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: They are on the very doorsteps of Imladris and a new life for Legolas, but will he find happiness in Rivendell? Or will the dense shadows of his past dim any hope he has for the future?

Author’s Notes: I am so sorry it has taken so long to write this! If anyone is still out there reading this dark drivel I have dreamt up in my twisted imagination I would love to hear from you, figuratively of course.
By the way- Italics denotes thoughts, *~*~*~*~*~* denotes flashback and the return, and *~*~* represents a shorter time change.


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

Part 2: Shades of the Past and Promise of the Present
Interlude: Mirkwood TA 2163

A few days after they had left Legolas with the Noldor at the river, Silinde and the other Mirkwood Elves had returned to their Wood, able to make much better time than the party of Elrond, for they had no wounded and met little resistance on the safe Elven paths. It was with some gratitude that they found themselves again under the tenuous shelter of the ancient Wood of beech, oak, maple and birch, and with the promise of home and safety luring them ever onwards. Yet Silinde was ill at ease still, his heart torn and his loyalty again divided sharply. He pushed all disturbed thoughts from his mind as they stealthily crept through the branched canopy in silence, wary of all the dark creatures that they could come upon even in the daylight, for it little penetrated the dense canopy and the dark creatures knew little of day or night these days. When he could, he focused instead upon the warmth of his friends who had remained and the comfort of home, as did those beside and behind him, and in this he eased his mind until he could no longer avoid them. Still, he had some measure of peace before he needed to face his Lord and King and the reality of Legolas’ life.

Silinde made his way silently back to Mirkwood, his pace quick, his very steps demanding, brooking no dawdling as they pressed onwards. His mannerisms were strict, his face and eyes veiled, hiding well both his displeasure and his relief. The Mirkwood Guards had broken unconsciously into two groups: the older Elves and the younger ones who had not known the fallen prince in earlier days; those who had nodded respectfully to Legolas as he had left with Glorfindel and Elrond from the riverbank and those who had raised their hands against him, respectively. The former led, the latter followed. Silinde had little tolerance, in truth, for the followers, but he held both his tongue and his actions in check, belying none of his discomfit with them and despising himself because of his tactful inability to protect the archer from such ill treatment. Indeed, he was trapped between his respect of the archer and his love of Mirkwood and the loyalty he would ever bear for its King. With every step towards the spider-filled darkened Wood, he told himself that Legolas was in better hands now for the two Elven Lords had shown him naught but kind compassion before Silinde, though it had been reserved and inconspicuous.

As he at last made his way into the hallowed though silent halls of the king, he felt somehow relieved that Legolas was not in his company; that the archer was, or should be, safe in Imladris and the haven Elrond Half-elven had built. For the ill temper of the King had not lessened much since their departure, or so Silinde had been warned with a quiet whisper and several warning looks from those he knew best as he passed them in the halls.

He dismissed the Guards and made his way to the King’s study, his routine well-known. Silinde paused outside the ornately carved doors, drew himself taller and straighter if that seemed possible as he was announced. The room was lavishly decorated, the hearth in the far corner of wrought iron in finely woven strands that appeared to be branches and leaves, the wall before him was plainly decorated with gentle designs around the verandah opening, but the walls to his right and left were intricate scenes from the history of the Greenwood, and in them were many who had passed into the Halls of Waiting, lost to memory and to myth to those they had left behind. The King’s heavy desk lay upon his right, the dark-oaken piece of furniture seemed both out of place in its immensity and well-placed for the mighty presence of the blond Elf seated behind it.

Thranduil did not turn to face the newly returned captain, but spoke from his current position wherein he was seated facing the open verandah watching the snow begin to fall in a soft carpet over the bare, leafless trees and the ground beneath, “He is gone then?” He asked rather flatly, even before the door behind the red-haired Elf had quietly been shut.

“Aye, he is, my King.”

Then Silinde saw the King’s well-hidden anxiety, the lines written into his ageless, proud face, the slight knitting of his brows as he absently pushed a set of parchments back and forth upon the great oaken desk, its top shiny with much wear and long use. Silinde could only guess at the cause of Thranduil’s nervousness but in his heart flared the dim hope that the King would now realize how precious his son was and repent of his repressive treatment of the archer-prince. But he was not to know for sure this day the true cause for his King’s unease, nor in any day in the fear future for the King’s stoic reserve and dignified grace reasserted its hold upon his fair features as he stood regally, straightened, and for he first time he looked at the red-haired Guard-Captain since his arrival and the long paused once the King had spoken, “It is for the better. I feel it. That the curse he had brought upon this Wood, and this House, has traveled with him I am sure. I feel the relief of the Wood, do you not?”

“I feel Woo Wood, my Lord, and I do not gainsay what you feel, but I feel not its relief in Legolas leaving, but that he is free of the shadows and memories this Wood holds for him. I feel the Wood at once reluctant to let him go, and glad that he is gone for he is troubled here.” Silinde tried to choose his words carefully, but would not allow the King even to curb his tongue from speaking the truth. He trusted their long association and his long loyalty to protect him from Thranduil’s legendary wrath, and he, with his softly spoken words, sought to probe the King’s feelings for the son he pushed aside in disgrace and disdain, sought to relay to the King the sentiments of the Wood and its sylvan inhabitants, of which Silinde was already quite sure the King was aware.

Thranduil, however high his ire had been raised by the Captain’s comments, kept his anger under strict control, his voice even and stern yet forceful, as a father speaking to a wayward child, “Too long have I labored to hide the shame of his birth. Too long have I lived with his face haunting me day and night, in sleep and in waking that he should so resemble the son I lost to Legolas’ vast, engulfing folly. Each sight of him brings back the grief afresh. I can have some meager hope for peace in my soul in his absence. I can only hope he does not return,” Thranduil sipped from the cup at his right as he sat again, then continued while staring out at the growing blanket of thin snow beginning to carpet the forest in cleansing white-bright softness, “Does he not remind you of my son, Silelnataur? I know you were close to him.”

“He does, my Lord.” Silinde admitted.

“Then you, too, can find peace, can you not, now that he is gone?”

Silinde, while hesitant once again to be frank and truthful to such a dangerous question, dared fate yet again and the denouncement of treachery as well with his softly spoken words, trusting the long acquaintance and his loyalty to spare him, “I have found my peace, and long ago, my King, for in Legolas I seen not the Prince who was lost but the prince that still lives and in whom I see half of he who left us too soon. One soul split asunder they always were, your Majesty, and in the survivor I remember the good times, the laughter, the smiles of both of them and I believe in hope, my Lord, that they will not be forever parted.”

“But they will, Silinde. You are foolish to hope for so great a… chance. Legolas Andúfuin is a disgrace. He carries a curse of shadow upon him, and with this he endangers us all. The Wood knows this as well as we do, Silinde. The condemnation of its people lay on his shoulders even now, that of his father’s and of his own as well. The rites have been held, his sentence laid out. He belongs to the shadows, not among the living. He has been as disgrace ere even his first breath was drawn. He will bring only discord and strife to our people, to us. He was not meant to be.” Thranduil’s voice was stern, but not angry.

“Perhaps, my Lord, but the Valar took Silelnataur from us and Legolas is still here. Is there no hope that you could see him as your son once more?”

It was then that the door to the study swung open slowly, and a pale face framed with loosely braded golden-blond hair and radiant blue eyes the color of the sky appeared around it, he asked with sweet voice, “Ada, my Lord?” He then stepped around the door when Thranduil beckoned him to enter. The younger Elf slid silently across the room to sit in the chair at the side of his father’s desk while Thranduil looked on, a faint smile on his face as he watched the younger Elf begin his work.

“I have but one son, Silinde, and of him I am proud,” Thranduil smiled at his son who looked up and blushed to hear such praise from his father, then Thranduil’s voice turned harder as he focuses again on the Guard Captain, “While your continued faith in the faithless outcaste is admirable, it is… misplaced. Too far you press, old friend, too far. You risk much in your defense of him, and I pray that you do not go so far that it will not be forgotten. Withhold your anger and your hand from him and I will look askance, but do not align yourself too closely with him, for he will only bring you down with him. He is Andúfuin, a gift of gloom, and a mockery of an Elf. He is outcaste. He is dead to the Elves of this Wood. He will ever be held accountable for the blood upon his hands by me, our people and the Valar themselves. This is all we can do to protect ourselves from the curse he bears. So, keep your memories safe, for Andúfuin has a fate ahead of him none may tread at his side. Long have I known this. Long separated he will be.”

Now Silinde heard two tones in Thranduil’s voice then, that of a father troubled and that of a King who could not back down and he dared to hope the former would someday take precedence over the latter. The red-haired captain was one of the few who knew of Legolas’ true birth, his true age and rank. Few there were indeed to remember so deep into the past for most of those had either passed into the safety and light of the West, or into the coldness of the Halls of Waiting. They had either fought alongside the archer prince to keep the darkness at bay or in the Last Alliance, the battle at which so many of Sindar and of sylvan kind had perished and had heeded the call of Namó into his Halls on the Westernmost shores of Aman.

*~*~*~*~*~*

So great had been their loss and so overbearing was the ensuing tumultuous grief that had been the lot of all in the wake of the fall of Sauron, a grief shared amongst all free folk, that the new King, Thranduil, had relented and given his ‘errant’ son leave to remain in Greenwood, if for no other reason than to ease the burdens upon his heir-son, the jewel of Greenwood and its shining star, Silelnataur. Thranduil had felt all-too-keenly the grief of his favored son, and their combined grief and despair had threatened the peacefulness earned with the blood of their kin. The peace following the fight on the Battle Plain, called Dagorlad by the Elves, had turned bitter upon their lips, the stillness ruined with the endless taint of loss.

Silelnataur felt it all-too-keenly, for his grandsire had perished and many more of his closest, dearest friends of old. And the Prince was further over-burdened with grief and guilt for Silelnataur, Silinde remembered, had remained in the Wood at the time of the battle, taking temporary control in his grandsire’s stead and had regretted his father’s decision to hold him back. The golden-red haired sylvan remembered the argument well that had en onc once Thranduil and Oropher had relayed their will and the acrimony in which son and grandfather had parted, neither knowing those would be the last words either spoke to the other. It hung heavily on the soul of the Prince, and Silelnataur had none to whom he could turn for solace, since all were subsumed within their own chasm of grief, for none were left untouched by the horrendous loss of life the Greenwood had seen. And though Silinde knew the Prince would be grieving as well, he had been too lost in his own private world of mourning and shadow to be able to comfort the distraught Prince and had remained instead with his own aching grief.

Yet even then, Silinde’s thoughts often dwelt around the Golden Prince, and more than once the image of the Elf stood in the forefront of his mind, even to the day in the Second Age when Silinde found himself facing the thick door of the King’s study, straightening his shoulders before he slumped against the wall, pressing his forehead against the cold stone as he told the sentry to wait but a moment as he was tired and not himself as yet since the journey had been both long and eventful. The sentry had nodded and had returned to his post to await Silinde’s readiness. But that was some time in coming as the red haired Elf found his mind had wandered to the gardens of the past, whether it be seen in the gloom of a night without moon or in the brightness of daylight.

Silinde remembered well the day they had returned from the Dagorlad. The Golden Prince of the Greenwood had been standing amongst the hallowed, ancient beech and oak surrounding the woodland’s center, the expression of utter dread, remorse and misery that had painted his over-fair face with sorrow had mirrored the saddened, morose feeling in the Wood as branches sagged under the weight of grief and the rain pouring down between the leaves with its cold bite soaking all cloth. The Golden Prince, however, had not dimmed as had the rest of the , bu, but seemed to emit a light even brighter than he had before. A symbol he was then, a symbol of the enduring nature of their kind, their realm. He had calmly greeted his mourning father, and together they had entered their enclave, for the Star of Greenwood sought to comfort his father and to tend wounds left untended.

Once Thranduil had been abed and the tears of the sky had ceased, the Shining Star of Greenwood had anxiously sought for one other amongst those who had returned, and he had lent his aid where he was needed as he looked. He came upon Silinde who sat with his grievously wounded son and at once his own sorrow was forgotten when he saw the suffering before him. He took up Silinde’s son’s cool hand and held it between his own, his eyes bright with life and with tender care, an inner fire that could not be quenched and he had sung softly through the night as the young Elf passed from this life. Silinde had been grateful for the companionship, and even more for the care the Golden Prince had shown his son, and when it had been over, Silelnataur had taken Silinde into his arms and had held him as he had cried the seemingly endless tears of loss. And the Star of Greenwood had sung then to him, and the crushing pain in his breast had eased with his lovely voice, as if the Valar themselves had endowed him with this gift of such unparalleled beauty and comfort. And in accompaniment, Silinde had heard the forest itself raise its quiet voice in the Prince’s song, to bring comfort beyond, to those far and wide. The night had passed in this manner, and by the light of day, Silelnataur had relieved Silinde of his duties to care for his son’s body and had taken care of all preparations himself. And that night, under the once-again-visible stars, Silinde had felt the Prince’s arms about him once more, his voice upraised in lament with so many others who had lost loved ones in this war and together they watched the funeral pyre burn.

But Legolas had not returned with the survivors of the battle; he knew he would not be welcomed back, and had come with Silinde and his wounded son only to the border of the Greenwood, and Silinde had gone on with the rest, leaving Legolas alone. Great had been the grief in the azure-blue eyes of the archer, and unshed tears had burned in his unusual eyes as he had bid Silinde farewell, and he, too, the night before they had entered Greenwood proper had sat with father and son comforting when he could. And the archer’s desire to comfort him had an effect, for the archer was, and had been, long separated from his own kin, his dearly held brother highest among them. The fallen archer had sung as well, his voice as fine as that of his brother, and with his heartfelt words had brought a relief to both Silinde and his son as the poison’s hold drew painfully deep and strong. It had seemed then to Silinde that when Legolas had sung, his son’s pain had lessened and he had found some meager rest. He had reluctantly left the archer’s side when the fallen prince could go no further and in silence Silinde had held the hand of his son as he walked beside the litter when he saw that the song Legolas had sung had not the same p whe when uttered with his own voice.

Silinde had faced the lingering death of his only son with the Golden Prince at his sidIt hIt had been he who had held the Guardsman long into the early morning hours the night his son had finally passed from life into the Halls, not more than a day since their arrival in the heart of the Wood. Just as it had been the Golden Prince who had sat with him and his son upon Silinde’s wife’s death not fifty years before, a victim of a Glamhoth that had attacked the section of the path at which she had been stationed. Helpless had Silinde felt then, and helpless had he felt in the arms of Silelenataur when his son had passed, but the feeling seemed magnified with the intense mourning spread out over the Wood, in the trees as well as their inhabitants, and that grief emanated from the Woods’ champion, its shining star.

Thereafter, the grief of the Golden Prince had not waned much, and fearing for his son’s well-being Thranduil-King had summoned the fallen prince to the Wood and to his presence. Legolas Andúfuin had then been granted leave to remain in Greenwood the Great for the express purpose of caring for his brother, and was thereupon given the position of over-seeing the protection of the Crown Prince, the captainship of his personal guard. Legolas’ joy was scarcely contained as he rushed into his brother’s presence, only was their joy tainted by the immense sense of loss that hung about the Wood as a pall of shadow that seemed not to fade with the passing of days, weeks, months. Yet the brothers, together, found strength in each other and their voices were again raised in song under the eaves of the ancient wood in a time of peace since the darkness of Sauron had nearly disappeared in fear and loss, its twisted creatures only venturing forth rarely from the deep, dark places in which they had sought to hide once the power of their Master had been broken and the Lord of the Dark had been cast down once again.

Of the many who had known both princes from their youth, few there were left by that time. Yet among them, some had kindled in their ancient hearts the hope that there would be reconciliation within the House of the Neldorgwaith, the House of the People of the Beech. Legolas was, with his brother reunited, a balm upon the souls of those then living and they helped make the peaceful years rife with new-found joy, as the twin Stars brought their light to all who knew them, all save one, one who could no longer be touched by the light of one of his sons, if ever he had been. Jealous the new King became of their closeness, when it had been he and he alone to have his beloved son to comfort and to be comforted for all the years Legolas Andúfuin had been away. And in his heart the darkness grew, his hatred of his fallen son fed by his grief and his consuming fears as once again Orcs and other fell beasts began to make headway into the recesses of the Wood again, this time pressing ever deeper. Legolas and Silelnataur were often away from the center of the Wood in defense of their land, and Thranduil was left alone with his silent distrust and growing resentment like a festering wound upon his soul.

And thus the hopes of those ancients who had dared to hope for reconciliation came to naught but disappointment and the rift within the Wood remained. Yet peace there was still for a time, and it was not until Greenwood had become known as Mirkwood for the steadily increasing influence of the shadow upon the Wood that the relative peace within the royal family was violently upended when the two princes failed to return as planned, and no message had been from them received.

Thranduil had grown worried, convinced in the covetous twistings of his mind that Legolas Andúfuin would steal his son from him with his traitorous dealings with the Noldor or others. Convinced he had become that it was the fault of the fallen Elf that the Wood darkened, the Elves who dwelt within forced to the northern half of the Wood and its more easily defensible caves and dwellings under the ground. It was ignominious to do so, for the Elves deeply resented so being alike to the dwarves, the earth-diggers, who had wrought the ruin of Doriath and the deaths of so many of their kinfolk under its protected eaves. Thranduil was no different, and the coming of the darkness had started soon after, in the time of Elves, Legolas had returned to the Wood. And so, naturally, it was safest and most propitious to place the blame upon the shoulders of one who was already not well loved and held in suspicion long. One who was already held in mixed judgment and was thus considered one apart, one who was different.

Thranduil anxiously awaited the return of his son, and nothing could have prepared him for that return, and nothing, in turn, could spare the fallen Elf from the wrath he would face in the wake of such a disaster.

Silinde roused himself from his musings to the concerned albeit reserved expression of the King, “Forgive me, my Lord, my mind was elsewhere.”

“I knew. Worry not, Silinde, for naught can alter what will be. It is out of our hands now, as is he. You are dismissed, friend, find rest now, for I have had calls from the south for reinforcements. The darkness does not go with him any longer.” Thranduil waited for Silinde to bow, say ‘Thank you, my Lord’ then turned promptly back to his remaining son, a delighted smile upon his face as he watched his son work, scanning parchments and maps spread across the ancient desk.

Silinde stood just inside the door for but a moment too long, staring as he was at the youngest son of Thranduil and he remarked to himself, Did the darkness ever come and go with him, or does it come from some other source, both within and without? Even as his eyes marked out once again all the definitive traof tof the young Elf’s ancestry, the heavy resemblance to the line of Oropher, but his eyes were different, not the sparkling blue of Thranduil or of his beloved son, Silelnataur, or of Oropher either, but the green-flecked blue eyes that marked a resemblance to the disgraced son of Thranduil.

Once relieved of the pressure within that room, the cool darkness of the hall caressed him, the breeze dancing in the open hallway from the courtyard from whie hae had come. As he strode back down the hallway, he let his fingers dance over the aging tapestries hanging upon the carved stone walls, dust rising under his touch. He did not look at the details of the old art, for he knew them well, the history of their Wood recorded for all posterity inside their tiny knots and colored threads. When each became too threadbare and old, it was refashioned in exact replica, and by now all had been replaced more than once, for time, even for the immortal, could not be stopped, and all things seemed to fade even if they did not.

It was at one recently replaced panel that he found his feet would take him no further, and his fingers burned atop the thread, soft and new, little dust rose from his touch and he stared at the panel, the explicit detail played out in knotted thread by talented fingers. He drew in his breath at the face that hung before him, so alike to that of the Elf he had just left in the care of Master Elrond of Imladris, yet the eyes held but very little of the sadness that had penetrated so fully the life of Thranduil’s disgraced son, rather they shone with the light of life. It was as true a representation of the Wood’s star as any. His mind turned unwillingly back to his trail of thought when in the King’s presence, his azure blue eyes boring into his own with n ren reserve and careful worry, and he turned fully to face the panel. It was then the face seemed to shift and a look of soft recrimination passed over the fair features of the Shining Star of Greenwood, and a look of pleading, the silent lips moving in a prayer Silinde could not interpret. He stepped back instinctively at the vision before him, stumbled upon a stone just a little higher than those beside it and fell back into the wall behind him, his mind suddenly lost to the past and the last time he had seen that face move, the last time he had heard that voice pleading with him to help his brother live.

Silinde leaned against the smooth, polished rock wall behind him, the coolness of the ancient stone seeping into his back through the cloth of shirt and tunic, as he drew in several deep breaths. Memories long kept from rising to the surface burst forth now in painfully evocative detail. He could smell the rain heavy in the air, its fresh scent tainted with the dirty, sweaty odor of the Glamhoth they had just fought, and the blood of Elf and Orc alike. He could remember the sight around him, the bodies strewn haphazardly between the ancient trees, the darkness hanging around them as a thick pall of fog in the early months of the year. He could hear the sounds of labored breathing, the desperate sobs of an Elf pleading with another, his voice harsh in the overwhelming silence of the stricken glade.

*~*~*~*~*~*

“Sil, please, do not leave me! You are strong; I will help you, but please,” Legolas sobbed as Silinde stood over where he knelt above his beloved brother, the Crown Prince of the Greenwood, recently renamed Mirkwood in common usage. Silinde placed his bloodstained hand upon the quaking shoulder of the archer in comfort as the disgraced Elf held his brother’s pale, cool hand against his chest, pressed to his heart with both of his own hands. He leaned down to kiss his brother’s forehead, leaned his cheek against that of his twin, “I am sorry, Silel, it is my fault, this is my fault; I should have”-

But the Golden Prince interrupted him, silencing him with a mere glance, “Nay, Legolas, it is no fault of yours. Do not ever think thus,” he smiled then, with a warmth none other could match, even as his life ebbed away, draining away from the wound he had taken in his abdomen and the additional insult of the warg bite upon his leg. “I do not think thus.”

“Please, Silel,” Legolas begged now, tears running down his face, Silinde knew, though he could not differentiate tears from the rain dripping continually and forcefully down through the trees.

“Legolas, my brother, promise me you will live on,” Silelnataur began, but stopped before he could continue, his body stiffening suddenly as a spasm of pain ran its course through his body. It was then that Legolas forsook his position above his brother’s side to take him up in his arms, cradling him, holding him close and sheltering his beloved brother’s face from the rain.

“Do not speak, Sil, save your strength,” Legolas whispered as he kissed his brother’s temple.

“If not now, then never will I, brother.”

“No!”

“Yes, I feel it, Legolas. And neither of us can forestall it. Let me say my piece while yet I am able,” he gazed up at his brother, the unseen stars reflected therein as he raised his leaden arm to cup Legolas’ face with tender care, his fingers leaving red smudges which were quickly washed away. He stiffened again, his eyes closed against the pain, and even before he opened his eyes again he began to speak, his voice strained, “Promise me, promise me you will live on, for I see still the possibility that father will see your worth, and even moreso now that I am… going. He will need you, I need you… to be strong for both of us. The Wood n you you…. You are a great… warrior, brother, and valiant, selfless. I hear the trees whisper… tales of you long before you have returned and thus I have known you were… safe; they speak with honor of you, as do I,… for I see in you what father will not. But he will, Legolas, and I need you to… promise me you will not give up on him.” He managed to say what he had wanted, but it had cost him.

“I promise, Silel,” Legolas cried as his brother fought to recover the breath he had lost in speaking. “Nor will I give up on you, my brother,” Legolas vowed. He gently laid his brother down upon the sodden ground, draped him in both of their cloaks, tucked it around him, then knelt beside him, kissing his forehead reverently, “Do not give up on me, Silel, please!”

“I will stay… for as long as I am able,” Silelnataur whispered into Legolas’ ear as the latter slid his arms beneath his brother and lifted him up into his arms, his strength fueled with his love, his devotion and his desperation. He did not heed the mud that squelched beneath his feet, threatening to make him slip with his precious burden, nor did he head the water that ran in sheets down his face. He concentrated only upon his quick steps and the labored breathing of his other half, his voice raised in soft song if for no other reason than to bring comfort to both of their minds. It was a laborious journey, but Legolas had not relented, pushing onwards through the night when others had wanted to stop and rest. But Legolas had merely given the order that half of the party were to remain in one of the scarce clearings with the wounded while he would press on with only a few Guards, one of whom was Silinde, who would leave neither of the princes’ sides.

*~*~*~*~*~*

And Silinde had not failed to notice the pain in either of them, for ever had they shared their feelings, whether physical or of the spiritual kind, and he knew Legolas felt the poison’s bite as well as his brother. And he knew it only further fed his single-minded determination. And so Silinde had guarded the steps of his princes, and had even offered to take upon himself the burden for a time, but Legolas steadfastly refused all aid, bearing upon his shoulders, in his arms, the brunt of his failing, and the guilt. Silinde knew it was not Legolas’ fault alone, but it would be deemed so, for it had long been Thranduil’s wont to lay the blame upon the archer, so long, in fact, that Legolas had long believed his culpability and had struggled to attain atonement within his own soul and in the eyes of the Wood and its inhabitants.

So long had the King held onto his anger and wrath that he had cast a pall upon the Wood, and the shadows deepening under the eaves had fed upon it, growing ever greater and filling in the cracks made between the Elves with the King’s lingering dismay. And the King had not seen it, but Legolas had, and had removed himself from the center of the Wood and had taken up his post in the trees and thus had lessened the friction within Mirkwood society. There he had remained for large portions of the years, as the Guards came and went from their posts back to their homes and returned again. However, Legolas never left the Wood; his loyalties remained to Mirkwood, and great was the distrust between the realms that most thought it tantamount to betrayal to enter another realm.

So great had been the rift between the Elven realms and the Greenwood following the Last Alliance and its woeful, albeit victorious, outcome that few, if any, outside of what was then become Mirkwood had learned or heard of the death of its gallant Golden Prince and fewer still knew of Legolas and his relation to the House of Oropher. No condolences were sent to Thranduil, who felt the inwards, all-consuming press of loneliness and the life he led bereft of the hope which he had vested in his beloved son. He had been left only with an unwanted, accursed son whom he had already had reason to distrust and loathe. And Legolas had willingly, in the crushing grief and scalding guilt submitted himself to the stern will of the King, thereby keeping his vow to his brother intact and providing fodder for the grief-driven bonfire of rage in the King.

Few there were who had taken pity on the archer then, for the Golden Prince had been well-beloved; and Thranduil’s lengthy suspicion of the archer had already spread wide and was well-rooted in the Elves of Mirkwood. The dreadful death of their Crown Prince, the Shining Star of Greenwood, had only reinforced their intense disregard to outright scorn. Legolas had been named largely responsible for the darkness of the Wood, for in his brother’s counsel, Thranduil had made him a Captain of the Guard of the South and it had been under Legolas’ watch that darkness had first begun its slow and steady invasion. And so it was that the seeds had been long planted, and Legolas’ allies grew thin in number. Few of his men were willing to speak in his defense, and none after the Prince’s demise, for the wrath of Thranduil hung over their heads and so Legolas fell ever deeper into despair.

Thus Legolas had submitted himself to the will of the people of Mirkwood, and the customs of the Grey Elves therein, and the Rites had been held. Legolas was no longer counted amongst their number; he was outcaste, symbolically dead to Mirkwood. For in the Rites had been the representation of his death, the collective grief and anger of the Wood laid bare upon him.

Many thereafter had counseled for his banishment, but Mithrandir, upon his arrival in the Wood with a great aura of power and age about him his only proo inv inviolability, had spoken against it and Thranduil had listened. However, what Thranduil heard were the same words, but a different meaning, and he turned those words to his advantage, the delirium of grief in his own mind spurring his particular madness. Thranduil had, he had realized abruptly in the midst of listening to the apparently aging wizard, a scapegoat both for his own mind’s ease and for that of his people- that he, Thranduil, was not to blame, but his ever wayward and wandering, accursed son. In this he found the benefit in Legolas remaining, for any defeat and setback could be laid at his feet, not at those of the King. And in his delirium, Thranduil believed almost instantly the justifications wrought in his mind and grabbed onto them with a tenacious hold, as an Elf holding onto the slim sinuous tail of sanity and clarity.

And so las las fell further into the darkness his life had become, subject as he was to the will of his father who he had sworn an oath never to abandon. And Legolas would break no oath to his brother, no matter the pain it brought to his own being. Legolas would never turn his back on his brother or what had been his will, and Legolas loved his father still, in his foolishness as it were perhaps. Thus began and continued the downward spiral for Legolas, the Greenleaf of Greenwood, Legolas the Night-sighted, the Keen-sighted, Andúfuin as his father had named him. Legolas bore the over burdening weight of tecriecriminations heaped upon him with stoic and oft almost eager reserve because he believed them justly laid, a reason to live and endure his growing despair, for too feel pain, loneliness, and all else was at least to stave off the looming emptiness Silinde saw often in his eyes. To feel pain and fear was to feel something. And Mithrandir, in Silinde’s own hearing, had implored Legolas so to do, to endure, to live, for he had a greater purpose to meet in life before he would face his end or sail West. And so Legolas labored on, believing that there was a price he had to pay for his brother’s death. In this service he found the impetus to live and fight the grief and to accept what the forest had all-too-willingly given in a sustaining bond. Legolas seized onto any reason to live and continue on, to fight the ever-growing darkness both within and without, to fulfill his vow.

Silinde, however, could not blame him, having known his own father for only so short a time before he had been lost. He still treasured every little memory and reserved them in his mind to be replayed, savored like a fine wine. Silinde saw Legolas as one alike to himself, and in this light he could understand why the fallen archer never fled Mirkwood for the safe haven he might have found in another Elven realm, and why he endured the endless torment his father heaped upon him, the memories of his lost brother handing like a noose around his neck. Silinde stood beside the archer when he could, but he protected his position in maintaining some distance, telling himself he did so in order to preserve his influence in the case that Legolas should one day have need of it. And Silinde swore and oath of his own, to do what he could for the archer when the time came, little did he know how near in the future that would be.

The vision haunted his days and mostly his nights, as he found little rest with the shade of Silelnataur punctuating his vision in sleep and in waking. Even then, he knew he had done all he could for Legolas to this point, had kept a watch upon his back and had lent his aid when he could. And now, he trusted in the Noldor, and in Glorfindel, who had taken an interest in the fallen prince. Still, he renewed his pledge as he pulled himself to his feet in the empty corridor, his eyes patently avoiding the fair face on the tapestry.


To be continued...
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To Calenharn Elflover

I am sorry that I am losing you, but there is a Legolas that was in Gondolin at the time of its fall, in fact, he led the survivors out of the city, and was still leading them when Glorfindel died at Cristhorn, the Cleft of Eagles. This is in the Book of Lost Tales vol 2. Tolkein wrote: “But the others, led by one Legolas Greenleaf of the house of the Tree, who knew all that plain by day or by dark, and was night-sighted, made much speed over the vale for all their weariness, and halted only after a great march” (p 190, 1992: Ballantine Books: New York). There is, indeed, no record in Tolkein’s work that I know of in which he specifies that the two are the same Elf, but he does not say the other way as far as I know, other than a mention that this Legolas lives yet in Tol Erresëa as Laiqualassë (218). I know that he never really developed the Legolas character much at all, and in his correspondence, he had regretted this. In fact, as far as I remember, it is unknown whether Legolas had blond or dark hair, let alone his age. However, all of this is academic since I stipulated at the outset that this would be Alternate Universe, and my story. It does not have to follow cannon to the letter and this I specified earlier in the writing, though I said I would follow cannon as closely as possible, however, I have my goals and the direction for this story in mind and I might have to alter the ‘facts’ from cannon.

Also, before the Last Alliance, and after the Fall of Númenor, Sauron returned to Middle-earth and worked among the Elves and Men to sway them to his cause under the guise of Annatar, a fair seeming person. It was under his counsel and skill that the rings of power were forged, and when he created the Ruling Ring, the Elves perceived his deceit and he was betrayed much to his chagrin, and from then on war was unceasing (Silmarillion, 344-5 2002:Ballantine Books: New York). While it may not have been called Mirkwood and Dol Guldur was not yet the den of Sauron, the Elves east of the Ered Luin lived in fear and many departed to the West at the time because ofron ron and his continuing expansion, continuous warfare, called the Black Years, the Days of Flight. Tolkein says “And many took to the fastness of the mountains and the forests” in fear of Sauron (347). . Only Lindon and the Elves under Gil-galad did not get attacked, as Sauron feared Gil-galad and his union with the Númenóreans.
I will check the past chapters to make sure I made no slips, and I hope you still continue reading, and I would thank you both for your continued interest and your input.

Tanesa