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We Meet Again In Time
Author: suemichave
Beta: none
Email: [email protected]
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Thranduil/Boromir
Warnings: none
Request: Happy ending is most important, should happen during winter, mittens would be nice :)
Written For: Riina
Author's Note: This is a sequel to a story I wrote some time ago with the pairing above. Boromir died as per canon, but Thranduil captured his spirit, planting it into a child conceived between Denethor and a Gondor woman. Thranduil has watched the child grow through elven magic.
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It had been an eternity and a blink of an eye for Thranduil. He had watched
from afar and tempered his patience. The child had been born with little
fanfair, after all he had come into a world that had changed from resident evil
to freedom with the single action of one fated hobbit. Under such tumultuous
conditions it was hardly surprising that the birth of one child would not be
noticed by many. That he was half brother to the last Steward of Gondor could
just as easily be passed over. That he was more than passingly fair was not so
easy, yet there was something about this child that even from birth stood him
apart and had others wary of him.
From quiet content babe he grew, always with eyes that held a knowing that none
came close to understanding. One of many that ran unfettered within the White
City, only those eyes and when he tossed his head, the strange shape of his
ears denoted him.
Thranduil watched all of this yet did not leave his woodland kingdom. Those
around watched their king. Their numbers fewer with each passing year, the
shores of another land calling to them in louder and louder tones. His son
looked at him with a heavy heart.
"Go to him, at least be close."
Thranduil shook his head slowly. So many doubts assailed him. It was safer for
his heart to have the distance Mirkwood shared with Gondor. It was safer to
have his dreams rather than a reality he may not be able to bear.
�No.�
Legolas sighed and placed his hand on his father�s shoulder. They had had this conversation many times over the years. Thranduil would not leave Middle Earth and would not go to him. To Legolas the choice was simple. Not so to his father.
So Thranduil watched and the child grew.
For ten years he watched. For ten years with his hand being stayed by his fear. Once more, Legolas beseeched him to go, then at least he would know.
The snow fell in gentle flakes. Not yet winter, so much to the consternation of all the young ones, the snow did not settle on the ground. They ran catching it in their hair and on the rough coats they wore. The child with golden red hair laughed as he ran through the thin whiteness, his foot kicked up the flakes that had made their way to the ground without melting. He rubbed his hands before gathering as much as he could in his small hands, turning the mass over and over until the ball was ready. With careful aim he threw it, hitting his companion on the shoulder. The taller boy raced to him with a smile and soon they were rolling on the ground, the space around them filled with their delighted giggles. They continued for several moments enjoying their game as young one do.
Thranduil watched as the boy stopped his play, stood, shaking the snow from his coat and hair and looked around. His brow furrowed as he squinted into the pale sunlight. His small hand shielded his eyes as the frown deepened. He was searching for something that he felt often, a set of eyes that he never saw yet knew watched him. He turned abruptly hoping to catch someone in the shadows. As usual there was nothing. His companion tugged at his sleeve, the boy shook his head and returned to their game.
Thranduil turned away. He heard the soft sounds behind him and knew it was Legolas. Smiling faintly he looked at his son before walking into the garden beyond the doors of his room. There he sat on the bench and stared into the emptiness. Too easily came the images of the past. Far too easily and far too often.
�Boromir,� he whispered softly.
Legolas looked on knowing he could do nothing to ease this and his heart bled for it.
The boy heard his mother call, smiled at his friend who kissed him gently but shyly on his cheek and hurried off home. Quietly he set about his tasks and once done he sat by the window. For while his mother gazed at her youngest son. She understood him less and less as he grew, understood less what it was that he waiting for each day, though she had more understanding than most. Even as a babe his eyes had turned to the outside world. More lately he had climbed to the high tower spending hours looking out over the plains. The guards had brought him back more than once, good naturedly in these peaceful times, saying they needed one such as he in the dark times, so focused on the watch.
As she observed him this night the lamps were lit around the city, reflecting the silver glint in his eyes, she wondered what he was. Part of his heritage was undoubted to her though seldom acknowledged except by a passing comment. He indeed was very like the Captain of Gondor who had not returned with the Ringbearer. His hair was of the same texture though it glowed more gold, his eyes the same brown though flecked with the silver, he had a warrior�s stance, handled a sword with skill that no child should have, knew places and things that no child of such status should know. He turned toward her and smiled with his lips turned up as if he was letting her in on a secret. As he turned back he brushed his hair behind one ear. Most of all it was the curve of those ears that marked him as different.
They had seen elves of course. Their queen was one, though it was said she was not fully elf. All had the same delicate structure, the same fine features, just as her son. And though she knew well where half his nature had come, it was this other half that could not be explained. The boy himself did not question, showed no curiosity at all, she had been tempted to ask, but refrained, if it did not cause concern for him why should it for her? Still, there was the feeling that he knew something and did not say.
�Dinner,� she called to him. He jumped down from his window ledge, one last glance before he left.
He chatted amicably about his day, the first falls of the snow. He did not tell her that he had felt it again, the sense of being watched. He had told her the first time and she had not been happy, had not allowed him to go out unaccompanied for weeks. So he stopped telling her. It seemed better that way, he could go about his business, and she her�s. He knew whoever watched would one day come for him, and he knew it was not for ill. How could he tell her that when he could not explain it? That had frightened her too, and she had hushed him when he had spoken of another who had golden hair and ears like his and a man who had his hair.
Finishing his meal, he helped his mother clean away the meager dishes with his brothers, then went to his bed. He hoped he would dream of the elf again in the night. These dreams had become more frequent, just like his sense of the watcher. More vivid, as if he could reach out to him and call to him, but the dreams dissolved before he could. What he remembered stayed with him. The soft touch of slender fingers on his cheek, the warm breath on ear, the cool weight of a pendant slipped round his neck.
An omen. He ran his own fingers over his cheek, staring at the ceiling. He would put nothing around his neck until he was given the necklet of his dream.
Within weeks the snow was heavier. The boy rubbed his hands together in the coldness, his breath only warming them temporarily before he thrust them back into his pockets. He was sorely regretting losing his mittens, ashamed to admit it to his mother, to suffer the chides of his brothers. He would have to wait until one of them outgrew theirs. In the meantime he would learn to be more careful.
With peace came greater freedoms and the children delighted in it. The plains that had bore witness to so much death rejoiced in the life it now welcomed. High in the white tower a king looked down in satisfaction as he held his queen. Far away another king looked out on a kingdom that had seen more winters than any mortal could imagine. He too looked out with satisfaction but without holding his loved one in his arms. Thranduil nodded, a prince smiled.
�I will have the horses prepared Ada.�
�Yes.�
The journey would take longer in the weather, giving Thranduil time to consider, and the closer the White City loomed on the horizon, the less he felt the reason to be there.
Legolas listened to his father�s debate. Each night he came close to stepping back along the path. Each night Legolas pressed him to continue. Messages had already been sent to the city, they would be expected, if they turned around now it would cause consternation, thinking harm had come to them even now. Each night Thranduil accepted this wisdom and each day they moved closer. They often rode in silence, more so when on the rise that overlooked the plain. It was not the first time either had been here, it was the first time they had journeyed together. Legolas saw the rivulets of blood, the siege towers, the soldiers of the Dark Lord before him. He shivered at the recall. Thranduil saw the face of his lover as he departed, the figure high on the ramparts until he faded from the sight of even an elf. Such recollections saddened both elves as they moved their mounts down across the plain onto the rebuilt city.
Soft falls of snow greeted them at the gates. Gasps of awe rippled through the ones who stood guard there as the riders pulled back their hoods to reveal what they were.
Legolas bowed to the captain and sort leave to enter. With a smile it was granted and the two elven warriors made their way, rehooded, to the stables of the king. Under Thranduil�s request there would be no formal acknowledgement of them, word would spread on its own that royal elves were in attendance in the city, he saw no need to underscore that. There would, howeve,r be no denying the king and his queen their company.
Elessar and the Prince soon spent their time talking over memories of the past and plans for the future. Thranduil in turn wandered through the city. He reacquainted himself with the stone walls, delighted in the renewal of the living things. And he sought the one he came to find. With only his farseeing to guide him, Thranduil walked the crowded streets in search of marks that would identify more clearly where he would find the boy. Legolas supposed he could ask, but Thranduil had shook his head at that, adamant that no such request should be made, not even to the king. There was no desire to explain what had brought them to the White City other than what most supposed and Thranduil was happy to have all think they came to honour the friendship of his son to Elessar. Too many curious glances would be cast their way if the reason was revealed, too much whispering on elven magic for a child who had so little idea as to who he was. So Thranduil alone combed the narrow alleys, keeping to the shadows, his cloak wrapped tightly around him, not against the chilled weather as those who watched him did.
It was on a day when snow had fallen heavily in the night coating all around in its blanket of white that glistened in the early sun of the crisp morning that the quest was complete. There before him he stood. As the group of children had stopped to scoop up handfuls of the fresh snow, he had turned his head to where Thranduil stood in the shadows. Confident that even as the child cocked his head and frowned he could not be seen, Thranduil watched. There was the same auburn tinted hair, taking the light of the sun and shining it copper. The same steel in the eyes that regarded the scene around him. And there as he turned back to his playmates was the curve of the ear, delicately arching up to the fine point. Did he realize his heritage Thranduil wondered. How much had his mother spoken of. There was no way he would know exactly how different he was but for scant disjoined memories that found their way forth in ways that could not be explained by those who had little knowledge of the ancient magics of elven kind. One day he would be told, one day he would understand all that he was. One day. But not this day.
The boy rubbed one hand on his trousers to guard against the chill of the snow he had rolled into a firm ball. As he threw the projectile he again looked to the shadows, taking several steps. Thranduil inched back further as the boy came closer. He thought of making his way hurriedly away when flakes of snowy powder filled the air. The child laughed and turned away, pressing more snow into his hands as he ran. He was soon once more engrossed in the game, yet Thranduil noticed how he rubbed his mittenless hands together.
The game was ended when a shrill voice filled the air. The boy was being called home.
�Thalamir,� his playmates called out to him, �ask if you may come to the river tomorrow.�
�Thalamir,� Thranduil repeated softly, then again, feeling the name, sensing the sound of it. Perhaps the mother knew more than he had given her credit, perhaps it was luck that named him. Thranduil fancied it was perhaps the wiles of women who understand more than men.
Thranduil smiled as he returned to the rooms that had been allocated to he and Legolas. His son noted the change in his father and did not need to ask the cause.
�He is found then,� he stated with a smile of his own.
�Thalamir.�
Legolas frowned. �An elven name.�
Thranduil nodded. �I have thought on the choice��.it would have fallen to the mother to name him, the father dead.�
Legolas nodded in return. �Tis an interesting choice.�
�I would have you come to the markets with me tomorrow.�
Legolas lifted a surprised eyebrow to his father, that had them both chuckle.
�I want a gift for him�..a purchase�you have more dealings with men than I, I would have you show me. I have seen what I want for him.�
Legolas was intrigued but asked no further. He would wait and see what it was that had prompted this, appreciating his father�s scant dealings in this world.
It did not take long for Thranduil to find what it was he wished to gift Thalamir, it took less time for Legolas to negotiate the price and pay the store holder. He shook his head happily at Thranduil as the elven king took the package with such reverence. Legolas left him soon after, he had pressing matters to attend, a promise to fulfill and what needed to be done next was for Thranduil alone.
The elven regent pondered long on the what and the how that was to follow. He watched his son move with ease through the crowds of the markets. Hooded as was their want, there was no mistaking the elf under the heavy cloak. There was the grace that came as a birthright and the stealthful awareness of the world around, a calm that came from knowing eternity stretched out before him. Mortal kind moved aside instinctively as he passed them, there was none of the jostle that surrounded him on each side. It was then that the boy came into view. Less grace, less stealth, but the awareness and sense was there in him as he weaved his path among the larger bodies. Now thought Thranduil was his time. Moving from the shadows he walked the same path from which the child had come.
The door was opened wearily by the woman. She openly judged him before the crack widened enough for him to be invited within. The space was cramped and dark despite the day that was bright after the fall of snow. Thranduil through strength of will resisted taking offense to the stale smell that permeated the air. He reminded himself that elf and man shared different traditions. In respect he had pushed back the whole of the cloak from his face. His hair braided revealing his face, she had gasped audibly and bowed to her knees. At that he had gently bid her stand, taking the small package and placing it in her hands.
�For your son,� he gave by way of an explanation and before she could think it improper bade her sit as he related his story to her.
Thranduil was taken aback that she did not protest the truth of the tale he had told in full only to one other. Legolas had been there at the time of Boromir�s death and had recognised the signs. Elessar had suspected but had never voiced his thoughts. And now this woman who had little formal knowledge in the manner of elves nodded carefully with each revelation as if it lit candles of understanding for her. Thranduil watched as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place for her.
�You will return,� she asked as Thranduil nodded. She knew this would not need to be revealed to her son for several years yet, and not by her.
�There is much that he recognizes about himself, much that confuses him also. He will be glad to learn of it all when it is possible for him to understand. Will you take him away?�
Thranduil looked down and then to her. �If that is his wish, he is of part elven spirit. But it would require his consent �
Again she nodded in her wisdom. �I wish you well in your quest.�
Thranduil understood her also. It was not ordained that he would win the love of her son, in whom resided the life force of his lover, only destined that he should try. And he would, once the child had grown to manhood Thranduil would return and tell him of his heritage, and await his judgment. For the present there was his gift, a simple thing to warm a body if not yet a heart.
He had departed before the boy returned. His mother handed him the package with no words, let him assume what he may from it. With the care of an excited boy he ripped the wrapping apart, grinned wide at his mother and hugged her soundly.
Thranduil watched from his hiding place as the child played in the snow, his new mittens snuggly on his small hands the envy of his playmates. The medallion too large for his slight frame, but worn nonetheless.
Years later, much outgrown and well used, the mittens remained a treasured possession. They were placed lovingly in the chest that traveled from Gondor to the Greenwood and across the Misty Mountains.
�I knew they were from you,� he had said when Thranduil had next come to the White City, �I knew it was you I looked into the darkness of the night for. I waited for you to come to claim me.�
Thranduil gathered the man into his arms, tenderly kissing the ready mouth, a single finger tip following the curve of his ear.
�I waited to claim you also.�
The End
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