In the Chains of Honor: Shades of the Past

In the Chains of Honor: Shades of the Past and Promise of the Present

Tanesa Etaleshya

My Email: tanesa_etaleshya@hotmail.com
Rating: NC 17
Summary: Legolas mourns in the elven waking dream world, lamenting the loss of a love that gave him the reason to live and reliving precious memories and nightmares alike, his mind turning to Imladris and the joy he knew in its hallowed halls.
Author’s Notes: Sorry for the delay in posting, but life got in the way. By the way- Italics denotes thoughts, *~*~*~*~*~* denotes flashback and the return, and *~*~* represents a shorter time change. I suppose you could consider this AU, but begins long before The Hobbit or FoTR, and once I reach the timeline encompassed in the books, I will follow that general timeline, though I may add in an episode or two, and change a few. The ending I foresee is AU, but not so far apart as some fic I have read.


*~*~*~*~Part 2~*~*~*~*

Part 2: Shades of the Past and Promise of the Present

Third Age 2163

*~*~*

“Glorfindel!” Elrond roared as he followed on the heels of the ancient elf along the treacherous banks of the river, keeping a keen eye upon the swath of blond hair swirling about in the icy water, the flash of green cloth.

“I have him!” The blond elf-Lord cried in response once he had jumped in the cold water to grab at a pale hand as it swept by him, the current pulling at both of the golden elves, although it held tenaciously to the Sindarin elf, dragging him down, swallowing him in its tumultuous greed. It was with some effort that he hauled the golden-haired head out of the water, “He is not breathing!”

The Elven Lord renowned also as legendary healer scrambled down the steep bank, his feet making a wet, muddy splash as he landed in the shallow water where his friend held the elf on his side, letting water drain out of his lungs. He pushed the elf on his back, leaned over to listen, and then started to press down on his sodden chest. He let out a startled gasp as he felt the ribs inside his chest move. He ignored it, leaning down to push air into the elf’s lungs forcibly, but he did not need to, the elf coughed wetly, spluttering. They turned him once again to lie on his side to let him cough the water out. Legolas’ entire body contracted, shivering, in its effort to drive the water out.

The golden elf trembled uncontrollably as the final dry heaves subsided, leaving him drained, utterly exhausted. His lungs were at last free and he could breathe, though it was labored with both the heaviness of fatigue and the pain of his broken ribs. He coughed sporadically for a few long minutes, and all the two Elf-lords could do was to hold him as the tortured, twisted sounds were wrought from the bedraggled, icy cold elven prince.

Glorfindel was beside himself, holding the elf as he struggled to breathe and free himself from the grasp of the Elf- lord. The Sindar was too weak and too injured to put forth much into the attempts, yet he did not relent. So the Eldar held him still, riding out the last waves of waning energy. Glorfindel bit back his tongue to keep from cursing Mirkwood and its Kingraidraid to drive the elf in his arms further from his will to live, focusing instead on speaking to the fallen archer, practically pleading with him to stay among the living rather than enter the cold halls of Namo.

Glorfindel shuddered at the memories he, himself, possessed of those forlorn Halls, the silence and the baleful visages of those others who made their existences there, as yet unreleased if the they were found to be worthy of rebirth. Their pale, ghost-like faces were as real to him now as they had been then. The Halls were by no means purgatory, yet they were not blessed with the warmth of life and joy, but always tainted with the sorrow of regret and grief long-standing. The blond elf lord closed his eyes only momentarily as he was assaulted with dizziness brought upon him with the immensity of emotion welling from within him at the memories of his fall, the weight of grief upon him great. He saw again the faces of those he had left behind, comrades he had seen fall perhaps moments, days, or years before he had faced his own end. The remembrances sparked within him the long-simmering fear of death, temporary as it had been for him, and he felt a chill run rampant through his body, in seeming sympathy to the golden elf under his hands. The coldness of the other’s flesh and cloth seeped into him, sent tendrils of dread into his mind, and he labored again to implore the Sindar to fight, promising him to warm his years in Rivendell with the hope that Legolas would never need return to the darkened eaves of Mirkwood.

He fought to control the unbidden memories, focusing instead on the elf whose time had not yet reached its end. Somehow he knew this; he could sense it. The earth seemed to be calling to the stricken elf as loudly as he. It was a marvel to him that he, too, could hear the cries, feel the sorrow radiating from the world around them. He was no wood elf, so the experience was new to him, yet strangely comforting, because the voices softly called to him as well.

Then he forced his eyes open to see the archer prince beneath him, fighting to breathe, fighting to live and Glorfindel concentrated his efforts on the younger elf rather than on himself. He immersed himself in tending Legolas to distract himself from his own remembered misery. He held the archer’s hand as Elrond examined him swiftly, wanting to get the cold, soaked elf to the camp that would be, by now, set up and waiting for them, and the warmth of a fire. He found himself still speaking to the prince, though the younger elf showed few if any signs of having heard a single word.

It was some time, but Legolas opened his azure eyes and Glorfindel stood in awe looking into them at such close range in the light of day, for little was hidden in the Sindar’s weakened state. He, uncomfortable with prying into the soul of the elf he barely knew yet was drawn to as he had never been before to any elf, he pulled his mind back and focused instead on the physical characteristics of those brilliant eyes. He found that they were not entirely blue, but shot through with shards of green and he was struck with wonder at the sheer uniqueness impressed upon him. He had seen no elf with eyes such as this, nor any other being. He met those eyes and held their gaze, commanded as he was to hold them. Unrelenting those blue-green eyes were in their examination of the Elf-lord’s own. In that moment, Glorfindel blushed slightly, knowing full well the younger elf had, indeed, heard and listened to every word that Glorfindel had uttered whether in spirit or in life, and now Legolas was searching his very soul for the truth behind those words, or the evidence of some cruel deception. Glorfindel willingly let him, hid nothing and sought not to evade the intrusion. All he changed was to hold the elf’s hand tighter, and he spoke softly, “You are in safe hands now, Legolas.”

Yet the eldest of the three was still troubled. The two Noldorin Elves had seen Legolas’ internal struggle. Glorfindel had watched him reach out for the fallen tree trunk in an effort to still his motion, and had watched as Legolas coughed miserably, wetly, before deliberately releasing his hold upon the wooden lifeline. Glorfindel had then watched with bated breath as Legolas’ chest rose as he pushed his head under the water, breathing in water.

He is only doing what his father had asked of him if I am not mistaken. Glorfindel remembered well the words the King had spoken, ‘Perhaps this time you will take the path you should have taken long ago rather than prolong this malediction you seem to bear.’ His own heart bled at the anguish they both could feel emanating from the shivering form in his arms.

The Eldar was brought around from his thoughts when the Sindar turned to face him, stunning him again with the steady weight of his gaze, yet when Legolas moved and broke their contact, he was at once relieved to be free from the intense scrutiny, and disheartened with its loss. The Sindar let go of his hand, pulling away from him as he struggled to sit upright. Unable to hide the pain of the movement, he hissed, put his hand to his chest as if to push the pain aside.

Legolas blushed with the shame of what he had done, and what he had not done. Ashamed was he that he been so weak as to give in, ashamed to go back on the oath he had given long ago to fulfill his destiny. He had wanted to live, but he had wanted to give in at the same time. He shrank from their touch as if burned by their care. He was not sure how to react to their aid, as freely given as it was. They had no reason to help him, no reason had the blond Eldar to make such promises, even as warm and effusive as they had been. He knew in his heart that they meant well; they could not know of his inner turmoil. Embarassed further he became when he saw the incomprehension in their faces, the stern reproach in that of Lord Elrond, his brows lowered and brow creased in what Legolas took to be anger. He saw then the hurt sparkling in the blond Elf-lord’s gloriously lit eyes and he cowered within himself, forced himself to stay his motions of retreat, to accept the aid they offered.

Unwittingly, they had made this decision for him, though. He was now in the realm of Rivendell. They had crossed, and the river now lay between him and Mirkwood. He was officially in service to the Lord of Imladris and had no right to change it. He would take what was expected of him and give equally. He was no more than a slave. He had no rights and no choice but to do as he was told or asked without question. He could not leave, nor could he take his own life without leave to do so. They did not understand what they had done, but even if they had, he would not fault them for it. He straightened as much as he could to face them, “Thank you,” he croaked with his hoarse voice. So pitiful a response it was to the unbridled concern in Glorfindel’s eyes or that in Elrond’s calculating scrutiny.

Elrond moved to speak first, approaching him once again, “Relax, my prince, do not force yourself. You have no need to fear us; we only seek to help you.” His voice was measured, yet comforting to the beleaguered elf. And pleased was Elrond when Legolas did no longer seek to avoid his hands as he and Glorfindel carefully pulled him to his feet, only to sit him back down again when his protesting legs would not hold his weight.

He tried to remain standing once they had helped him, and though they did not relinquish their hold, he could not, however, keep his legs under him. Once more they carefully hed hed him up, this time their arms wrapped around his back, and in this way they helped him up off the sodden sandy bank up to the drier ground above. He allowed them to help him to lay there amongst the soft grasses. Once there, he relaxed, letting the air wash over him, further cooling him with the late autumn temperatures. He rolled over on his side, unable to bite back the grunt escaping him as he did so, shifting bones he knew were broken or at least fractured, and straining bruised muscles and skin.

Before either of the two elder elves could push him back down, he gritted his jaw and pushed himself upright with as much grace as he could manage. He stood carefully, taking the warm proffered hand. Once standing, he pulled his wet, dripping hood back around his bruised and battered face and strode slowly alongside Glorfindel back along the bank to where he had first fallen.

Glorfindel, after the first few steps, slid closer and slipped his arm around the archer’s back, to hold him up. He knew better, even with as little as he knew of the archer, than to try to carry him as his pride would not allow him to appear so weakened either to the two of them, or before the Woodland Guards along the opposite shore. Therefore, he allowed Legolas to walk, albeit slowly, despite the disapproving look from his friend and Lord. He shrugged his shoulders to Elrond and plodded along, supporting the elf as much as he dared.

Legolas wordlessly led the pair back to where he knew his belongings would be. He did not acknowledge either the Eldar who supported him, nor the Healer of legend; he did not raise his gaze from the grass passing under him. Studying every blade, every willow root, every flower, he carefully avoided thinking. He would not, could not, face them now. He knew from their expressions of pity: they knew he had trio leo let go.

He came to his discarded belongings, stiff and in pain, he was unable to bend down to retrieve them, but he would all allow them to do it for him. He shrugged off Glorfindel’s supporting embrace and moved towards them unaided. Elrond strode forward, seized his shoulder, but immediately released it as he felt the bones shift and the gasp from the elf, “What else is broken, Legolas? You are on the other side of the river now and are under my protection; there is no need to keep up this act that you are uninjured.”

Legolas stopped, bowed haltingly to the Lord, “Forgive me, my Lord.” He knelt after a brief struggle to achieve that position on his right knee, his right fist on his chest. “I am formally in your service and that of your house, my Lord. You may do with me as you will and I will obey without question.”

The way he spoke the words, his intonation, sent shivers down Elrond’s spine and a flare of anger in the elder elf’s heart and mind. The tone was so full of resignation and submissive determination. Though carefully masked, they could hear it ripe and heavy in his voice.

“My fate lies at your feet, my Lord,” his voice was finally coming under his control, flat and lifeless. Then he did the unthinkable; he bent down, withholding the gasps of pain, to put his forehead on Elrond’s boot.

Obsequiousness was not part of an elf’s life or nature, but this elf prostd, dd, debased himself. By the Valar what has been done to this elf! Elrond recoiled, unable to stop himself, and not thinking of how the young elf would see his reaction.

Legolas raised himself to kneel again, his face dispassionate as ever, his eyes hard and cold. He had misinterpreted the action. His shoulders were slumped, the only sign of emotion Elrond could see.

Glorfindel read the signs where his friend’s shock obscured his sight. The elf was crestfallen, and wore the look ne wne with no where to turn save one direction, that now barred to him by disgust and revulsion. It further disgraces him to be so rejected!

Glorfindel stepped forward, spoke a few words to Elrond. The golden elf still on his knees finally brought himself to continue speaking, “Will you accept me into your service, my Lord, however much I disgust you by my very touch? Or do you give me leave to return to Mirkwood to face what may come? I will return if being so near to me is repulsive to you.” He spoke softly, flatly, resignation seeping in the cracks of control.

“I am not repulsed by you, only by your debasement of yourself, Legolas. You are the Prince of Mirkwood and you prostrate yourself at my feet, a half-elf to your father’s eye. It does not befit your rank to behave thusly. I have no desire to see you on your knees before me, Legolas, get up, please.” Elrond’s soft tone must have worked, for the young eose ose slowly, accepting Glorfindel’s hand when he was struggling to put weight on his unwilling right leg.

“I am of no rank, not even of Mirkwood until I have completed the terms of service, my Lord.”

“And if I refuse your service?”

“I will return to the Woodland Realm, my Lord.”

“Then what?” Glorfindel spoke, stepping near the young elf to give support and to cut off any escape toward the river, afraid of what the elf might do.

“I will accept whatever fate my King allows, my Lords.”

They could say nothing to that but remain speechless, unwilling to imagine what cruel fate the unfeeling Elf-King would have for this golden elf, and whatever fate it would have been, they did not care to guess but knew intrinsically that it would not suit the honor and respect the elf had already shown thus far. They knew he would not deserve it.

Legolas remained for several moments, then decided the silence meant Elrond would not accept. He whispered, “As you wish, my Lord.”

He started to back off, but Glorfindel stepped behind him, holding him gently, lowering his voice to a soft tone, the same pleading, plaintive tone he had used in his previous entreaties to the Sindar prince, “What do you mean, Legolas?”

“He refuses to accept my service. I will return to the Wood, my Lord.”

“I said no such thing,” Elrond stepped forward, hand on his chest in a show of respect and honor, “I accept, Legolas, but I know not wht what I am accepting, in truth. We will discuss this later. Now, I must tend your wounds: an arrow wound I can see by your breathing has not healed, broken ribs, a broken shoulder and you are limping. These I see readily; I know not what you seek to hide.” Elrond moved toward him again, his hand outstretched, palm up in invitation, then softer in tone, he continued, “I have not seen you eat in days and you are exhausted; I can tell by the way you struggle to hold yourself still and calm. Sit, please, Legolas.”

“Already I break my word, but my Lord, may I speak?”

“Always.”

“We should not remain here for we are without aid if attacked,” Legolas stated, then looked glancingly over his shoulder at the Mirkwood Guards standing along the bank, waiting it seemed for the trio to continue on, to see if their prince was well enough to continue, then explained “May we not postpone until we reach your party, my Lord?”

Elrond nodded in understanding, his gaze remaining on the green-clad Guards for a moment longer than necessary, a shrewdly appraising glint in his eyes as Glorfindel noted well. The Elven Lord then turned back to Legolas, “Then we shall leave.”
To be continued…

Rutaari: I cannot believe the story/chapter left you without words! (Imagine me bowing graciously and smiling very happily)
Calen Eln Elflover: Maybe, in answer to your question (smiling devilishly- can’t give ste story away just yet, so we’ll see.) And thanks!
Ash: God am I impressed to have you and so many other writers whose stories I have enjoyed and have been inspired by, reading my little tale. I hope it is up to your standards!
Steph: I am glad you are enjoying it, and I commiserate with you as I made myself cry when I proof read it.
Kryspen:. I rather fancy having Glorfindel sweep in on a white horse to whisk Legolas away to live happily ever after, but am still torn about it. But I will have a happy ending for those who are hopeless romantics like myself.
Giggle: I am trying to maintain a level of suspense, but tell me if it gets truly annoying and I will satisfy a few questions as soon as possible. I am getting back at all those others who have tortured me in the past with their evil cliffhangers by dragging this out and leaving you all guessing. And, oddly enough, I am enjoying it, cruel as I am.
LadyDrea: Thank you for the hug! I promise, since I can’t really bear to let Legolas suffer for eternity, or at least until the ‘breaking of the world’ as Tolkein put it. That would just be despicable, to let the beautiful elf suffer so. I can’t resist to write the sad ending either. The more I think about it, the more I think that I just couldn’t condemn him for good, so happy ending there will be I predict.

To all who are still reading, they are coming to Rivendell soon and there Legolas will come upon better times, a little lovin’ and all that nice slashy stuff. Just give me another chapter to get this out of my system.