Aearlinn

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ In the Deep of the Night within the Last Homely House ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"What in Arda…? Excuse me, but I must ask what you are doing here. This is a private area, sir."

Elrond's new valet was shocked and nonplussed. He had just come to lay out the Lord's garments for the morrow only to find the foreign Wood Elf traipsing about through Elrond's bedroom. He stared, mouth open in complete disbelief; the sylvan messenger was rooting around in his master's clothes press. This valet, one Faelon, previously Erestor's personal secretary until the exile of Figwit, was incensed to say the least. None were permitted to disturb Elrond's belongings; not even his children would dare do such a thing. Now this 'guest' was casually rifling through Legolas' possessions as well. Faelon didn't know quite what to do; nothing like this had ever happened before in all the long years he'd served the House of Eärendil.

"I must insist that you leave at once." He employed that tone he'd learned from Lord Erestor, the one that combined absolute courtesy, dismissive authority, and infinitely disappointed censure.

"I will when I'm satisfied," replied the Wood Elf calmly, not even sparing a glance in the servant's direction, obviously untroubled by being caught sneaking about his host's apartment.

"Satisfied as to what, exactly?" asked Faelon, increasing the note of rebuke and adding a dark undertone of warning. "Perhaps it is customary to invade private dwellings in your homeland, but here in Imladris we do not…"

"That is precisely what needs clarification: the way you Lechenn folk do things here in Imladris," snapped the Wood Elf, slicing the intervening space with glittering green eyes that swept over the servant with notable scorn. "I'm investigating my cousin's circumstances." He was taking a very thorough inventory of the objects in Legolas' trinket drawer and resumed the activity, frowning and making 'tsking' noises with his tongue. "Foolish elfling," he muttered in irritation. This was Fennas, Legolas' second cousin, of course.

Faelon's mouth wobbled open and then pursed shut in a display of impotent fury. He had been under the impression that this was just a messenger from Mirkwood, but there was no mistaking that haughty, scoffing manner. Erestor may have called him a messenger but he presented and behaved more like ( indeed, he even shares the same name as) one of the valley's noble lords. Faelon wondered briefly what it was about being called 'Fennas' that prompted such an exalted self-opinion. Before he could think up any reply to make that would return command of the situation to him, which had been his for all of perhaps five seconds, the Elf rounded on him.

"You are the valet for Lord Elrond and his mate, are you not?" he asked, eyeing the flummoxed servant archly, evaluating what sort of information he might be able to get him to unwittingly reveal. He assumed his most indignant demeanour and raised himself to his most severely unyielding and not inconsiderable height, so to peer down his long aquiline nose at the hapless retainer.

"I am." Faelon straightened up his spine to match the rigid stance, but was woefully short by at least half a hand's width and thus it merely seemed that he was correcting himself after being caught by his betters in a momentary lapse of respectful posture.

"Then please explain to me why Legolas has absolutely no undergarments. They can hardly all be out for laundering. For what reason have you permitted my kinsman, admittedly a somewhat reckless youth, to fall into such a reprehensible practice as going around improperly clothed?" Fennas voice was sharp and blistering and his emerald eyes glared in affronted condemnation.

"I beg your pardon," said Faelon crisply and with a half bow, flushing scarlet to the roots of his long brown hair. "I have only recently been promoted to this position. The previous valet is responsible for the disgrace of which you speak and has been banished for his atrocious behaviour."

Fennas' brows rose in surprised fascination. "That punishment seems a bit severe for failing to provide clean underwear. Is Lord Elrond always so drastic in his measures?"

"What? No, certainly not! Lord Elrond is above all fair and lenient in his rulings. Oh! Oh, I see." Faelon suddenly comprehended the misunderstanding. "You have not heard of the poisoning incident that occurred here some weeks ago. Since then, Legolas is not fond of undergarments and Lord Elrond indulges his every whim. If Legolas does not choose to wear them, none can gainsay the decision," explained Faelon.

"Poisoning?" Fennas' voice boomed as he shut the trinket drawer with a smart rap. "Are you telling me someone here poisoned my cousin?" What that had to do with the dearth of small clothes he couldn't fathom, but he would find out. He advanced quickly upon Faelon and stood looming over the valet, mildly impressed when the Noldorin servant did not back down and met his eye bravely.

"Yes, I'm sorry to say that is a fact. There has been some resistance to Lord Elrond's choice for a new mate, but that is all in the past. Just yesterday, the Council voted to approve the marriage and support Lord Elrond's continued leadership of our realm. We were all surprised by the pregnancy, of course, but few would wish to impart any sort of burden upon the life-giver or the growing babe, sylvan or not."

"How gracious of you good people," sneered Fennas. He was sick at heart to have learned how low his King's youngest son had fallen and could only blame the company he'd been forced to keep. He moved back to Legolas' wardrobe and with a sweep of his hand indicated the amount of space within it. "Is there a connection between the absence of underwear and the poisoning?" he demanded.

Faelon told him; he didn't know what else to do, feeling it was the Elf's right to know as he was blood kin to Legolas. He rather wished the foreign Elf did not look like he was ready to kill something, however, but Faelon held his ground with all the dignity he could pretend to have.

"…and that is why Elrond banished the culprits, you see," he concluded. "No one in Imladris has ever done anything so cruel, at least not in my reckoning. Personally, I have always found Legolas to be inoffensive and congenial and, by all accounts, a superb warrior. He dotes on our Lord and anyone with eyes can see it; Figwit was jealous, that's the plain truth of it. I know for a fact he attempted to court Legolas and was refused." The valet was uncomfortably aware that he was babbling, and also unpleasantly cognisant of a film of sweat gathering upon his skin. Simultaneously, he dearly wished the messenger would say something while dreading what that might turn out to be. When the response came, it was surprisingly controlled if icily delivered:

"I see. Deplorable, shameful conduct! Banishment was too mild a sentence," snarled Fennas. He felt a surge of compassion for his cousin. On principle, he presented a vaguely disapproving front to Legolas in hopes of encouraging him to be more mindful of the influence his actions carried among the folk of the woods, but that did not mean he held his young kinsman in contempt or wished him any harm. In fact, Fennas considered himself the single most important source of counsel and guidance in Legolas' life for the bulk of the family just let him do as he pleased.

"I entirely agree with you, sir," said Faelon with real feeling. He offered a conciliatory smile that was ignored.

"And what is the reason why he has so few clothes? Are they all like this?" Fennas went back on the attack, irritated by the servant's attempt to put himself on equal footing with an Elder of Greenwood, and pulled out the soft suede green tunic. He flapped it at Faelon accusingly. "These are the garments of a guardsman or a hunter. Has my cousin been relegated to the duties of a warrior to earn his keep?"

"Sir, I believe Legolas prefers that type of clothing and volunteered to serve in the patrols," Faelon replied, taking one step backwards toward the door. The foreign Elf followed.

"Why are there no formal articles here? Does Elrond refuse to have Legolas at his side during state functions? Is he ashamed of his mate because he's a Wood Elf?" Fennas was almost shouting now, his wish to gather information forgotten in the heat of his anger. This was no more than he'd expected but the evidence still set his blood boiling.

"I can't answer to that," blustered Faelon, faltering under this outraged interrogation, realising he'd said too much and all of it wrong. He wished he'd simply gone straight away and dragged Lord Erestor in to confront this foreigner. "Elrond loves Legolas completely; I have seen them together and can attest to it. As for your other concerns, I'd best let you consult with our seneschal." He backed away again, offering another half bow, and his silent prayers were answered. From out in the corridor a voice called him.

"Faelon? Have you seen our guest, Fennas of the Woodland Realm? Ah, I see you have found him." It was in fact Erestor and of course he knew he would find the visitor here because no one in the house could fail to hear the strident, unpleasant words the Elf flung through the quiet evening air. The seneschal sent the messenger a cool and cheerless smile as he stepped into the room. "Thank you, Faelon, I will escort Fennas back to the public areas of the Last Homely House."

Faelon bowed his way out as quickly as he could, shooting Erestor a grateful look that also managed to convey his regret for anything he may have said, or not said, that was in any way detrimental to his Lord or to Legolas. The Chief Advisor to the Lord of Imladris and the Elder of the Greenwood faced one another across the threshold of the bedroom door. Fennas matched Erestor's calculatingly aloof demeanour. The two opponents stood motionless and alert, appraising one another, their bodies still as their spirits circled, wolves vying for first taste of a fresh kill. Elrond's cousin stepped across the divide and spoke first.

"I regret that you find our hospitality is lacking, causing this rambling excursion into private quarters. Allow me to accompany you to the Hall of Fire, where Lindir is just getting to the best part of his recital."

"No, Lord Erestor. I've no wish to listen to more music or stories. Let me be direct; I don't waste time playing at pretty word games," Greenwood's emissary said bluntly. "Your assistance isn't necessary for I'm nearly done here. Unless, of course, you would care to answer the inquiries Elrond's valet felt inclined to side-step."

"Faelon merely hoped to practise discretion, an admirable and requisite quality for someone privy to all that is private in the relationship between Elrond and Legolas," answered Erestor smoothly, his chilly, condescending smile frozen upon his features. He'd dealt with folk like this Fennas before: overconfident politicians so wrapped up in the notion of their own importance that they utterly failed to realise what a pompous fool they looked. "As to your queries, Faelon is correct about Lord Elrond's deep commitment to his new mate. Regarding clothing, I have noted that Legolas does not like formal garments or, indeed, affairs of state. He avoids such occasions almost passionately. Surely this is not a new characteristic?"

"Hmmm." said Fennas, frowning. "I deduce from your reluctance to answer the final question that I have hit very near the mark, even as I suspected. I warned Legolas' naneth that this would not be a respectable match for our House and so it proves. This bonding is a great tragedy for my people, and a very personal tragedy for the King and Queen." He was pleased to see that this made the snooty Noldorin noble's eyes widen just the tiniest increment and smirked unpleasantly.

"I was not aware Legolas enjoyed such distinction and favour," Erestor managed to say, taken aback by this inference of heretofore unexpected prestige. "Please, let us adjourn to the study. I am certain I can allay your fears on Legolas' behalf." He motioned to the door and stepped back to permit Fennas to exit first.

"Not aware? What did you imagine his status would be?" fumed Fennas and carried on without giving his opponent a chance to reply. "We believed him dead else we would have come for him at once, bond or no bond. Did you think his family would scorn him, disown him because of this unrecognised bond and its resultant pregnancy? Our customs forbid endorsing an unequal bonding, yet the heart cannot be denied. Even so, none would interfere unless the bond-slave made the decision to break with the bond-master and seek to cross the sea.

"Let me just tell you, Lord Erestor," Fennas pointed a long index finger at the seneschal, looking as if he wanted to jab him in the breast bone with it, "that no Wood Elf has ever been forced to take that step of self-banishment, for all bonds of extremity, from the beginning of existence, have been recognised formally. Until now, but that is no fault of Legolas'. He had no control over who came upon him that dreadful day nor over the ensuing degradation and debasement he has suffered. His relatives understand this. Humiliated, mortified, and appalled, yes, we will all suffer that, but now that the union is to be formally recognised we can embrace him, give him the guidance and comfort he so sorely requires."

"I see. Yet we sent a messenger to the Woodland Realm bearing word of his residency here. Was this news never received?" Erestor was confused and starting to experience a distinctly unpleasant, crawling-skin sort of apprehension.

"Your Noldorin courier," sneered Fennas, looking as though he wanted to spit, "brought news of the attack and the demise of all save one Elf, spared by the bond of extremity. No name was given. Would you like to hear the exact words of the letter? Indeed, you may read it for yourself; I have kept it all this time, for I never felt quite right about it and neither did my aunt."

It was not necessary for Erestor to peruse the note for he'd dictated it to Faelon all those years ago. He took the folded velum anyway, however, disbelieving he had done something so stupid as to leave off Legolas' name. Then again, until recently he'd never called Legolas by name, to his face or in reference, always using the euphemism 'The Sylvan' as if there was only one such Elf in all the world, for so it was in his world. He opened the note and glanced down the page, nodding, grimly disappointed in himself, as his words leaped out at him, stark, indifferent, and dismissive:

'Let it be known to the inhabitants of the Woodland Realm that a party of warriors from their lands was attacked by Orcs upon the hilly plains of Eregion. All succumbed to the vile demons save one. The surviving archer is young, perhaps one or two hundred years in age, and stricken with poisoned wounds. He has only lived this long due to invoking a sylvan tradition regarding battlefield bonding. If any of his people would care to travel to Imladris and aid him through his remaining days, such folk would be welcomed at our borders. The remains of the fallen have been cremated, the ashes buried on the hill where they perished. The few personal belongings found at the site are contained in the parcel accompanying this missive. The Lord of Imladris sends to the people of the Woodland Realm his deepest condolences on such a horrific loss.'

Erestor's mouth felt dry and hot and he swallowed convulsively. He'd discounted Legolas from the start not just because he was a Wood Elf but because he looked so definitively sylvan, never wondering if he might belong to one of the Sindarin families that emigrated to Greenwood at the close of the First Age. The venerable advisor hated to admit he'd made a mistake, but there was no getting around it; there was a high probability that Legolas' people were counted among those few noble Sindarin families that journeyed east under the guidance and guardianship of Oropher. It was, after all, inevitable that intermarriage between the two branches of the Teleri tribe would occur over time; more so due to the horrific losses at the Last Alliance. These thoughts were interrupted by Fennas' insolent voice.

"Not very informative, is it? Most of the warriors on that mission were young archers between two and five hundred years, except for Galbreth, their captain, his lieutenants, and Legolas, by far the youngest with not even one hundred summers behind him yet. The journey was meant almost to be a holiday for them, a chance to escape the horrors of daily battle and strife that plague our folk. The young ones have never known a time of peace and the constant state of conflict, the need to be ever vigilant, wears upon their spirits. It was time to renew contact with the Havens and remind the humans that we still exist, and so off they went.

"I counselled Aran Thranduil against it, but he did not listen. My aunt had strong forebodings about the journey and tried to talk her sons out of going, or at least Legolas, but her husband sided with my cousins and nothing more could be done. Yet she never lost hope that Legolas was this sole survivor for none of the personal effects returned to us were his, save one small dagger. That knife was proof enough for his Adar, though, and it was such a shock for him to have lost both his sons that he fell into a decline. We thought he would fade, but his beloved wife-mate pulled him through. She never believed Legolas dead and watched daily for word from him. When years rolled by and none came, she realised the truth: if he was alive, he was bound in shame. Almost sent her into grief anew. Now he's with child and I shudder to think what her reaction will be. His Adar is not going to be easily appeased either, I assure you. Your Lord Elrond has sullied the honour of our House almost beyond recovery."

A horrifically profound silence followed this long speech, the absence of the Elder's voice creating a vacuum into which was drawn the weight of the offence so that the air was so heavy with it Erestor had difficulty breathing. His brain refused to assist him in supplying an answer to such serious charges and he could only imagine the result of his arrogance would be exile to Lindon. Why oh WHY hadn't he included Legolas' name in that confounded letter? Elrond was going to be furious. Erestor almost choked on the next breath as he gulped down a rising knot of doom and dismay, but at least the noisy hacking ended the sullen quietude.

"Fennas," he began once he could draw air for speech, "I can only offer my apologies and assurances that no slight upon your House was intended. Had we imagined for an instant that Legolas was of such high rank, my Lord would have sent word himself in his own hand revealing the situation."

Fennas eyed him sharply. "Legolas said nothing about his family?" he asked and snorted when Erestor nodded affirmation, a decided twinkle, a bright spark of devious delight, lighting his green eyes. Then he shook his head with a wry smile, though his tone when he spoke again was anything but mirthful. "Is that supposed to instil confidence in Elrond's moral perspective? You have just told me, Lord Erestor, that your kinsman kept Legolas as his bond-slave because he didn't think he was worthy to stand by his side as an equal. I'm not surprised; when have the Lechenn ever accorded any respect for the sylvan people of the Greenwood? A humble archer from under the trees, why I imagine you thought Elrond was doing him a favour by taking him to his bed. This will hardly be a comfort to his parents."

Erestor visibly winced, but he could not deny the allegations. "I do not know what I can say in Elrond's defence, or mine, and so I will apologise again." He bowed deeply from the waist. "Elrond and I, in fact all of Imladris, are guilty of the prejudice you describe. We are learning; we no longer adhere to stereotypical descriptions of Wood Elves, due to Legolas' influence, and wish to establish a true accord with the folk of the Greenwood. I also regret that our message was so bereft of information, yet I must say that Legolas revealed no details about his people. We truly thought he had no kin left."

"Ah, but he wouldn't, would he, considering how shameful his status has been for the last ten years or so? I know him well and I can understand what was going through his mind: better to be thought dead and mourned in honour than to besmirch his House and all his relatives with his tarnished character. He is young, after all, and the weight of duty and responsibility are heavy to his spirit. Despite this fall from grace, he will come into his own in time, so let it be my solemn vow, and present the dignity and decorum his station demands."

"Of course," stuttered Erestor, stunned almost speechless even as he recalled those times when he'd felt something venerable and stately about the sylvan's aura, that sense of ancient presence so incongruous in such a young Elf. It could also be described as the sort of condescending air the high-born adopt when confronted with lesser folk. That Legolas might consider himself more eminent than either Elrond or Erestor would have been a ridiculous notion before this moment. Erestor recovered quickly from these worries and again indicated the study with a graceful sweep of his hand. "I do not doubt your estimation of Legolas' esteem and with your guidance he will surely shine as he grows in maturity and wisdom. If it pleases you, permit me to address your questions about his life here."

Fennas gave a short nod and entered the room with a distinctly smug and triumphant sniff. Erestor watched as he marched over to the the desk and began sorting through the documents on it without a lick of compunction. The seneschal hurried after for this bold intrusion into personal matters was unconscionable, Legolas' kinsman or not, and he was not about to allow it to go unchallenged. He gathered up the papers, none other than the latest set of architectural plans Legolas had produced for his talan, and rolled them up neatly. He was annoyed when this made the visitor laugh.

Now, as you may have already guessed, Fennas has figured out just how deep the Noldorin lords' ignorance runs. Perhaps it is a family trait or perhaps he wishes to abet his cousin's prank, but there can be no doubt that Fennas is going to stop just short of revealing who Legolas' parents are while pressing the issue of Elrond's dishonourable conduct, so to enhance the great Lord's mortification upon meeting the Sindarin ruler. It was all Fennas could do to keep from laughing himself to tears as he imagined the scene.

"My, my, quite protective of your Lord Elrond, aren't you Lord Erestor? But of course, you are his kinsman and so it is to be expected. It is right that cousins should support one another absolutely." Fennas waved his hand at the obscured drawings. "I wonder if you have any idea what those are?"

Erestor set his lips firmly together and declined to answer, instead pulling out a chair in invitation for his guest to sit. It unnerved him even more when Fennas guffawed and settled himself in it, stretching his long legs forward and casually crossing one ankle over the other. The seneschal contained his displeasure and moved to a cabinet nearby, there procuring some of Elrond's private stock of Dorwinion and two glasses. In silence he poured, the musical clink from the crystal decanter and the pleasant gurgle of the rich red liquid underscoring the tension he felt. Erestor decided to change his tactics, recognising that he, and Elrond more so, was now at a decided disadvantage and desperately needed all the information he could manage to squeeze out of the pretentious 'messenger'.

"Certainly they are plans for a dwelling, yet I see no other significance than that. Perhaps you might enlighten me?" he smiled, just a hint of embarrassment in the rearranged muscles, just the slightest quality of ingratiating apology in his tone. It worked. Fennas sipped his wine with a conceited little chortle, his eyes radiating how pleased he was to have shown the Noldorin official his proper place, or so it seemed to Erestor.

"I see no harm in it, as long as you are willing to do the same," he began. "Legolas is obviously attempting to prepare for the culmination of this disgraceful pregnancy. I must tell you frankly, nothing like this has ever happened in our House. EVER." He leaned forward, face taut with controlled repugnance. "There can be only one reason: he was coerced into conceiving, serving as little more than breeding stock for his illustrious bond-master," Fennas spat the words out, his temper again rising as he heard his own words, "who now wishes to legitimise his issue. It is unacceptable," he seethed, "and recompense shall have to be made."

"Recompense? Sir, be calm; I beg you. It is all a misunderstanding; the situation is not how it must look," pleaded Erestor, his countenance framed in anxious lines as he sank down dejectedly into his chair, all pretence gone. This was now a serious political issue. "Lord Elrond was unaware of the customs surrounding the kind of bond he and Legolas share, but I assure you he had no intention of bringing shame upon your House. Nor would he ever try to force anyone to bear his offspring. He didn't suspect Legolas was capable of bearing children; that took us all by surprise, I must say. Forgive me for being the one to tell you, but it was Legolas alone who made the decision to create this child. I believe it has to do with the death of his brother, Galbreth."

The name assailed Fennas with the weight of a felled oak and he visibly cringed, all the blood draining from his face as his eyes grew huge. A second later he regained his composure, though his demeanour was now subdued and sorrowful, all the snide arrogance gone. "I see," he said quietly. "I didn't realise… This changes things, Lord Erestor." Fennas stood abruptly, set his glass on the desk, and offered a respectful bow from the waist. "I must beg leave of your hospitality and return at once to my people. Legolas' parents must be informed of this development."

Erestor rose hastily, putting his wine aside as he followed the already retreating figure to the door. This wouldn't do; he'd learned absolutely nothing about who Legolas' people were and why his marriage would matter to the King of the Woodland Realm. "Forgive me, I had no idea this would alarm you so. Perhaps a messenger might carry the news just as well? Lord Elrond would be displeased to learn I failed to make you welcome."

"I thank you, but nay. I am Legolas' kinsman and thus Galbreth's. It is fitting for me to bear these tidings to my aunt and her mated husband. I beg you will make my apologies to Lord Elrond." Suddenly Fennas stopped and turned to meet Erestor's gaze. "I must also beg your forgiveness, Lord Erestor, for the unseemly remarks I have made this night. I am at times somewhat protective of Legolas for he is the youngest of our House and unique in ways I am sure you have all come to understand. I did not know he had caused such sorrow, such despair…" Fennas' words trailed away, his expression stricken and his colour a sickly grey. He bowed with even stiffer formality and turned sharply on his heel, striding swiftly from the room and down the corridor.

Erestor followed, profoundly worried about this unfathomable reaction, for Elrond had never revealed to him the guilt Legolas harboured over Galbreth's loss. The Chief Advisor halted in the courtyard, watching as Fennas marched right through the gates and on down the road, until his figure melted into the darkness. With grim foreboding, Erestor realised he would have to tell Elrond, debating whether to go now and get it over with or wait for the dawn. It was a pointless debate. The situation was too serious and too mysterious; he would have to brave another altercation. Resolute and determined, Erestor set off for Lanthir Fân to interrupt his cousin again, yet when he arrived he didn't dare enter. Above the gentle cadence of falling water he could clearly hear the deep, throaty moans; laboured, panting gasps; and rhythmic concussion of flesh on flesh so specific to the intimacies of mated couples.

He turned, meaning to slink away as silently as he'd come, but hesitated. A new sound joined Elrond's guttural groans of pleasure, a soft, contented trilling cry, halfway between the coo of a mourning dove and the whirring purr of a domestic feline; a noise Erestor had heard his cousin describe many times yet had never been able to quite imagine. The seneschal halted in spite of himself; knew he shouldn't stay; berated himself soundly for ignoring his conscience; trained every auditory nerve he possessed upon the glade in hopes of hearing that sound again. Without realising it, he shifted back over the ground he'd crossed and leaned forward toward the grotto's entrance. Amid the backdrop of cascading falls and the intermittent tinkling of the copper chimes, he could make out Elrond murmuring tender endearments as he neared his peak, but the Wood Elf was silent.

Erestor knew all about that, too; about Legolas' quiet nature and how rare it was for any outburst to accompany the sylvan's passion; how seldom he even spoke his mate's name during their coupling. The Chief Advisor agreed with his cousin's explanation for this fact: Wood Elves inhabited a dangerous world and had great need to practise stealth in all things. Besides, Elrond had once joked, they live out in the open amid the trees; if they didn't adhere to such discrete habits, everyone would know when, how, and with whom everyone else was having sex. Erestor smiled, thinking Elrond wouldn't be making anymore jests of that nature, and found he approved of that. He was brought out of his musings by the second rendition of the quavering vibration, more urgent this time, more fervent, followed by a swift mutter of Nandorin words. Elrond moaned again, the plaintive wail muted, unmistakably swallowed down his mate's throat, and then the wet pop of lips separating from a deep and hungry kiss preceded his sudden, strident words:

"Ah, Legolas! Aearen, Aearen, my beloved!"

A long-drawn, almost reluctant cry issued from the glen, grew in magnitude and volume until it drowned out the perpetual whisper of Lanthir Fân, then fell away into a series of sharp, ragged gasps.

"Nín'ódhel."

The single word announcing the Wood Elf's release was clear but hushed, the syllables brimming with ecstasy and love, imbued with a quality Erestor found hard to define, something between adoration and exaltation or perhaps a combination of the two for which there was no single word sufficient in depth to describe it. A faint hint of masculine essence perfumed the air. The seneschal was surprised to find his chest and throat tight with emotion and struggled to choke back a strong surge of melancholy, regret, and envy all enmeshed together.

He should go; if either of them detected his presence he would be mortified. Elrond would be furious, expressing his disgust in scathing denouncements followed by shunning his cousin indefinitely, perhaps for years, perhaps for centuries. Legolas would refuse to look at Erestor, avoiding his company, that haunted look of pained forbearance overtaking his features whenever he would be forced to do so. Erestor did not want that, suddenly felt terrified that it might come to pass and acknowledged for the first time how empty his life was. He didn't want to be distanced from his family, couldn't bear it. Yet he found he could not order the muscles of his legs to turn him about and carry him back to the house. He stood paralysed, rooted as much as the ancient hemlocks, craned forward toward the sounds of exhilarated exhaustion issuing from the grotto.

A few minutes must have passed for he realised he couldn't hear their breathing anymore and Erestor wondered if they were dozing, basking in the soothing, encompassing relaxation that only stole over a body after such ardently consuming exercise. Tension he hadn't realised was present seeped from his clenched jaws and cramped fists. He inhaled and released a silent, relieved breath and uncurled his knotted fingers. His fears were foolish, based in the guilt he still felt for his interfering and lecherous behaviour toward Legolas. Elrond had forgiven him, as had his sylvan mate. He could leave now; it was all right; everything would be all right. Erestor turned away, smiling as he imagined them curled up together beside the trailing water, but had taken only a step before Elrond's voice made him stop again.

"Have I ever told you how much I love the taste of your skin, Aearen?"

"My skin?" the response was dreamy, muffled. "Nay. Tell me."

"It's like nothing else yet conversely reminds me of things I'd long forgotten. Places from my young years before my Adar left us, before my Naneth went chasing after him. There's a sweetness to your flesh that is more delectable than any confection ever created, yet beneath it lies a sharp tang, not overpowering or bitter but almost…salty. Yes, that's it exactly, Aearen. You taste of my childhood by the shore in Sirion. Now how can that be, an Elf of the woods bearing the savour of the sea?"

"It's the sun," the sleepy words were subtly slurred. "My skin perspires here under the constant heat of Anor's rays." A pause of some seconds transpired, concluding with the unmistakably garbled vocalisation inherent to yawning. "Never this much light at home. First it made me all pink and hot and itchy, but now my skin's turned almost the colour of honey and it bothers me no more. Strange, that."

"Nay, not strange at all, simply lovely."

Elrond whispered the words and they were the last Erestor heard as the couple drifted into light reverie. The seneschal did not retreat to the house, deciding it was his responsibility to watch over them while they rested. The idea gave him a profound sense of place and purpose; he no longer felt the ache of solitude with every beat of his heart, instead aware of a new feeling of belonging to the little family hidden from sight beneath the ancient trees. He smiled, settling cross-legged amid the grassy meadow to await the dawn.

It was barely an hour before that event when Glorfindel and Lindir showed up, the singer with his harp slung over his shoulder, the Balrog-slayer bearing another tray. Erestor had seen them from quite a distance out and they'd seen him, too, but nothing was said until all three were clustered together in the dewy grass. Erestor stood up and stretched, then brushed at the back of his robes with a grimace.

"I don't suppose either of you thought to bring me something dry to put on?" he whispered. His comrades shook their heads in unison. "Why are you here?"

"Faelon explained about Fennas' bizarre behaviour and said you set off from the house hours ago. Mithrandir left almost right after you, grumbling about pig-headed Wood Elves; we're hoping he planned to catch up to the Mirkwood emissary and convince him to come back, but that has not occurred yet. What in Mordor happened?" asked Glorfindel.

"I can't say anything until I've spoken to Elrond," hissed Erestor, "but I didn't want to disturb them. Anyway, nothing could be done about it last night."

"You needn't elaborate," sneered Lindir. "It's obvious from Faelon's story that Fennas was less than pleased with what he learned regarding Legolas' place in Elrond's world. There's nothing you can do to help, that's certain. Our illustrious Lord is going to require aid from someone knowledgeable in sylvan ways."

Erestor startled to hear Lindir use exactly the same adjective to describe Elrond that Fennas had employed and wondered if the minstrel had been eavesdropping.

"We can all at the very least stand behind him and support his cause," Glorfindel admonished, his words couched in a harsh stage whisper. "Whatever mistakes he's made, Elrond is sincere in wishing to alleviate any harm Legolas has sustained because of them."

"That is indeed a fact, mellon, yet I am wondering what new trouble is stirring to bring the three of you hither to grant me that solace." The voice belonged to Elrond, who had not been sleeping very deeply and overheard their frantic whispering speech. He stood framed in the entrance to the grotto, his long white robe gleaming while his features remained shadowed beneath the shade of the trees.

"We need to talk, Elrond, in private," Erestor blurted out, twirling about to face his kinsman. "Fennas revealed some startling news about Legolas' family." Behind him, Lindir gave a scoffing snort and the seneschal stiffened.

"So, the truth is out," the minstrel chortled in complacent glee. He reached for his harp and strummed an exultant arpeggio as the others looked on in astonishment. Before anyone could question Lindir, the lovely sound drew Legolas from reverie and he shuffled into view behind Elrond, still tying the belt of the robe, his mane askew in a mass of tangled tresses hanging about his face.

"What truth?" he asked, staring at them one by one in bewilderment. "Why are you all out here?"

"I've brought food to break our fast," offered Glorfindel, smiling as he held forth the tray. "Perhaps we could discuss it as we eat?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Lanthir Fân after breakfast ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

"This is terrible. Of all the Elves in Greenwood, among the multitude of my relatives, it would be Fennas who arrives first," groaned Legolas, head buried in his hands, hunched in dejected misery upon one of the hampers at the base of his favourite hemlock tree. "Ai, Nín'ódhel! It would have been better for me to greet him appropriately. He was undoubtedly here to gather intelligence and carry it back to my Adar."

"What do you mean 'intelligence'?" demanded Elrond in consternation. This was not the response he'd expected upon revealing his efforts to make Legolas' comfort his top priority. On top of Erestor's report and Lindir's cryptic pronouncement, the Lord of Imladris was feeling exceedingly uncomfortable. He stood in front of his young mate, arms crossed before him, and despite the lack of formal garb had never looked so much the stern Elven Lord as now. "Exactly what is your Adar's position in the Woodland realm?"

"Oh, my Ada is very much respected in my homeland," he dodged the issue smoothly, neatly, "but he is not interested in knowledge regarding Imladris' affairs of state. He wants to find out about MY place here and sent Fennas to get the truth. My Nana probably nagged at him until he agreed to do it, for Ada generally waits for me to go to him and reveal my errors or ask for advise. He says it builds soul-courage." Legolas was now up and pacing the glade in agitated dismay.

"Legolas, if I might give you a bit of counsel," Lindir began from his place in the branches above them, from which he felt much safer in the event of Elrond's inevitable explosion of outrage.

He was lightly strumming his harp, trying to fill the little grotto with soothing and gentle sounds that blended perfectly with the soft percussion of the falls, but it did not seem to be helping. Indeed, he was not able to finish his thought, for Legolas stopped beneath him and glared, hands on hips, the most commanding demand for silence ever given and all without uttering a single word. The minstrel blinked and offered a tentative smile along with a slight but decidedly deferential dip of his head; he'd not been on the receiving end of Legolas' wrath before but like everyone else had heard the rumours of his Adar's volcanic temper. Lindir wisely concluded it would be best not to press the issue of the Wood Elf's heritage at this time.

Now his interaction with Legolas was observed by all the others, and while Erestor considered himself the most canny and cunning of the lot, Glorfindel was by no means a dullard. The Balrog-slayer's brow drew tight in lines of perplexed uneasiness. The venerable warrior shifted slightly, transferring weight to the opposite leg where he leaned against the trunk of another tree, managing to scrape the toe of his boot along an exposed root - his signature method of announcing himself, an ingrained action he was no longer conscious of making. All eyes honed in on him and he straightened up.

"Forgive me, Legolas, but there must be more you can tell us of your people. Fennas was very upset when he left. It is my duty to be prepared for every threat, you understand. Is your Adar likely to be so offended that he would take action on your behalf?"

Legolas' features contorted into that expression of contemptuous disgust that covered them whenever he had to confront another of these ridiculous assumptions about Wood Elves being barbaric and ruthless. His shoulders squared up and his back straightened, and though he was no where close to matching the mighty reborn warrior's height, Legolas managed to project an aura of authority nonetheless. "My Adar's warriors have never invaded any land or done violence to any people, not even dwarves. Nor would any of my people fall so low, retaliating for affronts by spilling blood, least of all that of our own kind." The words were frigid in their fury and Glorfindel bowed his head before the insult he had felt compelled to give.

Erestor was not deaf, however, and picked up on something important. If Legolas' father had power to lead troops into battle, he must be highly placed in Thranduil's court. He caught Elrond's eye and saw that he'd noted this as well. The Lord of Imladris parted his lips to inquire further in this vein but the seneschal's minute shake in the negative stalled him. The advisor spoke instead: "Legolas, I should tell you that Fennas was discussing his concerns quietly enough until he learned of the pregnancy. Did you not include that news in your messages home?"

"He knows? What did you tell him? What did he say?" Legolas was unable to control his distress over this and listened in growing trepidation as Erestor related the pertinent parts of his conversation with Fennas. By the time he was done, Legolas had lost the aspect of regal indignation and resumed that of frightened and grief-stricken young Elf. Instinctively, he reached out for Elrond and grabbed onto the soft fabric of his dressing gown."Ai Valar, we are doomed! Why did you tell him? What made you bring up Galbreth? It was my news to reveal to my parents, not his. Ai Valar, what else?"

Erestor was once again confused but more so remorseful to have caused Legolas so much agitation. He'd wished to deflect Legolas' notice from interest in his Adar's position, thinking to catch him off guard into revealing the truth, for it was clear he had been keeping this vital information back for reasons that were still obscure. Erestor had not intended to induce more strife. He mumbled his profound regret and sent his kinsman a cursory glance, noting with relief that Elrond did not appear to be on the verge of throwing him out of the valley. A sigh directed his eyes to Glorfindel, whose countenance was grim but not accusing. Lindir, however, was openly hateful and Erestor didn't need to look to know the minstrel's glare was hot enough to set his robes afire.

"I'm sorry, beloved," Elrond began, upset to see Legolas so distraught and at a loss for how to fix it. "It isn't Erestor's fault but mine. I instructed him to reveal the pregnancy, thinking it best so that Fennas would understand why I refused to meet with him yesterday." He moved into the sylvan's line of sight and caught him close, wrapping a protective embrace around the shaking form. The golden head dropped against his shoulder with a groan and lean arms snaked round his waist in a breath-stealing squeeze.

"I know you meant well, but Fennas is probably the most rigidly conservative Elf in Greenwood. He's even more devoted to protocol and custom than Erestor. Plus, he's one of the Elders of my people, like the Lords here in Imladris. The Elders serve as the King's advisors and if they aren't happy, everyone else is miserable. I can't bear to think what he'll tell my Adar and Naneth." Legolas almost sobbed. This was a catastrophe of the highest magnitude and he couldn't think of any way to avert the resultant fury that would grip his parents' hearts. "To say nothing of how ashamed they'll be," he added aloud, forgetting he'd kept the preceding thoughts silent.

"What?" Elrond rubbed his mate's back consolingly. "The Elders? Legolas, I don't care who they are; I won't permit anyone to upset you like this. You've been under a tremendous burden of stress, grief, and shame for years. Fennas and these Elders will answer to me if they attempt to cause you more worries. Please, beloved, I want you to trust me to stand by you and shield you from any unpleasant judgements or remarks, whether from my people or yours."

"I do; it's just exactly the opposite of how I wanted all this to happen." He raised his head and pointed tear-bright eyes at Elrond's sombre grey ones. "If I'd had the chance to explain everything to Ada and Nana first, they'd understand and accept you. Now, they will be hurrying to get here and confront you about Tinu Mín and why we're not wed. They'll insist that you make recompense to them for the dishonour to our House."

Erestor cleared his throat. "Yes, Fennas did use that word. Can you explain what he meant?"

"I don't see how you can fail to comprehend it," drawled Lindir, "clever and learned as you are, Erestor. The House of Eärendil has dishonoured the House of … Legolas' people," he faltered, caught Legolas' wild and stricken gaze, and plucked a dissonant discord, "and will have to offer some kind of compensation."

"Yes, I figured that out on my own, but thank you so very much for explaining what would be obvious to a wose," snapped Erestor. He was weary of Lindir's unending, needling jabs and insults. "Perhaps you could expound upon what form this compensation is to take."

Lindir shrugged and alit from the branches, not a bit unnerved by the seneschal's displeasure, and absently tuned his harp. "How would I know this? I am not a citizen of the Greenwood. I have heard, however, that Aran Thranduil is fond of bright and beautiful jewels." His gaze slid to Legolas, brows arched in inquiry, to find the young archer's cheeks blossoming with colour.

"Well, yes, that's true, I suppose," Legolas muttered, "but hardly pertinent."

"Yet it is," Erestor disagreed. "Fennas said your marriage to Elrond is a 'personal tragedy for the King and Queen.' Is your father related in some way to the royal family of Mirkwood…I mean, Greenwood?" It was the question on everyone's mind by now and there was a great rise in eager expectation as all ears awaited the answer.

Legolas frowned; this was precisely what he'd been trying to avoid revealing and now, thanks to wily Erestor, his hopes were dashed. He couldn't openly lie about it but could not concoct a way to answer that was vague enough to leave doubt. He sighed and returned his vision to Elrond's. "Yes, he is and thus so am I."

"What? Why haven't you told me this before?" Elrond almost jumped out of his skin, his voice a shrill mockery of his normal modulated timbre. He let go of Legolas and took a step backwards, suddenly feeling he didn't know the Elf standing before him.

"It was not important," shrugged Legolas weakly.

"That is absurd!" shouted Elrond. "Of course it's important."

"Why, because you would have treated me differently had you known?" demanded Legolas, hurt, angry, and guilty.

"Yes," Elrond snapped back, furious to have been deceived into believing Legolas was just any common Wood Elf. His anger dimmed as he observed the slow dissolve of Legolas' features into an expression of unbearable pain.

"Exactly. Oh, how I wish that wasn't true," he said, voice wavering under the weight of sorrow. "I didn't want to be treated like a trophy you could show off and brag about to your peers. I wanted you to love me for myself, as Legolas, not as…for my title and rank." The tears were sure to overwhelm his strained defences any moment and Legolas did not want to create a spectacle in front of these Elves. He spun and darted away, vaulting into the branches before anyone even knew what he was about. Behind him, he could hear Elrond's voice calling but refused to heed it.


TBC

~ ~  Glossary  ~ ~

Peth Thenid Pent: True Words Spoken

Tarlanc: stiff-necked, stubborn

Lechenn: Sindarin word for Noldor elves.

Fennas: Doorway

Tinu Mín: our little star

NOTE: Well, Fennas certainly brought trouble with him, didn't he? I have to say, Legolas must have thought, at least once or twice, about how Elrond would react to his Big Secret once it came out, but I've made him young and perhaps he felt justified to cause his mate a little upset. We can see from his reaction he didn't think about it too carefully, though, probably anticipating the shock and surprise and how funny that would be rather than envisioning the consequences of deliberately keeping his mate in the dark. I will elaborate more on why he kept quiet about his lineage for so long, but all the hints are there and most folks can probably see it already.

He knows he has hurt Elrond but he feels too hurt himself to do anything about it and can't face the loss of his mate's warm support and love. In his mind, he has rationalised and justified his prank for so long it is difficult to stand back and look at things from Elrond's point of view. What he needs to hear from Elrond is that knowing the truth wouldn't have changed the way Elrond feels for him one bit. Legolas is obviously still insecure about his place in Elrond's life. He's running, but where? We shall see!

Thanks to one and all still reading and enjoying the story!

© 04/06/2008 Ellen Robey