True Bow (Cuthenin)

Eneg-ar-Pae Peth: Gûr Breithol Trebreithad (Part Sixteen: Heart Breaking Breakthrough)

Thranduil walked at less than his normal long-strode loping gait, moving with purposeful deliberation as he traversed the distance between his mountain fortress and the secluded talan wherein his youngest child had resided for all his short life. He needed the slow pace to grant him time. As they always did on this walk, his thoughts retreated as his progress advanced.

There was much to consider and he wanted to do what was best for this silvan child he had unwillingly sired. The King winced just thinking the words, but he did not entirely correct his mind's assessment. I wanted no third elfling, even Legolas knows this truth. That fact had not prevented the Sinda Lord from loving the elfling born to him. Nor had it eased his frustrated grief upon learning that, not being bound to the mother, his rights were not as sound as he had assumed they would be.

It had never entered his thoughts to bond with Lhoss for his true mate would be reunited to him someday in Eldamar. As far as Thranduil was concerned their relationship had been satisfactory to both: mutually exclusive, carefree, stimulating, and grounded in real friendship. They had been comrades long before they became lovers. He had never imagined the silvan elleth would desire anything more. A faint smile graced his features as he recalled her lithe, willowy form, delicate features, and long mane confined entirely in slender silver braids.

She was a wild thing, quite in contrast to the gentle meaning of her name, bold and unwilling to be fettered against her heart's wishes. So she stated whenever her more conservative kin chastised her for the unorthodox link to the Sindarin King. Not once had the topic arisen between them, though Thranduil knew it was an annual event for her father, sister, and aunt to try and convince her to give up the illicit affair and bond with a respectable ellon.

Had Thranduil not lost his wife it is unlikely he would ever have considered anything other than platonic accord between him and Lhoss. Even had he not loved his mate, which he averred to his elder sons he truly did, Thranduil was not one to sunder a solemn bond to the mother of his children. His sons, and all of their mother's kin, had a decidedly different idea of what defined breaking such a vow. Thranduil grimaced, thinking on the many cutting remarks he had endured from various members of his wife's House, most notably Galion, over the years. He had been quick to tell them to mind their own business and leave him to tend his affairs as he saw fit. My arrogance has brought this grief upon me and upon my sons, all three of them. I should not have openly taken Lhoss for my consort.

Yet had he not then Legolas would not be, and that he could not imagine now. For a moment he faltered on the trail, recalling how close he had just come to losing his silvan child, before finding his resolve and resuming the walk. His thoughts returned to mulling the past, as if revisiting the events might present him with a means to alter their more unpleasant consequences.

His elder sons had tolerated Thranduil's affair as an aberration brought on by grief over their mother's death. At first they had assumed it would end and the embarrassment would be over, yet centuries elapsed and the pair showed no sign of separating. Inarthan and Igeredir endured the liaison with barely suppressed outrage that occasionally erupted into volatile condemnation if Lhoss was given too much attention at public feasts and holiday celebrations. When word reached their ears that a child had been created of this dishonourable union, loud was their outcry for the silvan adulteress to leave for the Havens, taking her shame and her misbegotten progeny with her.

The news of the pregnancy was a shock to Thranduil as well. They had never discussed such a thing for he had assumed it was not an option Lhoss would entertain without being bound to her mate. Generation of life was taxing to the mother and a committed husband was required, for the strength of both parents was needed to make the growing child strong and healthy. No elleth would consider endangering her offspring by creating life under so tenuous an attachment as Lhoss shared with Thranduil.

Or so I believed. The King shook his head as he trudged on, recalling events that had felt like betrayal so great was the damage done. He could not understand why she would do such a thing and had angrily demanded an explanation. The look that came over her features had been one of such infinite sorrow that he was shaken to the core. Her answer had been cryptic, saying if he did not have the answer in his heart then no rationale she might give would ever suffice.

She did not ask for them to become formally bonded. She did not request his presence at her side. She said nothing when the King's council of advisors, his sons, and grandchildren demanded her banishment. She declined to refute the charges of seeking to elevate her status. She made no reply when accused of trying to force Thranduil to accept a mate he did not want and a child that was not his own. She refused to defend herself against allegations that she had other lovers and any of them might be the babe's sire. Instead she waited for someone to speak on her behalf, someone whose voice could not be overruled. She waited for Thranduil.

He did not come to her defence. He chose to believe these indictments instead of the friend and lover he had depended upon for Ages out of time. Lhoss moved out of her home in the stronghold and resided in her sister's talan. Calarlim and their father tried to convince Lhoss to relocate to their clan's holdings in the northernmost sector of Greenwood in the foothills of Ered Mithrin (Grey Mountains). There at least she would have the comfort of seclusion.

Within the silvan culture, dwelling so near to evil, Pâd-en-Tawar had become altered over the course of the Third Age. No more was the religion a celebration of Arda's Gifts and Iluvatar's Music. The catastrophic loss of life during the Last Alliance had to be addressed somehow, made comprehensible, preventable. It was necessary to find scapegoats to take the blame. With Sindarin rulers who avowed the customs and lifestyle of Doriath, such liberal ways, corrupted by exposure to the morally destitute people of Feanor, became the focus of the chaotic paranoia to which the silvans succumbed.

In place of the reverent jubilation that characterised the creed in other lands, a strict dogma with stringent rules and harsh penalties evolved. Even a temporary law designed to prevent extinction became a permanent commandment inspired by the will of Iluvatar. Under this new rubric, what Lhoss had done was unforgivable. In concert with this belief, none, be they Sindarin or silvan, truly wanted such a tainted elfling and its naneth among them. Her need for someone to love had doomed Legolas to a dismal future. Among the populace, it was quietly hoped that both mother and infant would be dead before the pregnancy's end.

Yet she would not go away. She waited for me to discover the answer to my question and seek her out. When I did so, nine months into the pregnancy, too much time had elapsed. Again the King paused in his progress, lost in his internal reflections and twisted in turmoil. Lhoss knew there was no space in my heart for her and dared to take something of mine to keep for her own: a child.

Too late Thranduil had come to his revelation. The love she had held secret in her soul for so long had soured under his cold denial and cruel abandonment. She did not trust him anymore. All that she had once given to him she poured into the creation of her babe. As a result her own feä diminished apace. It was uncertain if she would survive long enough to birth the child, and whether the infant would have sufficient strength to carry on if it ever was born. Thranduil was left with the horrifying fact that his callous negligence might be the cause for the death of two elves, one of which was his own flesh and blood.

She permitted him to spend those final days with her, hearing genuine contrition in his pleas for forgiveness, but she did not believe his assurances that he would make things right. She would not return to the fortress. She refused to be alone with him and he was not granted leave to touch her beyond clasping her hand.

Calarlim tried to intervene for the child's sake and whenever her sister slipped into unconsciousness she coaxed the reluctant father into speaking to the unborn babe and caressing any spot on Lhoss' small round belly that quivered even the slightest bit. Thranduil spent a handful of days attempting to give his youngest child some part of his strength, some sense that he would be greeted with love upon his birth. Every time the King left that talan he dreaded that death would greet his return.

His prediction proved true.

Lhoss went into labour less than three weeks after her lover finally claimed their babe and two months too early for the child's healthy delivery. She simply could no longer hold onto her soul and sought to transfer what remained of her essence to her son ere she passed. There would be no spirit left to heed the call of Námo.

Thranduil hastened to the summons but arrived to find the nativity completed amid a scene of sorrow rather than joy, for Legolas' mother had indeed perished during her labour. As the King held their tiny elfling for the first time, he was calmly informed that she had named the child, chosen a Guardian, and with her final breath demanded his son be raised in the silvan way by her people. Before witnesses she had declared this: the nestaron (healer), her sister, and Greenwood's Sadron.

In bitter rancour the King liked to pretend that she had done this out of spite, for she had never been a devout believer in the silvan's faith. She sought to punish him for failing to acknowledge the conception as his issue. He knew that was not the last thought of her heart, however. It had been love and fear that made her act so. He had denied Legolas and defamed her; what else would she imagine but that he would shun the child once he was born? Desperate to ensure her babe would be loved and cherished, she had bound her sister to the Guardian's vow and agreed to Calarlim's terms: Legolas would be a follower of Pâd-en-Tawar. Lhoss was within her rights while I negated mine. Thranduil heaved a deep breath, as close to a sob as he had come in many centuries, and fought to master his fruitless despair.

He could not fault Calarlim, for the aunt had loved Legolas long before he was born, of this Thranduil was certain. Her unconditional acceptance and devotion to her nephew was surely what had made it possible for the elfling to survive at all, for he was so small and weak upon birth that he had not even strength to cry. Calarlim never put him from her arms unless it was to place him in Thranduil's and between them they willed Legolas to remain alive. They formed an awkward partnership that eased into guarded respect as the years passed and the child grew, ensuring he knew beyond any doubt that he was loved by his father and his second mother.

Thranduil grimaced and shook himself, mentally and physically, where he stood upon the empty pathway unsuccessfully trying to force these unpleasant memories from his thoughts. Since Legolas' birth, he had trod this course so many times the ground was packed hard and no plant dared sprout there for dread of being crushed. As often as he could, Thranduil had made the short trek to spend time with his youngest, hastening his step as he approached, heart uplifting in anticipation only to plummet in daunting regret every time duty shortened his stay. Calarlim never limited his access, that he could not claim, yet she made the boundaries clear: she was Tirn'wathel and Legolas was her responsibility not Thranduil's. No matter how he tried to overlook the restrictions he could not escape the reality. He was a visitor to that talan, a visitor in his son's life.

The Sindarin monarch sighed and adjusted the pack slung over his left shoulder, taking comfort in its contents as he set forth again. He was bringing everything necessary to cater to his youngest as befitted an honoured warrior, just as Galdor had suggested. This would be no sacred ritual such as Legolas had endured under the rigours of his archaic religion. There was nothing of mystery about the diversion Thranduil intended to provide. Plain and simply, the practice promoted only pleasurable relaxation and was a common event among the Grey Elves of Beleriand in the days before the War of Wrath. This was a ritual many of Greenwood's soldiers shared among the company of friends and fellows and one Thranduil enjoyed with his sons and numerous grandsons frequently.

Thranduil planned to massage away the fatigue and stress of battle and sorrow. It was one of the few Sindarin customs in which Legolas would participate, once he began the rigourous physical training inherent to becoming a skilled warrior. The King had always enjoyed these private times with Legolas and believed his son did as well. They would talk then, Thranduil sharing stories of his childhood and telling of Oropher, the grandfather dead long centuries before Legolas' conception. He would relate embarrassing anecdotes of his elder sons' antics during their elfling days. Sometimes, when Legolas dared to ask, he would speak of Lhoss, for Calarlim had not revealed much of his naneth's character and what was heard among his contemporaries was hardly flattering. Thranduil was able to give his son a more balanced picture of the elleth who had loved him so strongly that she gave him life at the cost of her own.

If Thranduil hoped the relaxing experience would induce his son to open up and speak of this unprecedented bond to an outlander, who could blame a father for such?

His session with Galdor had been unsettling at best and unthinkable at worst. Little had the Sadron spoken of Legolas' Faer Hebron and while none of it could he denounce as false something was not right. Thranduil hoped the Guardian was nervous because the elleth was partly Noldorin; perhaps some scandal attended her history. Ignorant of her age in years, he even wondered whether she might be counted among the kinslayers of Doriath or of Alqualondë. Thranduil physically winced as this idea presented itself. Yet even that he could hardly use as means to condemn the match, for he knew Lhoss was dead only because of him. I am no less a killer myself, for Lhoss would not have faded of grief had I treated her heart better.

Guilt bowing his broad shoulders, he began walking again at an even more sluggish pace, sight trained upon the ground as a vision of her empty, haunted eyes pervaded his consciousness. He sighed deeply and for the thousandth time since Legolas' birth silently vowed to her not to let their child suffer for their errors. Yet even as he made the promise he knew it was a futile and empty gesture. Not even Calarlim could protect Legolas from the general disfavour with which his countrymen regarded him. Now she was gone and this foreign Elf stood in her place, claiming ascendancy over the youthful warrior. Galdor sought to join the naive archer to a lady from a distant realm of a people who disdained the Wood Elves. Will she demand his removal to Imladris? Is that what Legolas believes I will disprove?

Strangely, while the thought of Legolas leaving Greenwood was upsetting, that was an easier concept to worry over than whether he had really desired anything of the noble lady. Once more the muttering warning prickled through Thranduil's subconscious and once more he firmly tried to stifle it. Legolas hed never exhibited any sort of desire for the ellith of the city. The Sadron included 'raw physical attraction' in his list of qualifiers for the match. Yet there were other memories that contradicted this notion and would not let the unsavoury suspicion die.

The destination was reached in scant minutes more and the King stood staring up at the dimly lit and silent talan. All of the curtains and screens were drawn and out of respect the homes nearby were also shrouded, the activity of their occupants subdued. Softly filtering through the canopy arose a gentle harmony of voices singing hymns and prayers of peace and comfort for the deceased warrior, pleading strength and hope for the son she left behind. The neighbours provided an auditory blanket meant to muffle any sounds of grieving the young warrior might need to vent.

Indeed, many of these folk were Calarlim's kin and thus Legolas' also and their combined dolour was a palpable sensation that fell heavily upon the soul. Whatever reservations these relatives harboured concerning Legolas' scandalous origins were washed away by the deluge of tears spilled on his and Calarlim's behalf. Thranduil climbed the tree and stepped onto the main platform.

It was bare with only a small brazier for heat and cooking, now empty and cold, a few cushions scattered near it, two low tables suitable for floor-sitting, a small chest near the trunk for utensils and cooking gear. An unlit lantern hung from the branches overhead. The austerity was normal for the silvans, who had little use for furniture in the limited space amid the branches. Legolas was not in the room nor had Thranduil expected him to be. He knew his son would be in Calarlim's flet, for the only light spilled from there, and so he quickly stepped the short distance to an adjacent platform set at chest height and pulled himself up. The area was just as spartan with another hanging lamp, a chest for clothing, and a pallet for sleeping. Upon this was Legolas reposed, still and quiet, curled on his side with his back to the entrance. Bow and quiver, boots, tunic and shirt lay scattered on the floor where he had cast them down. He did not stir.

Thranduil did not wish to disturb his son's sleep and thus moved quietly across the platform to sit down next to his youngest child. "Nae, ionen vrêg, man amarth um an le túliel?" (Alas, my wild son, what evil fate has come to you?) he whispered, gently reaching out to stroke the long mane of golden hair splayed across his son's painted back.

Instantly Legolas awoke and turned, round-eyed with terror and anger as he sat upright and held forth a dagger drawn from beneath the pillow. In the other hand he clutched a length of cloth close to his heart: one of Calarlim's tunics. His expression filled with confusion and pain, his cheeks, damp from uncountable tears, marked the passage of two more. The arm wielding the blade shook. He exhaled a loud breath and heaved in another, dropping the knife and bracing his bowed head on the freed hand as the other fell limp upon his lap. "Nin gohenach, Hîren," he whispered brokenly but would not lift his eyes.

"Nay it is not necessary to ask that of me," assured the father kindly, laying a hesitant palm on the bent head. "Bear no concern for me during this time. I am but glad to see you whole." He softly soothed a caress over the mussed tangle of untended tresses, vision travelling the length of Legolas' body, noting the fading scars and bold additions to the heart spiral. That he could see the wounds' marks at all gave his heart a painful jolt of chilling guilt. He had sent his youngest, little more than an elfling when his years were counted, into the teeth of death. His stomach sickened, imagining Legolas' remains among those decaying in the High Pass.

With effort he mastered these gruesome images and studied the other signs, catching his breath at the dark line of small round brands just visible down Legolas' left side. More indications of the gap between us. I can barely comprehend my own son's world any longer. Thranduil ached to gather Legolas close just as he had when his third child was but a small elfling, days but recently passed in terms of the First-born. He could not, or would not, for everything had changed once Legolas had achieved adolescence.

What agony the King had secretly hidden the first time Legolas avoided his touch and shunned a paternal hug. True, he had expected it and was prepared to wait out the youth's need to present an image of maturity and independence, for he had already raised two sons. Yet it soon became apparent Legolas' was not undergoing this volatile stage of development in the same manner as his brothers.

Instead of the disdainful attitude of impertinence common to youths at this juncture in life, Legolas became hesitant and almost fearful. Having assumed the strange temper would pass, Thranduil's worry deepened as Legolas' anxiety mounted rather than diminished. Others noticed and the inevitable ridicule began. The troubled archer withdrew further, trusting only Calarlim, yet that in itself became fodder for the cruel jests and snide remarks. Never shy of his body before, Legolas became acutely embarrassed by the changes overtaking him. He began guarding his modesty fervently and sometimes could not even bear his father's gaze. He would not even throw off his clothing to go swimming with his nephews and cousins. When Thranduil had attempted to console him with explanations and reassurance that every male Elf experienced such things, the youth had become even more mortified.

That was when the first nagging warning had entered the King's mind, shocked to realise that Legolas was not exhibiting this extreme bashfulness when in the presence of ladies, as one might expect, but rather when in the company of males. And if Thranduil was aware of it, mayhap others were also. Alarmed, the King could not go to the healers for help or consult the Sadron, not even to Calarlim could he voice these concerns. Too much guilty shame had been placed upon his son already. If word got out that Thranduil was enquiring about such aberrant sexual urges and how to combat them, as it most certainly would, everyone would realise the source of his son's discomfort. Instead, the panicked father had taken to the libraries and consulted every text on sexual development he could find. There he found the reassurance he needed, for the books indicated such adolescent interest in like kind was a but passing obsession many young elves experienced and the yearning would abate once a suitable life-mate of the opposite sex was discovered.

The works restored his hopes. It never entered the King's head that this information might be biased. He had ordered the removal of any books expressing a counter view. Any text indicating an individual's desires were an innate characteristic had long ago been discarded in favour of those presenting the opinion that sexual attraction was a choice of either nature or perversion, right or wrong, sinful or sacred. Choosing one's own gender was sinful, wrong, and un-natural and anyone feeling such an urge must fight it diligently.

The books went further, explaining the crucial role of the parents in their child's development, stressing the necessity for suitable models of behaviour from a properly bonded couple as the most important influence during adolescence. In light of his personal experience to date, this seemed logical enough; after all, Thranduil had been raised by two loving parents, as had his first sons, and all had grown to maturity to become wedded with families of their own. Legolas had been denied this vital ingredient. Mayhap his twisted fascination was due to this lack of a fitting example of a bonded pair.

Concerned, but believing he had the answer to all their woes, the King had at last consulted with Calarlim regarding Legolas' future, presenting the not unlikely notion of disfavour among courtiers and commoners alike regarding bonding any of their kin to his child. Calarlim had summarily informed him that choosing Legolas' mate was not his responsibility and then declared she would take her adopted son away to the distant lands of her people to seek a spouse. Upon their return Legolas had seemed more at ease and, when his training resumed, had learned to tolerate the Sindarin custom of massage as long as his father performed the ritual.

The King had allowed himself to be appeased, shrugging off his son's refusal to discuss his betrothed as a part of his strict adherence to the bond between Guardian and mentor. Thranduil had tried to draw him out during massage, making faintly ribald allusions to the new tattoo and who had marked him in so intimate a location. That had served only to make Legolas more uncomfortable and withdrawn. When Thranduil avowed his approval of the match and his desire to meet his law-daughter to be and her folk, there was no mistaking the stressful response of one near panic in the tense muscles and racing pulse beneath his fingers. Legolas had retreated behind the protection of his religion, stating such matters must be discussed with his Tirn'wathel.

Thranduil had not pressed him further and while he had taken his inquiries to Calarlim the issue became moot when the maiden perished. Legolas' entire life was marked by what was lacking, what had been lost, what had been taken from him. Could he ever be whole and at peace?

The worried father sighed, wishing he could break through his son's wary reserve so studiously maintained since those days and compounded now by grief. Legolas had not raised his head and the King could imagine what thoughts might be going through his son's mind. The young archer looked more like an abandoned elfling than a skilled warrior. His instinct told him to reach for his child yet he could not bear to be rebuffed anew and refrained from greater contact, counting himself fortunate that Legolas permitted the press of his palms.

"You are weary and have weathered much strife; lie down and allow one warrior to tend another," he coaxed with the traditional invitation and was granted a flash of agonised eyes before Legolas slowly settled on his stomach, rigid and unyielding, head turned away. It always began thus, every muscle taut as if Legolas expected to feel the sting of a lash instead of the firm, regular pressure of fingers kneading away the stress.

Thranduil squelched the urge to emit another sigh as he gathered up the tangled mane and draped it across the pillow, exposing the vivid image of Legolas' totem. He always felt a small tug of discomfort upon seeing it, for he wondered about the pain that had accompanied its making. He had never asked of this, for he feared Legolas might misinterpret his concern as an indication of doubt for his son's fortitude. He knew enough of the silvan way to realise such a weakness would be scorned and any suggestion of such delicacy of constitution was a grave insult.

Yet all squeamishness aside, Thranduil could not deny his fascination with the detail and the beauty of the permanent design. He was grateful for every opportunity to study it, for he felt certain that if he could appreciate every nuance in this intricate pattern and commit every word of each incantation and prayer to memory, he would understand his son at last. Lightly he traced over the regal head of the sharp-eyed raptor, causing Legolas to jerk in shock before murmuring the words that must follow such an exploration.

"Nin Gohenach." Thranduil's voice was tight in his throat and he was surprised to find his eyes burning as tears sought to find an outlet. He denied them passage; Legolas did not deserve the burden of succouring his father's rueful compunction.

"Ha únad." (It is nothing.)

Beside the cot was the satchel Thranduil had brought and he reached inside to retrieve the bottle of oil, a cotton cloth, and a small burner made specifically to heat the oil. He busied himself with lighting it and propping the small bottle in the ceramic container poised at just the right height above the single tongue of flame. Experience had taught him Legolas would not completely disrobe and so he did not even suggest it, instead uncorking the bottle, letting the fragrance of Rosemary, Bergamot, and almonds suffuse through the enclosed space. He smiled lightly when Legolas inhaled deeply and visibly relaxed. In the minutes waiting for the oil to warm, Thranduil rose and went to wash his hands, another custom of the ritual, for on the field of battle there were often traces of blood and gore and such must not mingle with the essential fluid rubbed into the skin.

That done, he returned and took up the oil, pouring out a small amount in his palm and liberally coating both hands. Legolas tensed again, anticipating the initial contact with something like dread, just as he did every time. Thranduil knew not why the sight bothered him so deeply this night yet refused to examine his thoughts to learn the cause of the strange melancholia. I might have lost him, is that not reason enough to feel this way?

He cleared his throat lightly to see if that would ease away the constriction around his vocal chords before trying to speak. "I will begin now," he warned, a necessary precaution so that Legolas would not flinch when hands connected with his skin. Thranduil's settled lightly on his son's lower back, right in the curve at the base of the spine, neither pressing nor rubbing, merely resting there just above a delicate green tendril of the Morning Glory vine tattoo escaping from beneath the leggings.

Legolas flinched anyway.

The King ignored it, as he always did, distracting his thoughts by the tattoo under his fingers. His first Faer Hebron's mark. As he paused, he wondered if a new image would be inked to honour the more recent bond. At last another deep breath, close enough to a poorly restrained sob to make the King frown, made the archer's shoulders rise and fall, leaving a more normal stillness in its wake. Thranduil pressed the heels of his hands down and pushed, letting them glide along the oily film as they moved upward to Legolas' shoulder blades. He placed his hands flat for the return journey, his thumbs riding the groove of the spinal column with just a little bit of pressure. He repeated the same moves, up and back, twelve times until Legolas sighed again, a long exhale of comfortable ease, now completely relaxed and limp upon the pallet.

Thranduil switched to his finger tips and added a rhythmic, circular kneading tempo that stimulated the taut muscles underlying the outspread wings of the falcon image. He concentrated on the neck and the base of the scull for a time, massaging carefully but firmly. Thranduil worked his way back down, rubbing the ache out of the trapezius and deltoid muscles, until his hands once more reposed in the lumbar curve. He turned his palms inward and again began the long upward stroke, turning his fingers out as he went until he reached the scapula where his digits lightly curved over Legolas' ribs just beneath his arms. Applying slightly more pressure on the sides, the King's hands travelled down again but abruptly stopped. The pad of his index finger had encountered the first of the small brands. Legolas immediately tensed, even holding his breath, and Thranduil had to fight the sorrowful sigh seeking exit his lungs.

"Be at peace," he said calmly and removed his fingers from the sensitive region. "I did not mean to press there." He continued the massage even as Legolas lifted his head to look back at him. Thranduil met his son's troubled eyes with a kind smile. "I may not understand it completely, but I am proud of the sacrifice you made for your friends, for your naneth."

Legolas stared at him, wanting to explain that it was not a matter for pride but rather an obligation required of him. Thranduil would never see that and so he gave his father a half-hearted smile instead and turned his head away again. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to think but only to feel, loosing himself to the rejuvenating pressure of the hands coaxing his body into healing relaxation. He hoped Thranduil would refrain from further speech, for while at times he enjoyed the stories of his brothers' or of the King's childhood, this night he had no wish for such trivial tales. He learned quickly that wish would not be fulfilled, nor would the topic of his father's words be frivolous.

"I understand what you have lost," Thranduil continued, hoping this was a suitable way to begin the conversation, "for my naneth died when I was a few years older than you are. Even now there are times when I wish my Nana was here and she has been gone since before our people came to this land. If not for my wife, I am sure I would have faded from the grief. How my father continued I never comprehended until I also lost my mate." No reply came from the motionless Elf beneath his moving hands. "Galdor tells me your Faer Hebron is from Gondolin, the sister of our guest, Lord Glorfindel." Still nothing, not even a grunt of assent, greeted this prompting. "I owe this lady a life-debt, for without her intervention I would be the one grieving tonight."

Legolas sighed, realising he must respond and dreading what would follow from it. "Tirn'wador cautions the bond may not strengthen for we know each other so little."

"I am still thankful and hope to tell her so personally. You are very dear to me, Legolas, and if I have not said it often it is not through any fault of yours."

"The Lady Aelluin will never come to Greenwood, Adar," Legolas replied coldly, ignoring the tender words completely. In fact, the archer sat up and pulled away from his father's hands. He was not sure why this attempt at commiseration and sympathy struck him so sharply, but he suddenly had no wish to endure it. A dark flare of anger coursed through him and he had to admit he did not truly believe his father's profession of love. Were Thranduil to ever learn the truth that faint offer of warmth would dissipate quickly to be replaced by disgust and aversion.

The King hid his hurt as best he could, covering it by taking up the cloth and wiping the oil from his hands. "I see. You will remove to Imladris then. That is not what I would have hoped for yet no price is too high to pay for your salvation from fading."

"I did not say I would leave Greenwood," Legolas objected bitterly. "Too much is happening to decide that and there is no reason to think the soul-bond will survive the trials to come."

"You do not plan to complete Faras-uin-Ind?" asked Thranduil, his uneasiness returning. Calarlim had not explained clearly why the silvan maid betrothed to Legolas scant years ago had failed to return with him to the stronghold. Upon the announcement of her untimely death, Legolas had not seemed overcome with despair, as he was now, but barely troubled at all. His routine had gone on as it ever had, as if he had felt noting at all for the deceased elleth. His son seemed similarly apathetic toward the new fiancé. "Is this because of your first love?"

"Nay!" Legolas fairly shouted the word. The shocked bewilderment on his father's features made him blush in embarrassment to have reacted so. Yet again the rage boiled close to the surface, for he was forbidden to admit that his first romantic stirrings had not been for some maiden of the northern reaches but for a seasoned warrior under Inarthan's command. "Forgive me, Hîren Adar," he bowed his head respectfully, "I am not myself this night. I meant to say that it has nothing to do with her. It is just that I am weary and cannot think about the courtship just now."

"Sîdh, I am the one who should ask pardon, for my inquiries disturbed you when what you require is rest. Galdor advised me to speak to you about this else I would not have brought it up."

"He did? Why would he do that? He is Tirn'wador; he is supposed to handle these things so that…" Legolas broke off, struck speechless to see that shadow of wounded feelings darken his father's eyes again. "Nae, every word I say is wrong! I am just surprised, forgive me."

"Daro, no more apologising, Legolas. It is not your doing, can you not understand? I am the one to blame for this barrier between us," Thranduil whispered in pained remorse. "It is true that I sent you away. I am sorry for it; you were too young to seek a life-mate and I pushed you into it. I did not do it out of shame, that you must believe, but out of fear for your future. Calarlim was so certain you would find someone among your own, among your mother's people. I did not want your parents' errors to afflict you so; I did not want you to spend your life alone."

Legolas stared, aghast and wide-eyed, mouth drier than the frail fragments of fallen leaves upon a winter trail as Thranduil sputtered out these disjointed words. He had never seen the King nervous before and had the situation not been so tragic it might have been faintly amusing. He could hardly focus on what was being said, too absorbed in watching the gloom of contrite self-reproach tinge Thranduil's countenance.

He was simultaneously horrified and perversely pleased to see he had roused his father's discomfort over the turn of events. Legolas was suddenly overcome with a strong desire to shout out that he was indeed doomed to live alone and it was solely Thranduil's fault but not because he had failed to wed Lhoss. The next instant cold misery enveloped Legolas' soul as he imagined the scandalised disdain that would transform Thranduil's features if he ever learned the real reason.

Unconsciously Legolas gathered Calarlim's tunic, still clutched in his hand, close to his heart as he recalled the events Thranduil was so set on forcing him to relive. So much anger, so much hurt had filled him then, Legolas wondered how he had endured it as the memory made the pain fresh and new. The terror of self discovery, the fear of being revealed to others, the dread of loosing his father's love assailed him just as if he was still but 40 years of age struggling to find his place among the Sindarin elite of Oropher's House. He had felt it was but a matter of time before everyone learned of his disgusting desires. When it happened, he would be cast out, for he understood exactly what the majority of the Wood Elves thought of his existence. They would all say it was only to be expected of one conceived through sinful selfish desire.

Attempting to prevent this, he was mocked for hiding away and refusing to show his changing body, 'prim and pretty as any maid'. Desperately he fought against the uncomfortable feelings and physical reactions now tacked onto his admiration of warriors in his brothers' patrols. Yet no matter how hard he tried he could not make his body heed his commands and even far from the source of these sensations his mind brought the alluring images vividly to life. If not for Calarlim's intervention, he had no doubt he would have destroyed himself rather than suffer the loss of his family's respect, rather than bring any hint of fault upon Thranduil.

Until Calarlim brought him the news that he was to be dismissed to the far northern colonies, effectively banished from his father's household after all, turned away before the ugly truth could bring the ruling House low. And while Legolas had never wished to cause his father any woe, would have done anything to protect the noble House form scorn or derision, yet it hurt him to find that Thranduil wanted him to go. He was an embarrassment, even without his perversion revealed. His father knew that none of the Lords of the court would favour a match between the King's bastard and one of their noble daughters.

Calarlim's words, intending to soothe his wounded spirit then, explaining why they had to leave, did as little to ease his heart now. 'He cannot bear to see you suffer and he knows you are in agony over this. He bade me take you far from here, to present you only as Cuthenin, Athedreinnyn of the Greenwood, my nephew orphaned by the fight against the Orcs and spiders. In this way we may hide the stain of your illicit birth. He does this because he loves you, Legolas.'

How much he needed to believe that and Calarlim had usually been able to convince him it was so. She was gone, however, and he must somehow sort it out for himself at last.

"Calarlim has been taken from you," Thranduil started speaking again and so close were these words to his son's thoughts that Legolas startled and sucked in a loud breath. The King reached over and laid a comforting hand on the archer's shoulder, mistaking the involuntary response for grief. "Your Tirn'wador is wise and means well, yet he knows next to nothing of you. I have helped raise you from the day you were born, Legolas; surely I understand you better than Galdor. Permit me to aid you in these decisions regarding your Faer Hebron."

"I know not how to answer that," Legolas blurted out, running a hand through his hair in aggravation. "I was not planning to make any decision so soon," he hastily amended, catching the in-drawn breath signalling Thranduil's dismay over the blunt admission of this breach in trust between them.

"You need not come to a conclusion now, yet voicing your concerns may make the determination easier when the time is right," Thranduil tried again, squeezing lightly to encourage his son's confidence. "I may as well be honest; your Tirn'wador told me you believe your choice will displease me. Will you not speak of these worries and let me counter them?"

Legolas stared in disbelief. How could Galdor betray me so? "You do not understand what you ask of me. What if you cannot allay my fears? What if you would but reinforce them, once they are known to you?"

"There is nothing that will change my love for you, Legolas; you are my son. I am keenly aware that you have borne the brunt of suffering for my wrongs, for you mother's mistakes. I would undo whatever harm I can; I would have you find some peace within your self. If this lady of Gondolin can win your heart, then I care not who or what she may be. Whatever it is you think I will denounce, I…"

"Daro! Saes, Adar, saes!" Legolas cried, covering his eyes with his hand to block from sight the imploring expression governing his father's visage. "I do not want to speak of this; I cannot speak of it!"

"Ai, Legolas! Nay, nay this is wrong. Come here, I meant not to cause you more distress," alarmed, Thranduil moved closer and pulled on the shoulder still beneath his fingers, drawing his hesitant son to him, wrapping protective arms around him, finally holding the rigid body tight against his heart. The King sighed, resting his chin atop the bowed head, feeling the strain ebb away as Legolas permitted this meagre comfort. He scarcely dared breath or utter a sound lest he chase away his skittish child. He marvelled at the wiry strength of the form he embraced; Legolas had been truly an elfling when last Thranduil had held him thus. Now he is grown and I have lost him. Nay, I lost him the year I sent him away. His arms' grasp tightened in concert with the realisation even as his heart constricted in sorrow.

Legolas willingly went into his father's arms. Though conflicted in spirit he yet loved Thranduil and needed reassurance that the sentiment was returned. It was strange and frightening, for he had not permitted himself such contact in so long, anticipating his father would somehow know the truth just by hugging him. He realised now how irrational that notion was for nothing happened, no flinching repudiation, no curses or condemnations, no denouncements of any kind followed the embrace. Instead he felt a measure of peace and a sense of security he remembered from his childhood days; Legolas wept for what he had denied himself these many years. Instinctively he burrowed closer, clung tighter, certain this might well be the very last time he would ever enjoy such an uninhibited expression of paternal love. For I cannot give him false hope.

After so many years of lying and deceit he was weary of it, could not maintain it without Calarlim to act as the buffer between him and this Elf he loved and respected so much. He could not endure the doubt anymore, the fear of being rejected eating away at his confidence and robing him of resolve. If his father loved him, he would forgive him in time. If Thranduil did not, then there was no need to grieve over loosing a regard he had never earned. Legolas took a steadying breath and sat back, his father's hold loosening but not releasing him, and sought Thranduil's eyes.

"It is best for you to understand, Adar," he said and swallowed to keep the choking bile from invading his mouth. "I will never consummate a bond with the Lady Aelluin of Gondolin." He paused for another chance to breathe, hardly comprehending what he was about to say. "I will never consummate a bond with a Lady of any realm."

For a long silent moment they held each other's gaze, searching for a place of understanding, Legolas simultaneously terrified and hopeful, Thranduil both frightened and resigned. There was insufficient space remaining between them to house dissembling, pretence, or vain rationalisations. There was only the raw core of Legolas' soul, exposed and vulnerable, awaiting his father's adjudication, prepared for the sentence under which he already languished to be pronounced aloud.

The conviction never came. Thranduil could only see the tragedy and the anguish of the situation he had forced upon his son. He could not blame Legolas; how could this be his fault? Nay, it was Thranduil who had brought the curse upon him, for had he not denied mother and child his aid and strength in the days when it was most sorely needed? How could it be otherwise, the agonised parent reasoned, when all of Lhoss' feä, a purely feminine essence, had transferred to her child while almost nothing of himself had he given. Was it not his law that placed his son in such trepidation? Not for himself, not most of it. He shudders for what this will do to me, to his family. It was all so easy to see now that Thranduil wondered at his blind denial.

"Ai, Legolas," he whispered in fractured tones, yanking his suffering child back into his embrace, permitting no longer even the slender distance of an arm's reach to remain between them, willing his son to trust him again. "It changes nothing; it changes everything," he mourned, spilling quiet tears into golden hair. "I will not have you torn from me over this. We will find a way to make it all right; you will see."

And it was not an empty promise in either Elf's estimation, for while Legolas did not believe it could be done yet he cared not, for with Glorfindel resided the promise of a soul-mate and as long as Thranduil did not reject him, he could accept whatever else fate willed. As for Thranduil, he could already sense the change in the climate and detect the smell of war upon the horizon. He did not need the gift of foresight to perceive that his third child, unwanted and denied, had already risen far above these ignoble origins to claim a pivotal place in the events to come.

TBC

A/N: There it is. I waited to place this note at the end so as not to give away the conclusion. As I saw it, there were three possible reactions Thranduil might have to learning his son desires a male lover: 1) outrage and rejection borne of shame and guilt, forcing Legolas to leave Greenwood behind in order to fulfil his destiny; 2) complete denial and purposeful blindness, thus keeping his son close, protecting his reputation of being 'right', and preventing having to admit he may have been cruel to make such a law; or 3) accepting Legolas but still seeing the desire for a male as inappropriate, sort of loving Legolas no matter his flaws, taking the blame for Legolas' shame upon himself. I did not consider a fourth possibility, that Thranduil would instantly become enlightened and accepting of same-sex pairs, because I doubt such decisions are instantaneous, either in formulating or disposing of such a bias. Now that his heart and mind are open, however, I am sure he will grow in wisdom concerning his son's nature, eventually coming to the realisation that such a preference has no more to do with goodness, decency, and honour than a person's eye colour would. I leave it to your judgement if I chose the best option, and do not hesitate to let me know your opinions.

As for Legolas' reversal of the decision to keep the truth a secret at all costs, consider this: He expected Galdor to handle it, for never had Thranduil discussed any personal matters with him, for Calarlim prevented it. I hope I made it clear that she was rather distrustful of Thranduil and impeded his access to Legolas quite a bit. Legolas was in the midst of grieving when Thranduil decided to have their wrenching discussion, he was vulnerable and alone and Thranduil used the Sindarin ritual to put his son in a relaxed state of mind first. And in the end, Legolas needed to have his father's unconditional acceptance and took a huge chance that he would receive it, counting on the love he could feel to be true and real. He trusted his instincts, and maybe relied on a little prompting from Calarlim that happened during their communion at Úcaul Annaur, too. Again, I would love to hear your opinions, either for or against the various ideas in this chapter.