your district, is it not?"
"Aye, Adar," acknowledged the Prince respectfully, raising his jewel-like eyes to look at his father.
Another smile appeared on the King's lips as he gazed thoughtfullyat his son. He knew that he impressed the most his youngest. Maybe because he had not been there for him as he had been for the others. When his last son had been born, the Shadow had begun to take its toll on the forest, requiring him to give more and more of his time to the ruling of his realm. And with his absence, Legolas had been raised by his beloved wife. From her, he held his unconditional love for the forest and the open air, his intuition, his wildness that made him look much more like a Nandor Elf than like a Sinda of pure lineage. Yet, if he could see her mark in his youngest, he also knew that his son and he had much more in common than it appeared at first sight.
"Sometimes, you remind me of myself, Legolas," he stated softly. Laughing when he saw his youngest son's bemused gaze, he added, "Well, perhaps when I was a lot younger... So eager to do well... Caring for what you think just... You have a beautiful soul, ionen."
His father's compliment made Legolas and he felt the heat slowly spreading on his cheeks and his ears. Lowering his head to conceal it, he mumbled, "Not very useful for a Prince, Vercatauro would say"
The bitterness in his son's voice did not escape the King's keen ears and he immediately understood that something had transpired between the two siblings. He laughed softly, recalling the two brothers' past fights, and he leaned back in his seat, "Ah... I suppose you have seen your brother after he left me..." He smiled when Legolas only nodded, anger still visible on his pale features. He lightly advised, "Do not bother yourself with his bad mood. He was just certain I would give him the leadership of the troops. And he was not really happy to learn I have decided to entrust you with this task."
Twining his fingers together on his firm stomach, Thranduil relaxed. He liked such get-togethers with his sons. His duty as King made such things too rare. In those occasions, he could teach them a little bit of himself. He could advise them and listen to them. He could be a simple father. He took a thoughtful attitude before saying, "Vercatauro has yet to learn that a King does not do everything he wants." A short silence followed, soon broken by the older Elf's voice. "Never forget my words, ionen. I believe I have told you many things but it will help you in whatever path you choose. A King should bring strength and confidence to his people and never let them see his doubts or his emotions. Because his doubts or his emotions become theirs." He felt his son's gaze upon him and understood that Legolas was carefully pondering each of his words. "And it could lead to a catastrophe. Your brother has yet to learn how to keep his emotions for himself. I know you know what I speak of..."
Seeing the light shadow clouding his son's eyes, he knew that Legolas was indeed well aware of what he spoke of. Resisting the urge to press a tender hand to his youngest's face to comfort him, he followed continued, "I know you have learned to keep some distance with others to avoid grieving too much if misfortune strikes. You have done it for yourself and you have done it for their own good even if they are not aware of it."
Thranduil sighed. He knew that his youngest had learned early on some of the most painful lessons dispensed by life and he felt guilty for not having been able to give a true childhood to his son. Legolas was the more introverted of his three sons but also the most attached to the forest, the most willing to sacrifice himself for the others' well-being. His Greenleaf was the most extreme, the most capable of love, and the one who refused to let his heart feel. His wife's death had left scars in his son's heart that had not healed and that would never completely fade. And it worried him greatly.
He knew from experience that such behaviour only led to suffering. No one could always go against his own nature. He remembered a time when his son's laughter resounded through the palace, echoing against the thick walls and the high cellars. Fresh and innocent. But the freshness and innocence had disappeared with the passing of time, replaced by that calm and unnatural impassibility. His father's heart wanted to have his son avoiding the mistakes he had himself experienced but he knew that nothing he could say would change his son. Nonetheless, he tried. "But it does not mean you should not open yourself to others . No one is doomed to a life of loneliness. Love is one of the most beautiful things. As is friendship...It only means that you should choose carefully who you entrust with your doubts and weaknesses."
Thranduil gazed at his son, feeling his heart warm with love but wondered if it was tears that made the bottomless eyes shine thus or if it was merely the weariness inflicted by two long weeks spent patrolling in hostile areas. He was unable to decide and slowly stood, approaching his son who was still sitting. Bending gracefully, not the least constrained by his heavy robes, he bent toward his son and placed a soft kiss on his son's smooth brow before saying in a very fatherly way, "You should go and rest, ionen... If you wish, you do not have to attend the dinner tonight." Smiling, he added, "But it shall not become a habit, do you understand me?"
Son and father shared a long and contented stare as Legolas smiled in return, somewhat disappointed that the intimate time had reached its end but nonetheless happy for it. The end of the day promised more hopes than it had appeared at first sight.
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