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Summary: He was a cave that could no longer hold the weight of a crumbling mountain.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my gracious beta, who has been nothing but helpful and indulgent. This fic was in an embarrassing shambles before he set it right. All remaining mistakes are mine. A thousand apologies for the lateness of this fic to all parties involved.
~~~
~ * ~ * ~ Chapter 1 ~
* ~ * ~�
The ship arrived in the pale blush of
dawn, awakening the calm coast of Alqualond�. A vivid red flag was
raised on the watchtower and the deep sound of a foghorn shuddered through
the sky. It had been a long time since the port city of Aman had last
heard that signal.�
Long before other elves thought to make
their way to the docks to greet this arrival, a pair of silent feet
had already made their way pier side. There they met another pair that
had been standing faithfully for hours, even before Ithil had properly
finished its journey. Wisps of golden hair swayed lightly in the morning
breeze, sombre eyes fixed steadily on the small blurred dot on the horizon.
The tall warrior's frame cast a lengthy shadow on the quay, the silhouette
stoic and immovable.�
"You seem certain this ship will
bear the one you are waiting for." Ecthelion didn't bother to wait
for any sign of greeting, nor did he expect to receive one. "Were
you given the vision?"�
"Nay, I was not," came the
deep-toned, quiet answer, followed by an almost imperceptible sigh.
It was customary for the elves in Valinor to experience a vision that
presaged the advent of their friends' and loved ones' voyage across
the Sundering Sea, so they might gather to greet the weary travelers
home with welcoming arms. Yet no such dream had visited the golden warrior
or any of Thranduil's family.�
Everyone but him doubted the wisdom of
pursuing a flitting, elusive premonition, most likely born from the
yearning desire to see the youngest Thranduilion again.�
He had not told them that he could never
ignore a gut feeling where Legolas was concerned, no matter how trivial
or capricious.�
"You look like you are about to
break into a thousand pieces."�
Glorfindel wanted to smile, even though
it tasted a touch bittersweet on his lips. He never succeeded in making
up his mind: whether he should marvel at the easy-as-breathing way his
old friend and comrade could unravel his thoughts just from a simple
observation, or whether he should resent it. Some people were given
to a readable nature. Glorfindel, however, was a book bound in chains
with no lock. What you knew of him was what he allowed, or made you
think you knew.�
"I feel as though I might�" �
There was no shame or hesitance curtailing
his honesty, no conscious veil drawn over his liquid, amaranthine gaze.
Glorfindel spoke with a candour that no other ears but the pair before
him had ever heard to its fullest depth. �
"�at the first sight of him on
these shores."�
Ecthelion could not contain his disapproval
from tainting his next words. "You should not have left him."�
"You know I had to. There was no
other way."�
"A belief I would strongly refute,
and adamantly were I under some illusion that you were not made of the
most aggravating stubbornness Il�vatar
could possibly concoct in his children!" The Lord of the Fountain
ploughed on without moderation. "If anything, you should not have
left him right before--"�
"Please, mellon.... please."�
Ecthelion turned away for a moment, partly
in guilt for driving the blade deep into a weeping wound, partly in
frustration for not being able to unmake the mistakes that had led to
this grey morning. He supposed they were both irredeemable fools, with
only themselves to blame. Yet nobody could bring on a debilitating sense
of helplessness in him quite like Glorfindel did. It was a curse, really,
to have been cozened by fate into a simple meeting that will forever
bind their free spirit and change their future. They knew the other's
mind and heart too well, from the first moment their eyes met across
the room three ages ago. They knew from that very moment that they would
face destiny and calamity side by side, like the double edge of a sword.�
It was easy to mistake them for lovers.
Many had done so and many more likely would. It was not an issue they
felt the need to iron out. Theirs was a bond that needed not whys and
wherefores, nor sought anyone's approval. It was simply a part of their
being, a part which fate used to test their endurance, like a warrior
wetting a finger and holding it aloft to test the direction of the wind.�
The chronicle of their lives reeked of
heavy injustice, Ecthelion mused, as the long, slender ship found its
way safely to the dock. Nevertheless, at least he had found his happiness.�
Now�. �
Ecthelion's gaze hardened at the flash
of pale gold against infinite blue.�
�.please let Glorfindel have his.�
~ * ~ * ~ * ~�
By the time the ship reached the coastal
waters, a large Telerin crowd had congregated in a medley of whispering,
curious voices. If the floating rumors held any grain of truth, they
wouldn't want to miss the chance to be the first eyes to behold the
conspicuous event. Nor would they want to miss the chance of hearing
from the lips of those on board the stories that would soon be circulating
among the festive gatherings. Even Lord Olw�, High King of the Teleri
had sent his first and second-born sons to greet this arrival, further
stirring the buzz of gossips.�
"There aren't many elves left in
Middle Earth."�
"Those mythical vassals of Ulmo
must have whispered something to Lord Olw�. To receive salutatory welcome
from the High Prince and his brother in person...."�
"I had my doubts, but now...."�
A few able mariners were already poised
in their places, ready to berth the ship and help the occupants debark.
Soon the gangplank was lowered, and down the wooden bridge emerged a
figure that made the Eldar almost blink in unison. Varying degrees of
speechlessness layered the air, to which the source of their stupefaction
only gave a wry quirk of his bushy eyebrows.�
"Now I know how you felt when I
introduced you at cousin Bolwick's wedding."�
The footfall that landed next to the
stout dwarf had a common quality with the sound of laughter that preceded
it; airy and graceful, limned with the heart-warming light of a comely
smile. Many onlookers among the captivated crowd could not restrain
their soft sighs of appreciation for this young Moriquendi. For though
he might not be of appearance beauteous enough to bring multitudes of
admirers to their fawning knees, he had a pureness that could touch
even the most jaded of souls. To be able to possess this gentle beauty
would be tantamount to the glorious triumph of plucking a star from
the sky; it could only be described as a benediction.�
"No you don't, my friend. I have
not seen you being assailed by the little ones yet, nor have I noticed
anyone trying to cajole you into parting with a lock of your hair as
memento."�
Gimli jabbed his companion's midriff
with an accusing finger. "May I remind you that both cases were
your own fault? Who told you to weave crystal beads into your hair,
knowing the dwarf-folk's fabled weakness for pretty, shiny things? One
would have thought you were campaigning for their attention."�
"Nay! 'Twas but simple decoration
- for the wedding," defended Legolas with flushed cheeks. "I
only dress to suit the occasion, inasmuch as elven parties are much,
much worse." The last sentiment was grumbled under his breath.�
"That notion I gladly would not
contend," returned Gimli in the same strain, for both sons of Olw�
had separated themselves from the crowd to approach them. Correspondingly,
they also made their way inland. "As if I ever lack faith in the
universal truth of elven prissiness."�
For that extra comment, Gimli earned
a trip to his feet. Luckily, much to his mortified relief, he was able
to catch himself before barreling into the High Prince.�
"Have a care, Master Dwarf. It would
not do to have your first, joyous day in the Blessed Realm marred by
a detrimental mishap." The tall, charismatic-looking elf clad in
formal russet robe remarked good-naturedly. Unlike the majority of other
attendees, this elf was ostensibly cloaked with the aura of worldly
wisdom and magnanimity, an unmistakable leader among his people. His
brown eyes shone kindly, yet were tempered with an edge that would cut
through any artful wiles and refined scheme of manipulation. In his
shadow on his left side, stood an even taller figure and imposing in
its intimidating austerity and physical bulk. This dark-haired, green-eyed
Teleri looked every inch a seasoned warrior.... nay, a war general.�
Gimli cleared his throat gruffly to hide
his embarrassment. The dwarf looked fit to maul the innocently smiling
archer but then decided that there was no sweeter retaliation than the
one pulled at the least expected moment, so he let the elf off the hook,
for now. Someone needed to be the mature one between them and mindful
of their surroundings. In-between the elves, gestures of politesse were
exchanged and the proud dwarf contributed a sedate nod of acknowledgement,
briefly examining the crowd for any recognizable faces.�
"We of Telerin descent have long
looked forward to this day, noble champions of Endor," announced
Forod�l, the High Prince. "Your valorous deeds have sown great
pride in our hearts. I bring you words from Lord Olw� himself. Honored
guests you shall always be in our land and homes. None shall deny you
what you ask of them and none shall ever turn you away. Needless to
say, in his vast store of hope, my father has booked an open residency
in his palatial dwellings for both of you to utilize in any manner you
wish. But for now, you need not trouble yourselves with thoughts other
than joining the grand feast which shall be held on the morrow's eve."�
"Suilad, Lords of Aman. Your gracious
welcome cheers our weary mind and body. Though I must plead reprieve
from all this lavish formality, for you aggrandize our status and importance
beyond its true merit. This is Master Gimli of Aglarond and I am merely
Legolas of the Woodland Realm. We bow in gratitude for Lord Olw�'s
boundless hospitality," averred the former Lord of Ithilien.�
Within their hearing range, many a curious
mind cannot contain the urge to vocalize their thoughts, although their
words were masked by the intervening rumble of the cresting waves and
distant cries of the vagrant gulls.�
"For a young elf who has made quite
a name for himself, even in a land he has yet to more than glimpse,
he looks surprisingly...."�
"Delicate? Defenseless?"�
"I was going to say lovely."�
"Be that as it may, I cannot help
but surmise his relationship with the dwarf."�
"Visited by such an unprecedented
sight here in Aman, one is rendered incapable of not wondering."�
"You old magpies may have your fill
of speculation. I only put up with confirmed truth, as it stands. This
one is still unattached."�
"Not even a lover? How do you know?"�
The skeptical questions were answered
with smug confidence. "From no other sources but the most reliable
ones. Do not let his charming demeanor fool you, that young Silvan carries
within him a sorrowful history of heartache. It is said he has been
abandoned on his marriage altar by a Noldo lord. 'Tis a genuine miracle
for the poor soul to have made it to Valinor by himself and not through
the alternative passage of Mandos' Halls."�
"Pah! Those Noldor are no better
than the Vanyar. They are too blinded by self-idolatry to be able to
recognize a piece of rare treasure when it stands before them. Ages
may pass, but some things will always remain cut and dried."�
"Lower the tide of your voice, my
friend. We are not without visitors."�
The stern admonition brought about the
discreet change of angle from several heads, all leading to the rigid
figure of impressive stature who presented a menacing, broad-shouldered
back to them. Even without the need to meet his eyes, they could feel
the air of mightily suppressed ire that portended unspeakable danger
to those who did not know when to stop, accumulating like clouds in
the dark sky before a deadly blizzard. Yet suddenly, all trace of growing
tension was banished from anyone's regard as their attention was collectively
drawn by an unexpected outcry.�
"Legolas!"�
"Lord Legolas!"�
Glorfindel felt his heart seized by cold
frenzy. Everything happened so quickly beyond the pace of his comprehension.
One moment, his world was finally bathed in light again where everything
was as it should be and even impossible hopes had a place to live, and
then in a blink of eye, it went pitch-dark and lifeless along with the
eclipse of his precious sun.�
Legolas!�
The blue skies of his merry eyes were
no longer alight. No signs of warning prepared his companions when he
suddenly collapsed to the floor. Were it not for the second prince's
swift response to brace the fall, there's no telling what kind of injury
the insensate archer might have further suffered. Cradled in the large
warrior's arms, Legolas looked absurdly small and fragile. And all Glorfindel
wanted, all he could think of to the point of almost losing his reason,
was to have his beloved back and safe in his own arms.�
"Glorfindel, wait...." called
Ecthelion.�
"Stay out of this, Ecthelion,"
muttered Glorfindel without sparing a look over his shoulder.�
Any more waiting was asking too much
of him.�
"Can somebody enlighten me as to
what is wrong with the silly elf?" Gimli's voice rose in agitation,
not caring what this new people might likely think of a dwarf appending
such an epithet to an elf. The princes, however, gave no outward sign
of being perturbed by anything other than the unaccountable state of
the young elf.�
"I do not think a plain spell of
exhaustion is the plight we're dealing with, yet I'm without the qualifications
to pass any diagnostic conclusion for certain," said the heir of
Olw� in low tones, bringing his cool palm to Legolas' cheek, growing
ashen at an alarming rate. "He is cold to the touch. This bodes
so much ill I dare not waste time for deeper thoughts. Make haste, Thanataur.
Bring him to the first unoccupied guest room on your way back and I
shall summon a court healer with the fleetest pair of feet to meet you
there."�
Not an elf of many words, the ever-vigilant
warrior moved to action swiftly after nodding his assent. Slithering
an arm under the Silvan's knees, as the other bracketed the upper body
securely to his chest, he smoothly lifted the unconscious elf off the
ground and turned on his heels....�
....only to have his way blocked by the
steely stance of an equally formidable golden warrior.�
"Your pardon, my lords," spoke
the Lord of the Golden Flower in grim-faced boldness. "Legolas
is a dear friend of mine and I know his mind well enough to confidently
claim that no greater reluctance or abashment would fall from his lips
at this moment than the protest against inconveniencing noblemen of
such lofty stature as you both whom he barely knows. Therefore, I must
step in and beg your leave to take matters into my hands. I will ensure
that Legolas receives naught but the very best care and devotion to
his well-being."�
"In brevity," the unsmiling
eyes said. "Hand over him right now."�
Surprisingly enough, Glorfindel's civilized
excuse of a demand was met with an equally dense resistance, tendered
from a source both anticipated and unpredicted at the same time, one
that seemingly rose to the daunting height of Amon Uilos and would cow
lesser beings into docile submission.�
"Young Legolas is not an inconvenience,"
stated the chief general of Alqualond�'s defense.�
Glorfindel was not to be deterred by
any creature, living or dead. "And I wholeheartedly agree with
you. Have faith, Lord Thanataur, that I am not favouring anyone's comfort
save his when I offer my succor. It would help ease his suffering to
wake up to familiar faces."�
"How are we to know that yours is
the face that would bring peace to him?" came the chilly reply,
which appeared to have struck a sensitive nerve, making the Noldo lord
wince as if from physical pain, and in its turn, resurrecting a furious,
dark-eyed Balrog Slayer from the forgotten depths of memory. Any surviving
Gondolindrim who once bore witness to the fearsome wrath with which
the Lord of the Golden Flower locked his sight on the monstrous demon
of darkness and flame waylaying his Lord's family's passage to safety,
might give testimony to how reminiscent and perilous the way present
matters advanced, and aver that innocent bystanders might want to steer
clear.�
"Please, I'm asking you to not make
this any more difficult than it is. I know what ails him and I'm the
only one that can help him."�
"I should like to give your conviction
more credit, Lord Glorfindel, bearing in mind that you're no accomplished
healer or even close to a regular one. But this is not the time and
place for such levity. Now if you would step aside."�
"I'm not going anywhere without
Legolas."�
"You do not have the authority to
decide for him."�
"I have as much authority in this
matter as anyone here," snarled the reborn warrior through gritted
teeth.�
In any circumstances, the true-hearted
dwarf would find the sight of two regal, handsome, stubborn elves virtually
head butting each other over his blissfully oblivious friend hilariously
entertaining. A sight to tempt him to pull up a long bench for seat,
order few mugs of ale and a plate of nuts and perhaps invite a few of
those gaping onlookers for a decent round of wagering. Yet at this moment,
all he wanted to do was to bring the flat of his axe to each of the
ridiculously high heads and leave them miserably moaning.�
On the other hand, he understood where
Glorfindel's desperate struggle was coming from. Aye, he knew about
the relationship between Elrond's army commander and the Mirkwood prince,
and little parts of the long, complicated story that accompanied its
clandestine affair. That didn't mean he was waiting cheerfully by to
see which side of this ridiculous little war would win. He knew they
must move, and quickly. Time wouldn't wait, Legolas couldn't wait.�
Conflicting feelings aside, Gimli was
never one for taking a stab in the dark. He could only pray he was making
the right choice.�
"Peace! Both of you!" snapped
the vexed dwarf loudly without any care for sensitive, elven hearing.
"Whatever it is that you're attempting to prove from this contest
of manhood, know that this old dwarf is far from being amused. I do
not give a hang if you're too used to getting your way to remember the
concept of self-restraint, but not when the one who will pay dearly
for the cost of your stubbornness would be Legolas."�
Guilty shame subjugated the elf-lords
into uncomfortable silence, both turning away slightly, unable to face
the full force of Gimli's scowl. Gimli did not let the standstill live
too long, lest it would birth more self-willed arguments or time-wasting
apologies.�
"Lord Thanataur, how much authority
do you think I have then to decide for Legolas?" inquired the son
of Gl�in sharply. "Would you turn your stern countenance upon
me as well?"�
"Nay, Master Gimli," answered
the Teleri prince without any hint of hesitation, eyes and voice resolute.
"Your words I shall accede to. I would recognize true comradeship
anywhere. You would not lead young Legolas astray or betray him."�
Gimli blinked and forgot what he was
about to say for a fleeting moment. He hadn't expected to receive instantaneous
concession, nor so much respect in so straight and brief a speech. 'What
do you know?' Gimli thought. He was beginning to like this elf. People
like him were rare.�
"Then I must thank you for your
fine sense of judgement," offered the dwarf, allowing a momentary
softening of his expression, which showed that he was impressed, before
going businesslike again.�
"If such be the case, so hearken
to my voice, Second Prince. You may entrust my companion's care and
safety to this elf. Glorfindel of Gondolin and Imladris does not bandy
words lightly, at least not in matters concerning life and death. For
my gut feeling tells me, this is the very thing we're dealing with right
now."�
Gimli's grave statement seemed to suck
the air dry for an eternity of several heartbeats. Silent Forod�l stepped
forward to place his hand on his brother's shoulder, a simple gesture
yet sufficient to convey his wisdom. Thanataur nodded with an almost
painful reluctance, finally relinquishing his burden to the waiting
pair of arms.�
The moment Glorfindel held the young
archer and felt his breath ghosting over the bare skin of his neck,
the dark flame in his eyes instantly died away, replaced by grateful
tenderness so profound any verbal expression of gratitude felt redundant,
but thank them he did nonetheless, especially for Gimli's trust.�
Exchanging one last pregnant look with
the dwarf, wordlessly promising his own tortured death should he fail
to save Legolas, Glorfindel straightened himself and bore his beloved
prince away.�
~ * ~ * ~ * ~�
~ * ~ * ~ Chapter 2 ~
* ~ * ~�
The pull of sleep was strong. He felt
like he hadn't slept a wink for the past century. Unfortunately, this
sensation of deep-boned weariness was not something new. In fact, he
had grown quite accustomed to it, just like how he'd grown used to cleverly
misleading people and sidestepping their questions and worry.�
'Valar,' Legolas thought, 'I must've
scared poor Gimli to distraction.' Unless he could come up with some
convincing story, that mulish dwarf was going to latch on to him like
a fierce watchdog when he woke up, after he finished beating
some sense into him.�
Speaking of waking up... Funny, he seemed
to forget how to do that. Was it ever this hard, releasing his self
from the viscous lethargy of sleep? The darkness surrounded him, lulled
him, promised him eternal peace. The darkness tried to make him forget.
And he almost did, but...�
There was a faint glow of warmth, drifting
like a lost firefly seeking a place to rest. Legolas watched with dazed
eyes as it floated down and disappeared into his chest, right where
his heart was. And as the warmth spread through his veins and brought
light to his world again, he remembered.�
He remembered the face that was ingrained
into his soul.�
The daylight in the room was kind to
his eyes when he opened them drowsily, reminding him of his old room
in Mirkwood. There must be an amazing, huge, ancient tree standing guard
outside the open windows of this room, he thought, and was strangely
comforted, just as he was by the soft rustle of its leaves.�
Sensing faintly that he was not alone,
Legolas slowly turned his head which rested on a pillow. Seated on a
chair at his bedside was an Elda he'd never seen before. His dark mane
and skin tone suggested Noldor heritage, as did the work of the elegant
embroidery insinuated aesthetically into his clothing. Yet his eyes
revealed nothing for they were shut just like human in repose.�
Legolas felt an indefinable tingle in
his being when he saw the elf. It was as if...�
"I know you," he whispered.�
Had the Sinda archer been in better health
than he was at the moment, he would've probably been startled right
out of his bed by the heart-shocking abruptness when those eyes flew
open. The Noldo looked at him with speechless surprise in a peculiar
manner one did not normally pass on to a patient who had just come around,
unless said patient was already dead.�
Both elves blinked numbly at each other...�
...and then broke into mellow smiles
in near-perfect synchronicity, only Legolas' was sweetly disrupted by
a pleasant chuckle.�
"No, that's not right. I should
say... my heart knows you, even though I do not," resumed the younger
elf softly.�
Legolas' blue eyes drooped and spent
an unsettling amount of time opening, with effort, once again. A look
of pure alarm crossed the Noldo's face, but Legolas couldn't tell for
certain with his weakening sight. The stranger's mouth was moving, speaking
something. Something urgent it seemed. Legolas concentrated hard on
the faint wisps of words trying to reach his ears.�
"...can you hear my voice?"�
"Yes," answered Legolas with
a difficult breath.�
It came like a splash of cold water to
his face, this sudden knowledge that he was running out of time, time
that was pouring away like the grains of sand in an hourglass. The spark
of surprise only lasted for as long as it took for a fog of warm breath
to disappear in cold winter air, leaving him curiously empty of thoughts
and feelings, save for one wish.�
"Is he... with you? Here?"�
Legolas thought he should specify whom
he meant, but there seemed to be no need for it. The Noldo answered
his question immediately without batting an eye.�
"He will be here soon. Please try
to stay awake a little longer."�
'I do not think I can,' he wanted to
say. He had been in denial for far too long, believing naively that
any form of grief would dwindle with time. He grew up developing a belief
that he should burden no one with his troubles, torment no one with
his own pains. His heart would be strong enough to endure anything,
as long as it still carried a torch of hope and optimism. Yet, in his
supreme arrogance, he had neglected to heal the wounds of his soul.
Watching them piling up one by one, yet turning a blind eye to them
all the same as he kept moving forward, telling himself he had more
important things to do, there was no room for lament and sorrow.�
How foolish he had been. He could see
it clearly now, albeit too late.�
He was a cave that could no longer hold
the weight of a crumbling mountain.�
Consequence was a just, though pitiless,
beast.�
Legolas edged his right hand out from
under the blanket, suddenly wanting to feel the warmth of another's
touch. He held it out in silent supplication toward the older Elda.
The dark-haired elf stared openly at the hand, moving his widened eyes
to Legolas' face and back to the hand again with something akin to helpless
horror. Legolas simply thought he did not understand what was asked
of him.�
"Would you mind terribly... would
you hold my hand until I fall asleep again?"�
"I..." the elf faltered.�
"Please? I promise it will not be
long."�
"It's not what you think. I really
wish that..." Something dawned on the hesitant elf when his eyes
met Legolas' again. The blue eyes were still barely open, but they could
no longer discern anything. �
To Legolas' bafflement, he thought he
heard a faint echo of a desperate call for Glorfindel in his head, though
he was sure it did not come from a tangible voice. It was almost like
hearing someone's thoughts - 'Or mental communication'
- but he quickly dismissed the idea. His ears must have been playing
tricks on him.�
"Do not fault yourself on my account,
kind sir," Legolas drew his hand back readily as he offered an
apologetic smile. "Forgive my selfish request."�
"Nay, do not apologize, pen dithen,"
choked out the kind voice that was struggling to conceal the anxiety
of its owner. "Hold on a little longer, do you hear me? Glorfindel
is tearing along the hallway as we speak."�
"Glorfindel..." Legolas repeated
the name longingly, regretfully. "Please tell him that I'm sorry...
for failing to carry out our promise. And that I..."�
"Nay, Legolas! Stay with me! Legolas!"�
Droopy blue eyes drifted closed with
a slight flutter.�
"...I will always..."�
~ * ~ * ~ * ~�
One loud crash after another was heard
throughout the building as the ornate doors were thrown open by raw
force and connected with the stone walls, then bounded off to slap back
into their frames. Arriving like a force of nature was a panting Glorfindel,
pale as a wraith.�
He shot through the antechamber and all
but flung himself at the bedside, his wildly racing heart stopped cold
by the sight that greeted him. Time came to a dreamlike standstill,
reality distorted unrecognizable surreality.�
Beside the bed, Ecthelion sat hunched
down like a rain sodden willow, face obscured behind his palm and the
veil of his dark hair, not saying a word.�
"I must be dreaming..." Trembling
fingers touched the face he had kissed countless times, his thumb grazing
the sweetest pair of lips he had ever known. Dazedly, Glorfindel leaned
down to taste those lips again - still as honeyed sweet as he remembered
- losing himself in the waning heat of hidden enchantment that was the
Mirkwood archer's mouth. He raised Legolas' limp body into his embrace,
whispering to himself.�
"Surely this is only a nightmare
from which I will soon awaken."�
Paralyzed by despair, too numb to feel
the gathering tears, Glorfindel could only turn his grief-stricken gaze
to his age-old friend.�
"Ecthelion, please say something."�
The Lord of the Fountain raised his gaze.�
He had never looked this lost in his
previous life, thought Ecthelion with a pang in his heart. Not
even when he lost the whole of his family to Maeglin's treachery.�
"Don't worry, Elanor," Ecthelion
yielded himself to what he hoped was an inspiriting confidence, going
so far as to use Glorfindel's old nickname, the one he always hated
so much. "He has not left us, at least not completely� not yet."�
It was not a lie, that much he could
swear by everything he held dear. Yet he wouldn't stretch the truth
and invent false hopes either. They were both peering into a dark abyss
that led to their mutual doom, and by its cliff face, Legolas was hanging
by a treacherous branch that was about to give way any moment. The darkness
was already reaching upward, impatient for his fall.�
And Glorfindel understood what he didn't
have the heart to say out loud, just by glimpsing into his friend's
leaden eyes. Ecthelion was briefly reminded of how poetically ludicrous
it was, the way their minds and spirits were so in tune with each other,
even more than a married couple. Thank Eru their hearts didn't sing
for each other as well, because more than anyone else, Ecthelion found
it exceedingly pleasant to learn about his lover intimately, from the
inside out. Falling in love with Glorfindel would be a tedious affair
for him.�
Ecthelion left his seat to stare out
the open window. He needed a clear view of things to be able to think.
Watching the painful sight of those star-crossed lovers would only drag
his mind further into the suffocating gloom. Somewhere, amidst the tempest
of his jumbled thoughts, he felt there was an answer waiting to be found,
an answer that could dispel this shadow of despair and bring in a shaft
of light. But before he could do that, he needed to make sense of something.�
Something that had been deeply bothering
him.�
"He can see me.... and hear me,"
pondered Ecthelion.�
His rumination received an incredulous
response. "What? That cannot be possible. Aren't the elves that
could communicate with your spirit supposed to be only me and your beloved?"�
"Exactly," answered the pensive
elf. "Yet he looked me straight in the eye and perceived my presence,
just as he does yours."�
Ecthelion began to pace around the room
aimlessly. "He talked to me. He was asking for you." Then
just as erratically as the flick of his hair, his mood suddenly took
a swift dive. He turned to face his friend, lines of anger rippling
across his countenance.�
"He asked me to hold his hand, in
a small, lonely voice that tore at my heart. And I could not even fulfill
that simple request!"�
"Please, Ecthelion. I need you to
be the strong one between us right now, or I will surely break apart!"�
"Forgive me. You're right."
Ecthelion instantly sobered up. The last thing he needed to do was to
add more heat to the kettle.�
The dark-haired elf approached the bed
and took a seat beside the golden couple, close enough that he needed
not reach far to lay a tentative hand on the fair face that rested so
peacefully on Glorfindel's chest, as if he was merely taking a nap.�
"Foolish elfling, do you not understand
that grief need not announce its presence for all eyes to see before
it claims your unprepared soul? It does not need to compromise your
health profoundly before it collects its due." The hand that tried
to brush a misbehaving strand of golden hair became transparent the
second it met skin, materializing again when it was pulled away.�
"It won't go away just because you
ignore it," Ecthelion said sadly.�
"Then all my fears and suspicions
have proven true," admitted Glorfindel in a thick voice. With mindless
distraction, he pulled the bedspread out of its designed corners and
wrapped it around the sitting lump of their melded forms. Legolas grew
colder by the minute, and so did the golden warrior's heart. "He
gives too little thought to himself, he was ever thus. Even as a child,
he was a little bundle of determination who matured too tragically soon.
He had such a tremendous goal for one so young and small. He would rid
the world of the Dark Lord so no other children would ever cry from
losing one or both their parents to evil darkness like he did."�
They both smiled at the mental picture
the words painted, of a knee-high, blue-eyed elfling, making a solemn
proclamation from the bottom of his noble little heart, shoulders squared,
stance proud, even as a deep-set frown gradually bridged his brows as
he realized that his elders did not take his words as seriously as he
felt them.�
"In his impetuous adolescence, he
refused to be bounded by his limitations. He hated nothing more than
losing to himself. Whatever he decided to do, he put all his mind and
untried heart to it. Even when his father sold his freedom for the sake
of Mirkwood by means of a political marriage, he... he gave himself
completely without a second thought."�
Glorfindel could not contain a mild chuckle
while reliving some of the fond memories. "You should've seen him
living under Imladris' foster care. He was the exemplary picture of
a warrior bride in training, embarking on the solo quest to become an
ideal mate for his intended with the selfsame dedication he poured into
his studies and bowmanship. His deeds became a source of endless amusement
to the entire household, for despite his good intentions, he had a rare
talent in attracting domestic disasters.�
"I wish those happy days could have
just carried on forever. Had I known that the future would bring nothing
but pain and grief for him, I would've done my damnedest to save his
heart from breaking that day, to shield him from that heartless betrayal.
Even if it meant breaking faith with my own Lord and his family, the
people I spent my second lifetime living among and protecting."�
"But then you would not have become
his lover," argued Ecthelion.�
"And look how well that story ends!"
yelled Glorfindel, cold steel flashing in his eyes. "Would that
I had let him be and continued to love him from afar."�
"Whatever difference you think your
inclusion in his life made, his fate would have ultimately been the
same, only Legolas wouldn't have been so fortunate as to find true love,"
stated the mighty slayer of Gothmog, a strong note of displeasure pervading
his gruff voice. "You spoke without pausing to consider Legolas'
feelings. Are you so ready to give up your love for an inconstant future
that offers no promise of solace for either of you? What do you think
Legolas' answer would be? And how would he feel, hearing yours?"�
It ripped Glorfindel's heart because
he knew what Ecthelion said was true. Legolas wouldn't want to change
a thing about their past, and he wouldn't want to see it tainted with
regrets either. Closing his eyes, Glorfindel burrowed his nose into
the golden silk of Legolas' hair and whispered into his ear, "Please
forgive my rash speech, brithilen. I take everything back... I take
everything back..."�
The bright afternoon had only grown older
for a scant two hours but in this room, night fell and deepened. The
shadow of death loomed larger and larger. The growing fracture in Glorfindel's
self-possession had finally reached a state where it could no longer
sustain even an illusive hope. Despairingly, he joined one of their
hands together.�
"Do not stray too far from Mandos'
gate, my heart. I shall seek you soon and never let you go again."�
"Not even if I must face the doom
of eternal abandonment would I let that happen!" In a fit of boiling
rage born from helplessness, Ecthelion lashed his hand out to touch
their conjoined hands, even though he knew he would not be able to.
But to his and Glorfindel's wide-eyed shock, they felt a glowing pulse
of energy jolting from the point of their indistinct contact, rushing
out of their being and streaming into Legolas. For an unbelievable moment,
they both could feel a weak spark of vitality enveloping his muted heartbeat.�
"Damned be our balrog-slaying arses,"
muttered Ecthelion.�
"What is the meaning of this?"
demanded Glorfindel in confusion.�
"Either there is something perversely
abnormal between each of us, or... I find myself hard-pressed not to
consider both of you a couple who are obviously meant for each other."
A silly grin sat on his lit up face.�
"Kindly expound your meaning, mellon
nin, for the sake of my nerves. I fear in this grief, I cannot summon
the wits it takes to keep up with yours."�
"It is amazing and I would call
it impossible had I not felt it with my own spirit," began Ecthelion
in childlike wonder as he touched their linked hands again and experienced
the same sensation they felt before. He let the connection linger a
little longer, and together with Glorfindel, watched in amazement as
Legolas' breathing hitched and he released a soft sigh.�
"You are already bound to him, Glorfindel,
and he to you, even though you have not performed the Rite of Bonding.
That explains the strange familiarity he felt in my presence, and why
he was able to notice me. And that fact alone should've managed to salvage
his failing spirit. However, the bond is incomplete; something is hindering
the flow of energy and awareness that should've brought it to completion.
And I think I know what it is."�
This time, when his friend raised his
slate colored eyes to bore deep into his own blue-violet ones, Glorfindel
saw the bolstering wind of ardour had chased the clouds from the overcast
sky. Wearing a smile that made the golden warrior's hope soar, Ecthelion
spoke with conviction. "I know how to save him."�
~ * ~ * ~ * ~�
In the depths of long-forgotten woods,
he waited. His kin were leaving, everyone he knew was taking their leave,
one by one. Be it by the seductive sea or by mortal doom. Soon enough,
he would be all that was left behind, but not alone.�
He still had the woods, and he still
had him.�
Glorfindel would never leave him alone.�
And so he would wait in infinite patience,
for him. Glorfindel was always late for their arranged meetings, but
he liked waiting for him, knowing just one of the Elf-lord's loving
smiles never failed to make him forget the torturous length of time
he'd spent in silent solitude.�
The ancient forest breathed and sighed
in a cadence he had grown familiar with through months of rapt acquaintance.
A dry twig snapped under the weight of his boot and he realized he was
walking with closed eyes, yet that knowledge neither bothered him nor
broke his stride. He walked under the eaves that housed the cheerful
notes of colourful birds, he walked through pools of sunlight that filtered
through the lush canopy. He walked and walked without care for mundane
things such as a destination.�
In his hands, he held a piece of parchment.
He knew every penned word on it by heart. It was a letter from his love.
Glorfindel was coming for him. His Lord would leave these shores with
his family. He would be free to follow his heart's calling and fly to
the side of his golden prince. Legolas also remembered every word of
the reply he'd written in urgent haste, lest the letter failed to reach
his beloved in time.�
Meet me in Fangorn Forest. I wish
to bind myself to you.�
And so he waited, in heady excitement,
in calm happiness, in anxious worry, until it turned into ravaging despair.�
Glorfindel never came.�
He never came.�
"Legolas." �
He heard someone calling his name so
he opened his eyes. Looking around, he found himself no longer walking
in the forest but poised on the edge of the grassy scarp of a hill that
overlooked the rhythmic waves of the ocean. It was a breathtakingly
beautiful sight, yet why was his heart only filled with sorrow?�
"Strange. It does not feel like
coming home," the young elf said. "My soul is too silent now
that I no longer hear the gulls calling me."�
"That is because your home does
not lie in any breadth of land, Son of the Greenwood. Like true peace,
there is no certainty you will find what you seek anywhere, even under
the light of Valinor's sky." Legolas turned his head to find the
owner of the voice, and there he stood like a gallant hero of old, tall
and forbidding. His gaze, though not wholly contradicting his powerful
stature, spoke of soothing, silvery notes woven by a minstrel on a glorious
autumn night. Legolas beheld the vision in mystified curiosity, tugged
by a flash of recognition that eluded his full grasp. The elf came forward,
his gait purposeful. Just when Legolas finally found his tongue to query
who he was, heat enveloped the blond elf's hand as the stranger ensconced
it snugly in his larger palm.�
"You are lost and I shall guide
you back to your home. But first, I need to show you something."�
"Wait! I don't even know you,"
protested the Sindarin prince.�
"Ecthelion of Gondolin, at your
disposal, ernilen," quipped the Elf-lord blithely.�
Legolas found no strength of will to
resist, beguiled as he was by the stranger's imperious attitude and
roguish smile that sorely reminded him of another handsome, magnificent
warrior.�
~ * ~ * ~ * ~�
"You will have to pleasure him.
Keep his sensory perception anchored to his flesh and make sure he stays
warm."�
"You mean..."�
Ecthelion rolled his eyes at the look
of lustful glee upon the eager face. "Did you not hear me? I do
not ask you to pleasure yourself by molesting him."�
"You speak as if they are two
entirely different pursuits," retorted the golden elf, just to
be impish.�
"Why do I even bother trying
to set your mind straight?" groused the aggravated Elda before
he gave his last warning. "Do what you must, but take care not
to exhaust him!"�
The last article of his clothing was
tossed, disregarded, to join the rest of the indecorously strewn ensemble
pooling on the floor. His eyes were only for the equally unclothed figure
laid so alluringly on the bed like a sybaritic sacrifice; tendrils of
golden hair splayed like liquid sunlight, some of which curled enticingly
towards his peach-hued nipples. Disposed on luscious, deep wine red
silk bedding that did nothing but enhance his flawless skin, Legolas
looked like a marble idol carved with assiduous attention by Eru Himself,
and his zealous worshipper was eyeing him with a hunger that bordered
on obsession.�
Recalling the doleful circumstances that
prompted the need to perform this particular act in the first place,
Glorfindel took a deep breath and let it out slowly, valiantly struggling
to tame his raging desire. He trusted Ecthelion with his whole being;
any promise his old friend made was as good as done. Glorfindel had
unwavering faith that Legolas would be returned to his heart and soul's
keeping. It was only a matter of time and patience. That's why he would
do his part and tend his Sindarin prince with utmost care.�
Yet when the feel of supple skin glided
beneath his fingers and the scent of morning dew, underlaid with a trace
of citrus filled his nose, he wanted to forget everything and simply
love this beautiful elf. Oh, how he missed this intoxicating closeness,
this absolute bliss. Here was the petal-soft lips he couldn't stop thinking
about in his loneliness. Here was the velvet-smooth skin that perpetually
haunted his dreams. Here was the answer to all of his prayers of longing.�
Glorfindel took his time to prepare Legolas
until he could accommodate his remarkable girth and length without the
slightest twinge of pain. After he was satisfied with his lover's readiness,
he lubricated his own erection liberally. Barely a drop of oil was left
in the small container when he was finished. Easing the smaller elf
onto his side and pulling him back flush against the length of his mighty
warrior form, the Elf-lord took his prince from behind.�
Their reunion, in Glorfindel's opinion,
was undeniably a mind-wrenching experience. How in Arda he did not lose
coherence with the dizzying heat of each gliding stroke within Legolas'
tight channel he would never know. A breathy chuckle escaped his throat
when he took note of how natural it was for Legolas, in spite of being
trapped in unconsciousness, to still be able to nurture an erection
as a gesture of appreciation for his lover's expert ministrations.�
Truly he did not mean to flout Ecthelion's
counsel on purpose, yet Legolas felt so warm and wonderful and Glorfindel
couldn't help himself. It has been decades since the last time he saw
his lover. Helpless to stop the rush of pleasure from taking over the
control of his body, Glorfindel began to thrust deep into Legolas' clenching
passage. He also did not plan to spend himself so swiftly, but as Legolas'
lithe body rocked with his thrusts Glorfindel looked down and stumbled
on a pleasant surprise. Indeed, some measure of awareness was slowly
returning to the young elf in deep sleep. His countenance began to show
signs of being affected by physical sensations and Glorfindel could
almost swear he heard a ghost of a whimper fall from those parted lips.�
It was the feeling of unbridled jubilation
that tipped him over the edge.�
"I'm afraid my famous self-control
has finally decided to take a well-deserved respite," laughed Glorfindel
breathlessly, spent but far from satiated. Then he added teasingly,
"Even though I can always conveniently blame everything on your
bewitching charms and punish you accordingly later." The smiling
Balrog-slayer leaned in for a deep, languid kiss. He felt his smile
grow into a wild grin as he perceived indubitable proof of Legolas'
sluggish awakening in the form of querulous, breathy sounds which his
mind pruriently interpreted as a plea to continue.�
"See? It's two against one. I have
always known that Ecthelion is an unreasonable elf." Glorfindel
rolled his hips lazily and resumed his prodding motion in little, slow
nudges. "Be at peace, melethen. I'm not going anywhere. I am yours,
always yours, as you are mine."�
Come back to me, Legolas.�
~ * ~ * ~ * ~�
All of a sudden, Legolas broke the silence.
"I feel slightly warm inside."�
"That means that stupid blond stuffed
bear is doing his job properly," the grey-eyed Elf-lord assured
him kindly, then added as an afterthought, as his gaze returned to their
path ahead, "Perhaps I've misjudged his simple-mindedness."�
"Yet I also feel stabs of... not
quite pain," Legolas tilted his head curiously.�
Ecthelion's brows knitted together. "Apparently
I spoke too soon."�
They were back in the ancient forest,
going deeper and deeper into the primeval parts that never breathed
the scent or came within the sight of Eru's children. The older elf
still held his hand captive, and though it made him slightly embarrassed
to be led around like a child on his first excursion, he was secretly
happy for it. The touch was warm and filled his heart with gladness.
He did not realize how cold he had felt until this stranger called Ecthelion
came. Of course he had known the name of Ecthelion of Gondolin since
he was a child, although he had never dreamed of meeting him in person.
But this Ecthelion did not fill him with dramatic awe or admiration
like the hero in his bedtime stories did. This Ecthelion was just...
a nice elf he felt comfortable being with.�
"He never had a chance to tell you,
did he?" Legolas looked up to search the elder's face, a question
flickered in his cerulean gaze. Ecthelion merely offered a small smile
and continued their trek. "The reason why he did not meet you as
promised."�
Legolas had no reply for that.�
"He did come, you know?" said
his companion as he ducked under a gnarly, low-hanging branch that seemingly
sought to bar the outsiders from proceeding further. Legolas followed
his example. "A full week before you arrived, in fact. He was so
burningly eager to reach this place he nearly ran his horse into the
ground."�
"I do not understand..." Legolas
tentatively spoke. What was Ecthelion talking about? Glorfindel never
came, Legolas thought with a painful throb in his chest.�
Ecthelion looked at him sadly. "In
this forest, while Glorfindel was waiting for you, he found something
not even his wildest imagination could possibly conjure up. It was both
a miracle and a curse, one that has brought us all to this sorrowful
day."�
Ecthelion led him to stand before a majestic
tree that rose to such a lofty height that all trees in Arda, even the
esteemed mallorn, seemed to bow humbly to its glory. The magnitude of
this single living being was unconceivable, unimaginable. From the first
moment Legolas beheld this august presence, his heart trembled and he
knew he was being made witness to a living relic of Yavanna's creation
that had survived the Marring of Arda. They were standing on hallowed
ground, where even Morgoth himself could not withstand the cleansing
enchantment that oozed from the bark of this mighty being.�
Yet, that was not merely the phenomenal
surprise Ecthelion intended to show him. Bringing him just a bit closer
and climbing the upraised ground riddled by a maze of overlapping roots,
they came to an altar bed fashioned from the lattice of softwood and
vines. Laid upon the green divan was a robed figure that appeared to
be sound asleep. Blue eyes grew impossibly round when they surmised
the true identity of this recumbent elf.�
"He found me," revealed Ecthelion.�
Legolas thought he must be having some
kind of quaint vision. "How... Why...?"�
"Yes, I am an elf, to all intents
and purposes, who was supposed to have perished in the sack of Gondolin,"
the dark-haired Elf-lord supplied helpfully. "As it turned out,
fate had a different plan for me. I confess to not having an adequate
recollection to recount the actual events. All I know is that the enemies
had somehow managed to lay hold of me, barely alive. They intended to
deliver me to their lord in the Northwest, no doubt to be corrupted
and used to his evil purposes. Yet by Eru's mercy, I was spared that
abominable fate.�
"Mid-journey, the Orcs who were
to convey me to their stronghold in Angband had the ill-fortune to encounter
the Ent-folk. The trees were restless and ill-tempered at the time,
and the mere filth of the Orcs' presence presented an eyesore to them.
They purged the goblins without so much as a warning quiver of forest
leaves, turning the earth and crushing the flesh and bones of their
foes and burying them alive for the food of the saplings.�
"In the aftermath of the violent
massacre, one of the Ent-folk found my inanimate body under the tattered
wrap of grungy rags amidst the sea of black corpses. Believing me to
be cursed by Morgoth's spell for not waking despite their many attempts
to rouse me from slumber, the Ent-folk decided to bring me here to be
sheltered under their Ancient One's protection.�
"The enchantment of this place immediately
engulfed me and healed all my wounds, yet for reasons unknown, the holy
tree did not desire to restore my sentience. As my body was suspended
in entranced coma, my spirit also lay dormant, waiting. Ages passed
without my knowledge, and it would've remained so perhaps until the
End of E�."�
Here Ecthelion paused his transcendent
tale to observe the young prince's reaction. Legolas was, to put it
mildly, overwhelmed beyond speech.�
"Then Glorfindel came, by your request.
In this forest, guided by the same enchantment that has kept me alive
for thousands of years and the bond we once shared in the old days,
he came to find me. His shock, I imagine, must have been many times
greater than yours. We were not supposed to be reunited here in Middle
Earth, and certainly not in this condition.�
"Not knowing what to do with me,
he bore me straight away to Mithlond, and upon the counsel of wise C�rdan,
he must sail to the Blessed Realm with me. The need for haste was imperative.
Divested of the elemental power of the Tree, there was no knowing for
sure how long this body and life of mine would last.�
"Despite having no other choice,
Glorfindel still hesitated. He did not want to leave you without explanation.
He feared you would think the worst of his absence and descend into
despair. He could not bear the thought of you thinking that you were
not wanted, or that you had been betrayed by yet another elf you had
given your heart selflessly to. It was the most painful decision he
had ever made, and each step he took further away from you was like
a lance to his already bleeding heart. He made Lord C�rdan vow to make
sure you would sail to the West. He wrote a hasty message for Master
Gimli to ask him to look after you come what may. He did everything
he could, yet it was not enough. It would never be enough for him.�
"The rest of this tale, I think
you already know," concluded the Elf-lord softly.�
Wrapped in silence, Legolas could not
muster a suitable response. The enormity of the revelation had not fully
sunk in yet. The yawning void in his head left him ill-equipped to deal
with the whole truth head on. He could only take piece by little piece
of fact and digest it slowly.�
"Lord C�rdan.... Why did he not
tell me if he knew?"�
"Would you have believed him?" �
Legolas could not refute the answer they both knew. What he had just heard was not the kind of truth he could reconcile himself to without suspicion of mendacity, especially when it came from a second-hand source.
"What happened to you then?"
he inquired, more out of innocent curiosity than anything.�
Ecthelion regarded him almost mirthfully,
"Close your eyes, pen dithen."�
Legolas did as he was told and felt luminous
brightness sting his eyelids. When he opened his eyes, they had been
transported to another place, a place he did not recognize at all. Legolas
knew not what he expected to see, but the scene that was revealed to
him was a sight he would not be able to forget for a long time, if ever.�
They were standing in the gardens of
L�rien, Legolas knew because, surely, no other place in the world could
possibly be fairer than this sanctuary. Mere words could never do its
beauty justice. It is no surprise that elves who were weary of their
worldly burdens would long to find rest here, and those who had done
so would, for evermore, be loath to leave this place.�
They followed a pebble-strewn trail to
flagstone steps and up they went to an open terrace that held a low
bed, wide enough for two persons, a small round table beside its head,
and a cozy-looking chaise lounge setting to the left. A sleeping figure
occupied one side of the bed; another elf sat on the chaise, closing
the book he was reading when he saw them coming.�
"Est� deemed it would take some
time for my body to wake up to the living world again. The Tree's magic
runs deeper than we thought and has not completely worn off," remarked
Ecthelion. "But other than that, I'm quite happy where I am now,
right beside my beloved."�
Legolas felt his breath leave his lungs
and forget to return as eyes the color of rich earth after rain, set
against cascading silk of lustrous fawn, lifted to study him. Legolas
was even more mesmerized when that fair visage broke into a winsome
smile.�
"Pen dithen, allow me to introduce
you to my Greenleaf, Legolas of Gondolin."�
"Mae govannen, pen neth," greeted
Laiqalass� warmly. "Come closer, so that I may take a good look
at you."�
Feeling inexplicably bashful, the Sindarin
prince approached the elder in diffident steps. He had not felt this
way since he first met Lady Galadriel when he was but an elfling of
twenty two summers. Truth was, he had been nursing a secret infatuation
with the unsung hero of Gondolin since time immemorial and oft wondered
what Legolas of Gondolin looked like, he who shared the same name with
the youngest prince of Mirkwood. Reality, as he found out, sometimes
overwhelmed the literary account.�
"Verily, I must compliment Glorfindel
for his excellent taste in choosing his lover. He is such a sweet elf,
don't you agree, meleth?"�
Ecthelion crossed his arms and smirked,
"Far more than what that rakish knave deserves, if you ask me."�
"Says he who is of like temperament,"
Laiqalass� smiled. "Do we seem to forget who it was that groomed
him into the fine paramour he is at present?" challenged Laiqalass�,
half-exasperated half-amused. Ecthelion cleared his throat while he
tried to assume an innocent look.�
Their banter was innocuous and should
have put Legolas at ease. But immobilized by the gentle kindness that
pulled him in like it was the most natural thing in the world, the full
force of overpowering realization had finally caught up with him. Like
a thief, his body seemed to desert his conscious command and before
he knew it, tears were pouring without cease.�
Laiqalass� implored his lover with a
quick look and, in two great strides, Ecthelion enveloped the weeping
elf within his strong arms, crooning consolingly. "Ai, foolish
child. How long have you held in those tears? How long have you ignored
yourself?"�
"He still loves me..." Legolas
sobbed disjointedly. "He does love me..."�
"Of course he does. His life means
nothing without you," asserted the Elf-lord.�
"I know... I do know... It's just
sometimes... I do not know what to believe anymore." From the bottom
of his heart, Legolas wanted to give up. Everything he had worked hard,
fought hard, for in his life seemed to amount to nothing. In the end,
he had nothing but his tired and broken self to continue living with,
utterly devoid of hope.�
"It's because you did not give the
wounds of your past a chance to heal properly that you came to live
with constant fear and insecurity you dared not address in front of
another. You believe yourself to have no right to grieve over something
so insignificant compared to the more vicious and heart-rending wounds
of others. But you are wrong, pen dithen. You are terribly, egregiously
wrong. A heart needs to cry for itself when it is hurt, just like it
needs to rely on the strength of another when it is overcome by weakness.
There's nothing disgraceful in caring about, caring for, yourself,"
Ecthelion said softly as he rubbed Legolas' trembling back.�
"Can I..." Legolas lifted his
watery eyes to look up into the Noldo's gaze, steeped in timid hope
that broke the elder's heart anew. "Can I still go back to him?"�
"Most certainly!" Ecthelion's
smile shone like early morning sunlight. "That is what I'm here
for. After all, I must claim some responsibility for becoming the unwitting
impediment of your destined bond, and I mean it in more sense than one.
The story is rather complicated, and I do not think forestalling your
return any longer would be a wise move. We do not want Glorfindel to
think he has lost you and decides to raze Mandos' gates, do we?"�
Legolas nodded joyfully. He did not need
any other explanation as long as he could return to Glorfindel.�
Laiqalass� drew near to the pair of
elves and reached out to brush Legolas' damp cheek, even though he knew
Legolas, in his spirit form, would not be able to feel his touch. "When
you are well again and find a chance to visit us, I will demand at least
a kiss and hug from you."�
Legolas turned his limpid blue gaze to
them, one after another. "Thank you for everything," he whispered
reverently. "I wish for your happiness."�
Ecthelion exchanged a glance with his
lover and spoke for them both, "As much as we wish for yours, Las
dithen."�
~ * ~ * ~ * ~�
Legolas awoke with no sense of time and
space, blinking drowsily. How long had he been asleep? Everything felt
like a long, long dream. Maybe he was still dreaming.�
"Glorfindel?" he mumbled sleepily
to his elf-blanket "What did you do to me? I feel like I just emerged
from beneath an Oliphant stampede."�
Glorfindel merely smiled into pale golden
hair and pulled Legolas closer, keeping the smaller elf a coveted hostage
within his limbs.�
"Welcome home, beloved."�
�
The End