Gondor's King

Chapter 15

I lie quietly on the lounge in my study staring up at the rows and rows of dusty old books that line the walls from ceiling to floor. Outside I can hear the gentle running of the stream and the last twittering of the birds amongst the rustling trees. I am lying here waiting for the inevitable, waiting for the doom I know is upon me and my family. Kicking off my shoes I rise to my feet and wander stiffly over to the open doors of the study that lead down into the gardens. It is late enough in the evening not to be disturbed by the gardeners and dark enough not to be seen. The grass is crisp under foot a sign of an approaching frost as winter draws closer. The elves will return home before the first snow fall and Minas Tirith will be quiet and gloomy again as it is in winter time.

Slowly I wander through the gardens my purpose not defined my destination unknown. I do not care what might follow, or what I know is ahead only now in the silence of my thoughts am I truly lost. Breachtian has slipped through my fingers unwittingly in my absence and I fear he is now no longer fit to be king. Kahual is to head strong like the elves and I doubt will accept the crown if ever it should be offered. He is a legacy of me, a wandering spirit caught by duty and as for Aratula I will never allow her to take any position on the council of men. Her mother was a victim of duty and I will not see her depart my side as her mother did, as anything less than truly happy and this I know she will not be if forced to the throne. And all this of course is speculation that if there is even a throne to ascend to by the end of the week. Without a court a king is useless, one man cannot control a city of thousands let alone a court of just thirty. I sigh heavily aware that my footsteps are becoming heavier in my depression and I work hard to lighten them again. I have spoken to no one since the events in the field, and no one has even dared enter my private wing of the palace, for which I am thankful. My heart aches for Breachtian as it does for Legolas and now I am sure I have lost both in my blindness.

“Shhh, do not splash or it will draw someone’s attention for sure.” I stop mid step as I hear a gently spoken voice, the language that of elvish. Straightening myself I dart quickly off the path and behind a tree. Ahead I can see a lantern sitting upon a smooth. stream washed rock, illuminating a small glade. Glancing around at my surroundings I orientate myself as to have come across one of the fresh water pools that litter my gardens. They have been created by deep underwater springs and are kept running all year round by the constant upward bubbling of the water. Often in a hard winter they will be the only sources of water when the wells ice over. I breathe out quietly and haul myself up into the branches of the tree I have hidden behind. Climbing further through the branches I finally come to a stable branch above the pool and I lie down along it’s length to glance cautiously down on whoever is bathing in my pool.

“I love it when you speak in elvish to me. It reminds me of when mother sang to me.” I am physically frozen to the spot at the next, very familiar voice. It is Breachtian without a doubt. I lean a little further forward on the branch and swallow the gasp that threatens to spill from my mouth as I see my eldest son floating naked in the pool, with the arms of an unfamiliar dark haired male elf wrapped around him. I have no doubt that the elf is the cloaked stranger at the archery contest. I’m suddenly taken back by the memory of a time when I had eaves dropped before on such a scene as this and how it had ended so dramatically. Instinctively I clutch my shoulder, the pain still fresh in my mind as if Legolas had only just skewered me with his ar Wit With memories like that so fresh still in my mind I go to retreat back down the tree, my lessons learned, however I pause as Breachtian continues this time in elvish like his partner had only moments before. I hardly thought Breachtian had learned any elvish from his tutors let alone used it freely and with ease. “You do not blame me for standing up for you do you? I could not tell him who you were he would not understand, you said so yourself. I would go a thousand years without my fathers favour if only to see you unharmed.” I sigh inwardly as I watch Breachtian nuzzle against the elf’s shoulder. I cannot help a streak of jealousy that runs through my body as they kiss slowly, the tender embrace obscured slightly by the dark mane of hair that cascades over them from the elf’s head.

“No I do not blame you, this is hard on us both but your father will not see reason unless he is witness to his own true love, the love he gave up for your mother.” I close my eyes tightly together as the very words of the unknown elf below sting my heart and constrict the ache that has been there for what seems like my whole life. Swallowing hard I force my own composure and open my eyes as the dark haired elf continues. “How goes the search, have you found what we seek?” Confusion now takes over and the dread I originally feared over becomes reality as Breachtian sits up from the elf’s chest and nods his head firmly.

”Yes I have found him, he is here in Minas Tirith, our search is over.” I watch with avid interest as Breachtian leans forward and licks in one long stroke the length of the elf’s ear nipping on the tip of it, which makes the elf illicit a whimper of lust. Despite myself I harden at the sight, my son doing something that I have wanted to do for years to Legolas. I find myself wondering what Legolas will sound like when he is lost in throws of ecstasy. Jealousy once again clears my vision as I consider that only a select few have ever heard his cries of passion and one of them being Haldir of Lothlorien.

“And is he beautiful like I said he was?” The dark haired elf composes himself a little and smiles triumphantly at Breachtian who merely shrugs his shoulders in reply.

“It is true, he is uncommonly pretty but nothing to you my love.” The sentence is punctuated with feverish kisses, which culminate in a guttural moan from the elf as Breachtian’s hands run down the elfest est and disappear below the water of the pool.

“Then we are close to happiness ‘melme’, if you are sure he is the one we need only to force the union to have our freedom.” I watch as the elf throws his head back his eyes closed in passion, his face obscured by his damp hair. Breachtian pants with delight upon his lovers lap and I close my eyes to the sight having already seen and heard enough to put the pieces of the puzzle together somewhat. I am interested in my son’s life but not to this extent, an eavesdropper is one thing but a voyeur is another. Quietly I move back from the branch and descend the tree trunk, the cries of my son’s love making echoing around the small glade. Once on the ground I straighten my tunic, as a sadness already begins to wrench at my heart as the exclamations of love behind me tear at my already tortured soul. I move to begin walking back towards the palace when I hear Breachtian scream his lover’s name.

Time stops, middle earth screeches to a halt and my heart jumps to my throat, so that I feel as if I might choke. The name on Breachtian’s lips is one I know almost like my own, and I feel my stomach twist into irreversible damage as reality catches up with my mind. Without thought or feeling I begin to run back towards the palace knowing full well that if I do not get away from the glade, my screams of realization will surely awaken every thing within the city walls. I stumble helplessly on the path and find myself falling forward into the dimly lit study. Crashing to the hard floor with a thud I wind myself and roll over groaning onto my back. As I open my eyes I feel my body tense as several confused faces stare down at me. Among them are Legolas, Gimli, Elrond and the other elvan elders I grew up with. I cannot avert my gaze from Elrond’s, my father in everything but blood, suddenly I feel the bile rise in my throat. “Elrohir” I only manage to call my brothers name before I turn over to diverge the contents of my stomach upon the rug and blankness engulfs me. ………

TBC……………………………