In the Chains of Honor: Shades of the Past

In the Chains of Honor
Author: Tanesa Etaleshya, Email: tanesa_etaleshya@hotmail.com
Rating: NC 17
Disclaimer: Once againeiteeiterate that I do not own anything!
Warnings: Rape, incest, NCS, violence, slavery, angst, mpreg later (of course-where would the fun be without all this? So if you object to the abuse of any elf please do not read or do not get angry with me if you do not heed this warning) Dark and violent. I feel I should mention in the warnings that this is a work in progress if it was not already abundantly obvious, and I think it will be fairly long. I work full time, and I am taking classes at University, so I find whatever time I can to write among other things. This is not betaed, so if anyone is interested in reading it first, please let me know. I would enjoy any ideas you may have to make the story better!
Author’s Note- Please have patience, I am getting to the good stuff, but it will take a while, maybe another chapter or two! Enjoy! Feedback will be, and is, appreciated! Special thanks at the end.

Part 1: In the Darkness Two Beginnings
Chapter 2

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TA 2163

They arrived at the Gates of the city near morning, the justjust beginning to give color to the eastern horizon, if he could but see it through the thick canopy of trees. He gently lowered the wounded elf with whom he had ridden. Legolas then dropped from the horse with grace well-maintained, biting back the pain racing ugh ugh his side with every breath and accentuated with his sudden stop after the downward motion of dismounting. He stood, for all intents and purposes waiting for Elrond to follow him as elves from within the Palace surrounded them to take the wounded and the fallen from the horses, and while this was true, he was also procrastinating as long as he could if for no other reason than to be able to walk without revealing too much.

He avoided the gazes of the other Mirkwood elves as they led the horses away, carried the wounded, and led those others to the comforts they could find within the halls of the keep, elves that, seeing the blood and the number of Guards of Mirkwood that were carried back, could not look at the Prince with anything but disappointment. He tried to push the reality of their gazes from his mind.

Legolas had heard many speaking in low tones of how they wished for a bath and a soft place to rest after so long on the road, often speaking to those injured in order to bring some solace to their minds to ease the pain and discomfort of travel. Lord Elrond, heen een no different, moving from elf to elf doing what he could whether that elf be of Mirkwood or Imladris. A healer of renown he was, and Legolas could see in the elder elf not only the sternness of the Lord, but the caring, tender touch of the healer. Legolas shied away from him, fearing discovery too soon, before he had a chance to speak in private with the elven lord. He had, instead, stood post beside the horse bearing the wounded Balrog-slayer in the protective arms of another Imladrin elf. The Mirkwood archer had taken this position as much out of respect as out of curiousity and the desire to be near to the illustrious and captivating blond-haired elven lord. He had scarcely been able to hide his interest; his gazes frequently overlong and daring discovery as they rode through the dim light penetrating the forest canopy. Yet, even though he feared the reprisals that would be his if Lord Elrond espied him, or even one of the others, he could not break the habit that had been born in but hours. His eyes were drawn to his golden, silky hair drawn back in a single plait, his sky-blue eyes now lidded in healing sleep, his strong and aquiline jaw and the pale luster of his skin still apparent through the poison-induced pallor and the fine sheen of sweat making him appear jewel-like.

Even as he had stood in the court outside the Keep, his eyes had followed the progress of that lustrous elf as he was carried into the shadows, disappearing before him. Lord Elrond had started to follow, but his steps were stayed by Thranduil’s messenger, a young elf with dark hair and darker eyes, an elf who had already informed his Prince that he, too, was summoned to the King’s study, and would, necessarily, lead their guest forthwith. And so it was that Lord Elrond of Imladris, without a word, followed the comely blond elf quickly through the halls until they reached an ornate door inlaid with gems and precious stones in intricate design.

The elven archer-prince knocked, drawing himself up as the voice inside bade him enter. Legolas pushed the doors open, then stepped back with a slighw anw and head lowered in respect as he announced the Lord of Imladris and allowed the Lord to step inside past him. He took his position up at the door, remaining outside of the doors as he closed them, but he stopped when he heard the King speak, “Nay, Legolas, I would have an accounting of es ths this day. I am told there were wounded, and three fallen from ours alone. In here, now.” The voice boomed.

Once inside, the doors secured shut, Legolas stood rigidly before his king, once he had knelt in respect. He was careful to keep his eyes unfocused at a point beyond the King, staring hard in a single direction but at nothing.

Elrond noted the behavior with apprehension; the two elves looked remarkably similar. This elf, Legolas, who had never introduced himself, must be the son of the King, and to be so austere and reserved was not in the nature of Oropher’s line thus far. He remarked to himself how similar in appearance this younger elf was to the Golden King of Greenwood, and how different. They had the same golden blond hair, the same basic shade zurezure blue eyes, although, the eyes of the younger elf had neither the steely coldness the elder’s possessed, nor the grim determination, or the rigid poise of the King. They were roughly the same height, tall and lean, archers in the tradition for which this wood was known. He studied the King, his derisive, contemptuous expression, as he stared at his son. Elrond returned from his musings to discover that the King was speaking and he turned his attention from the one to the other.

The elf flinched minutely each time a word issued from the lips of his father, and now was no exception, “The Lord has arrived safely, but in no part thanks to your *remarkable* efforts!” The King’s voice dripped with sarcasm, the young elf looked as if made of long-petrified stone, untouchable by sheer weight of experience. He no longer flinched, but seemed resigned almost. “The *efforts* that have earned us the continued usage of the name by which this darkening wood it now known! If not for those supposed efforts, the wood might have been brightened by now, if this is any indication of your *efforts*!” Thranduil raged, his voice tight, thinly pressed, facing the verandah and the lovely gardens without as he spoke, his voice and words in direct opposition to the peaceful repose to be seen outside.

The King rose to his feet, turned to face the archer-prince, and roared “Three dead! Howld yld you fail so?!” The King stepped forward swiftly; Elrond did not see the hand fly before it was too late to interfere, and he heard the sharp exhale as the young elf staggered back two steps before he controlled himself, and the King rounded on him again, backhanding him cruelly, “You will face what you must, in three days time. You will appear before the Forest itself to hear the fate you will face as a result of this failure. You could not live up to the honor that was yours by birth if even you *did* try. You are a disgrace to my name, and that of my father! Out! Out of my sight!” He yelled, roughly shoving the younger elf to the door as if the elf was not moving fast enough. Even walking as quickly as his legs could carry him, fast in elves, he remained dignified, reserved.

Elrond felt an immense wave of disgust rush through him as he saw the King strike the young elf who had come to his rescue with no thought for self, and had stepped in front of Glorfindel without regard for his own life. The archer had thought Elrond did not notice, but not had had he not seen about the young elf who so intrigued him. He had seen the elf take the arrow, and dismissed the injury as slight, in light of the fact that the elf continued not only to fight, but to pursue their attackers and help the injured onto horses once they had been seen to as well as they could be. The injured elf-lord, Glorfindel, had not missed much either, even in his weakened state. Indeed, as Elrond had held his friend on the horse before him, he had known the elf-lord’s gaze had remained on the golden elf much of the time, the Golden Prince of Mirkwood as he was known in Lórien and by those in Imladris fortunate to have seen his visage shine with the very light of the sun. He knew his friend well enough to know when Glorfindel’s interest was piqued and how persistent the elf lord could be. He had smiled to himself silently at the prospect of that particular pursuit, but that flush of entertainment had faded rapidly in the face of this King’s anger, a King whose arrogance and anger were legendary. The King had deliberately humiliated the young elf, an elf who was obviously his own son. He thought to himself of what else this King was capable.

As for why the young elf did not raise his voice in his own defense, he did not know. The elf had fought and led well as far as he was concerned, and why these honorable actions should earn him the wrath of his king and father Elrond could not understand, nor did he particularly want to. Incensed he was, and he had to bite back his tongue and restrain his anger lest he destroy the tentative, budding peace between them and add kindling to the still-smoldering fire kept burning by the anger between them from the days following the Last Alliance.

Elrond cleared his throat softly, pretending to turn from the window to his left as the King seemed to remember he was there for the first time. “Welcome, Elrond. I fear I must apologize for the failure of…my son.” He almost had to choke out the last two words, even more difficult than forcing out the apology itself. “It should not have happened if he had been paying attention to his duties.”

“Thranduil,” he nodded out of respect, “I find no fault in the actions of your son. He fought well, bravely and he and his men were well trained. Your treatment of him I find to be ill-conceived.” Elrond found he could not hold his tongue in check, having heard the utter contempt with which Thranduil had spoken the words ‘my son.’

“I will thank you for your opinions to remain your own concerning that which is mine, Elrond,” the rebuttal was icy and stiff as Thranduil controlled his anger well, the stern, strict self-control for which Oropher had not been noted marked his son in great measure. He kept his voice level; his well-known temper held down and dampened, his dignity paramount.

“I merely report what your informants have not, Thranduil. I meant no disrespect. He protected Glorfindel with no thought for his own life when he was wounded, and for that Ie noe nothing but respect for him and his men. They fought well, and gave their lives for ours.” He maintained the façade of his own imperturbability while he could, drawing on his patience heavily, and doing so by keeping his eyes averted to the pleasantness of the gardens outside rather than the sumptuous wealth inside, and especially away did he keep his gaze from the elf King standing to his right.

“Is it not true that you lost five and seven more were wounded?” Thranduil turned, and was walking back to his desk, his long blond hair shimmering in the light as if of spun gold as Elrond turned to face him finally. The King’s eyes, when he turned finally to face Elrond, were bright and gleaming like pools of bright sky locked in sapphires; but they were set in a face so strong as to have been chiseled from white marble so pale and perfect as to steal the breath from any who looked upon his visage. Elrond could see the same radiant beauty in the King’s son, but inflamed and brightened with youth and freedom from his father’s faults, but also he had perceived the fetters the son bore in his father’s thrall. The son was wondrous, and the father was hard as steel. He withheld the shiver as those eyes locked to his own icy grey eyes and there they held. Thranduil did not back down, and Elrond would not either.

But he spoke first, “Aye, five and three. All those who stand beside me understand the possibilities we face daily in these changing times. Though immortal we are, mortal we all may become in the face of the darkness rising again. They knew the risks when they took up their swords and bows in defense of Imladris. I am grieved to see their loss, for all were close allies and friends, but I do not lament overmuch, for their sacrifices were great and should not be looked upon as failures, either theirs or that of another. They gave their lives willingly, as would I and as would your son if it were necessary.”

“I am afraid we here have a different view, not so callous as that of your people; we value all life and its loss. Their ‘glorious’ aid did not, by your own admission, do justice to you, your position and the respect your and yours were owed as guests to this realm, and my son’s lack of competence has again brought shame to his land, and further death to those under his lamentable command, exacerbated this time as he has allowed his failures to bring death to those who would be guests.” The golden King smoothed his dark green robes embroidered with gold as he sat in a great heavy chair before the balcony and the light that set fire to his hair, inviting Elrond to join him, pouring wine in a goblet for the both of them. “This is an internal matter; the elves of the wood will meet three days hence and your lost will be avenged as well as ours, old friend. It is near unforgivable to allow the deaths of welcome guests in this wood, Elrond. It will be decided three days hence. Please sit, we have much to discuss.”

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To be continued…

To Steph, Rutaari, Buttercup, Kryspen, giggle and Cara- Thank you so much for the reviews and the encouragement! I only hope that I can continue to live up to your expectations! To Kryspen, I foresee that it will be fairly long, so you are right. I think I’ve got the ‘H’ pretty well laid out, however I’m not as comfortable with the ‘C’ as you put it, so if you would like you could give me some suggestions later on. To giggle, we’ll just have to see about the issue of whether the attraction/love becomes requited- I’m sure you can write more than a grocery list! And to Rutaari- the Leggy-bashing will come soon, I promise!