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 work (=life) got in the way once again. I think I work on average of 80 hours a week this time of year. But enough of reality- on to the escape of fantasy and fiction. By the way- Italics denotes thoughts, *~*~*~*~*~* denotes flashback and the return, and *~*~* represents a shorter time change.

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

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

From his seat astride Glorfindel’s grey horse, Legolas could see Silinde standing on the opposite bank, the tall grasses swaying in the breeze stirred up by the churning rush of the river, the willows bracketing his lithe figure, the greens of his uniform merging into the soft colors of the willowe ste stood without moving, as if frozen in time, a mixed expression seemingly carved into his fair face, at once it spoke of relief at seeing the fallen prince alive and in the care of the valiant Elf-lord of legend who now sat behind the fallen prince and was loosely holding him in place, one arm wrapped about his waist.

Mixed with this relief, Legolas could see some manner of commiseration and shadisadisappointment in the other Sindar’s face that the now-wet and shivering elven prince had lived when it might have been so much more merciful to have allowed the prince to pass from this life. Legolas could see in the face of one of his few friends that Silinde was, himself, unsure of whether he would have fought to save his prince, or if he would have stayed his hands and allowed the disgraced elf to drown. It would have been easier had I died, Legolas thought, it would have been an easy death, numb, cold, quick. He shuddered again in the cold of his thoughts and the water still drying from his skin, but nothing in this life comes easily to me, nor will it ever. If I am needed in the world as I have been assured, then here I shall be even if it be only that I am naught but the whipping boy. With that thought, Legolas saw the dark-haired Silinde raise his hand in solemn and sincere friendship, and his chin out of respect. The stoic Mirkwood Guard then tensed his body to steeled attention and nodded to his prince before he turned and headed back through the dense stand of willows to rejoin the rest of his party.

Legolas saw a few of the others nod at him before they turned and began to make their way back toward Mirkwood and the dark eaves of the forest he loved well, but not before he had responded subtly with a tilting nod of his head, his eyes closed in thankful regard for those who revealed their opinions of the fallen prince.
*~*~*

That night they made camp near the river, the roar of the swift water muted with some distance, yet still an ever-present music demanding to be heard. Legolas allowed himself to be helped from the horse, landing with an ill-concealed groan of pain as he put weight on his unwilling leg, then he found himself led to the fire’s side and its teasing, drying warmth, a well needed balm to his shivering frame. A condition Lord Elrond viewed with a veiled expression belied by his characteristic raised eyebrow whilst Glorfindel, ever the more down to earth of the two, simply draped his unused cloak about the shivering wood elf and proceeded to add more wood to the fire.

Lord Elrond and the Lord Glorfindel joined him shortly, promptly setting to the task of setting his broken or fractured bones and tending to the cuts and bruises left behind by the elves with whom he had long served beside under the dark eaves of Mirkwood as it is and as the Greenwood in times long passed into the stuff of myth and legend to all but elves. He was amazed at the level of kindness shown him without knowledge of him, the ready willingness to help in any way they could. They did not pass judgment upon him or upon Mirkwood and its inhabitants. They did not ask the causes of his wounds, they simply saw that they were tended as they should be. Only one wound in particular did Legolas find their ministrations to linger, the thin elvish script that had been carved into his back. Still, the blond Elf-lord said nothing, only continued. Of supreme importance to Legolas was the simple observation that they did not shrink from his touch or keep a certain distance from him. They were not disgusted by him. This endeared the two elven Lords to the fallen prince.

*~*~*

Elrond and Glorfindel sat at the fire’s side, enjoying the warmth of the flames whilst they kept watch over the archer, guarding his sleep carefully. Frequently their gazes dipped to the decumbent elf and always his slight glow, his radiance held their attention.

Legolas slept peacefully, perhaps the first true rest the archer-prince had had since meeting them that first day. To Glorfindel, he appeared so fragile, as if he would shatter at the slightest mishandling, and yet he seemed ethereal, otherworldly, and untouchable, strong and resilient as the trees of Mirkwood themselves. Glorfindel thought on this further for several moments, the fact that this elf had spent so many years of his life thus far ensuring the protection of his precious home, as Glorfindel had once done for his: Gondolin. In the end, the city of the Eldar had fallen, but Mirkwood had not, and Glorfindel knew from the tokens of respect given Legolas by Silinde that the archer had played no small role in that feat of resistance to an ever-present and unrelenting evil. Legolas had stood true, and he had stood against that evil and remained not only living, but still filled with the love and admiration of all things living. He still had that connection so often lost in warriors faced with even less of what the archer had seen and done. This only added to his allure, further deepening the well-springs of his enduring beauty. The beauty of the wood elf was evident for all to see, and well-noted by the blond Eldar; his pale skin, even bruised, glowed in the soft moonlight. His hair shimmered in the breeze as if the night itself was carding its air-fingers through his locks. His eyes were open, staring blankly in elven sleep, yet still the color was vivid, green-flecked azure- the color of the seas under the light of the sun as Glorfindel once again noted in his mind. The Eldar could not bring himself to halt his lingering stare, rather he was consumed with the sight of the archer’s eyes, his face, and the honorable presence of strength the elf exuded with every breath even in sleep.

Legolas’ breathing had evened out since his ribs had been tended, and he lay at rest now, some of the lines of care, the shadows cast in eye and skin had faded away leaving the ever-youthful prince in pure form, a radiant being filled with the light of the Firstborn. The image of him in the flickering firelight left the two lords staring at him in wonder, the flames reflected in his eyes, the light of the flames seemed to caress his features and set a gentle spell of enchantment upon the two elder elves.

Glorfindel spoke first, half-chuckling, “I can see this will be an interesting century, my friend.”

“And you, if you’ve any interest in this elf as I know you have, friend, you will have a harder time even than I. He seems to be an intriguing mixture of Thranduil’s traits and those of some other, dutiful to the extreme, stubborn, prideful with a disturbingly slight arrogance, but also fierce, honorable, and compassionate. I would dare say that elf would be alone in a crowd of hundreds, yet would find himself admired, hated at one and the same time. He seems divided upon himself, having pride in himself enough to earn the respect of the others even if it be unspoken. And at the same time, he seems to be fighting himself for permission to feel it. Did you once see any speak to him, even before we left? His father never so much as looked at him but in outright disgust. Are you sure you wish to pursue this elf? I can feel trouble and pain in him unlike any elf I have ever met. Careful, my old friend, I would say this elf prince is fading and I cannot know if he can be saved.”

*~*~*

They remained encamped the following day, a decision to which Legolas could not reconcile himself into either accepting or into arguing too strenuously. He knew that they lingered for one reason and he was it. This caused him shame, to make these gracious elves spend even one more day away from their kin and loved ones, something that should not have been yet was. And then Legolas knew in his mind that he was not in any condition to ride, let alone walk as was his wont. His leg ached terribly, as did his shoulder as well as his broken arm. The pain in the latter seemed worse since Elrond had been forced to break the bone from the position in which it had been healing in order that it be set right. Legolas felt terrible that they remained, yet was glad for the company when Glorfindel and Elrond sat beside him during the morning meal at the side of what had been the fire. Conversation had not been particularly free-flowing, nor was it stunted and difficult. It had an ease all of its own, an ease somewhat amazing considering the taciturn nature of all three elves. It was with joy in their hearts that several elves began to sia tua tune both calming and reassuring, a song of promise, of love, of hope.

It must have been with an expression of some sadness that Legolas heard their final song of the morning, since it seemed to provoke a heightened desire in both Elf-lords to draw Legolas into a conversation. Their efforts, no matter how well-intentioned, failed, yet not so much as Legolas had thought they might. He found himself listening to the two Lords, asking questions about the places he had never been, the elves and men he had never met and never would. Most of all, he was curious about Rivendell. He had heard about it from others who had visited the hallowed and protected refuge, not the least of which had been his own brother. Yet the stories seemed ever distant in his mind since no elf in more than half a millennia had ventured far out of Mirkwood but to set sail for the West, and few indeed had done even that. Thranduil could spare none in these pressing timend and all were called upon to work to push back the darkness biting away at the daylight in the wood.

Legolas found his mind, by late afternoon, already turning toward home once again, and the longing in him for the song of the wood in his mind, ever-present as it had been for him since he was very young, drove him to distraction. So much so that he took it upon himself to begin singing much like the trees with he he was known. Yet he knew not that he sang aloud. It was not until he realized that no elf moved or stirred in his vicinity that he realized the song had been birthed to their realities as well. He felt the intense warmth burning upon his cheeks, and he promptly dropped his gaze to the ground. The song he found still resonated within him, and it seemed to hang in the air about the camp, the life of the song, the comforting joy of the song hovered in the air about ever elf present and all remained silent.

It was Glorfindel who broke the silence when he moved to sit closer to Legolas, leaning back up against a boulder, crossing his ankles where his legs stretched out before him. He began to sing as well, the song learned from the wood elf passed effortlessly from his lips. Glorfindel sought out and met Legolas’ eyes, silently bidding him comply with the unspoken request, imploring Legolas to begin the song again. Reserved as he was, it was stunning to him that they would want to hear him sing, years at Thranduil’s court had taught him well that there was little for him in this world and had discontinued Legolas’ lesson completely. And silence hung about the camp, not only amongst the elven inhabitants, but those of the feather, fur also observed this admiring calm.

Two days passed by in this quiet manner, in soft song and hesitant conversation. Two days in which Legolas learned that these elves were much different in culture and, subsequently, in nature than those with whom he was accustomed. Though they seemed reserved and grand, he found them to be entertaining and light-hearted around the campfire at night when some of the guards would tell stories, talk about their loved ones or their lack thereof with a smile. The two Elf-lords did not hold themselves strictly aloof from those others, but quietly participated, maintaining and air or reserve yet no trace of an arrogant distance.

Legolas mused over this, that Lord Elrond, an elf of legend, an elf who had every right to make claim upon the High Kingship of the Elves, would sit amongst his guards, listen to their stories, tell a few of his own and be at ease in this fashion of behavior. It was the same in considering Lord Glorfindel. This elf was a Legend, a true Eldar who had seen the western shores and had come across with the traitorous Noldor. Yet Glorfindel did not seem to possess the common features associated with the Noldor, his long blond hair, his dancing, dawn-bright eyes, his tall frame accompanied by a slender yet powerful build. He could have fit in well amongst the wood elves. And thus, Legolas began to feel at ease, a feat in and of itself.

*~*~*

The morning of the third day since they had crossed the River Anduin dawned clear and bright, the cool wind coming down off the mountains high above them left the air with the definitive feel of the winter that was to come. Late autumn it was; harvests finished, stored for the coming winter. The chill on the air was but a taste, a sampling of the cold that they would know before they would arrive into the safe warmth of Rivendell.

Legolas looked back across the wide valley surrounding the Anduin, watched the wind trace silvered patterns into the tall grasses, chasing the air into the darkened eaves of the wood, the late-blooming irises bobbing their heads in careful acknowledgement of the cold it brought. He breathed deeply of the scent of grass, of fresh water, and of wood though few trees there were here, and fewer there would be before they crossed the pass. Legolas comforted himself with the images Glorfindel had painted for him with words as to the beauty of Imladris, the fact that there were trees aplenty. He breathed in deep again, then closed his eyes briefly.

It was with both a heavy heart and a seed of hope planted in the fertile ground of his soul that Legolas turned away from Mirkwood and faced the sharp mountains before him, the roaring voice of the river fading into the quiet sounds of the lands about them, the swish of a hawk’s wings, the shrill cry as it circled high above in the air flows coming down from the mountains, the scuttle of mice beneath grass woven bushes, the chirping of chipmunks disturbed from their routine, the gentle whisper of the scattered trees. And in this shift from the river to mountain and all its associated wildlife, Legolas centered himself and focused his mind inward, on healing himself and forcing the pain aching in his body with the sheer peacefulness the journey was affording him.

It was his first time so far from Mirkwood and Legolas already pined for the plaintive touch of the forest upon his thoughts when it sought him out, the regularity of his life there, no matter the torment. For it was home.

*~*~*


To Be Continued… Please read and review! I apologize for any mistakes in grammar, spelling, etc. and I will plead fatigue, as I was writing and proof reading this between 3 and 4 in the morning. Sorry, but I hope you enjoyed it despite the lack of appropriate polishing!