Cuil Eden

29

Legolas’ thoughts were still focused on his conversation with Celeborn, even after the lord had left and he was resting on their bed, pulled against Glorfindel’s chest by the warrior’s strong arms. His cheek rested where Glorfindel’s heartbeat could lull him into sleep, while fingers idly stroked his hair. Legolas breathed the scent of freshly-cut grass that always seemed to cling to his lord’s locks, and gradually he realized that he was content. The realization was strange, for after what their beginnings had been, should he not fear and hate the golden Lord? But there was no hate when he thought of Glorfindel, instead there was a strange affection, and rather than fear, what he felt could probably be best categorized as respect.

How long this feeling would stay Legolas did not know, yet for this moment of time, he felt at peace and content with his life. “Losto vae, hîr nín,” Legolas murmured and relaxed against Glorfindel, his eyes glazing over as he began to wander the dream-paths of reverie. He did not hear the whispered answer of losto vae, pen vell, and did not feel the gentle kiss that was pressed to his temple, but the paths his fëa wandered led through lush, verdant clearings and were filled by warm sunshine.


The next morning, a young Silvan servant brought them breakfast which they ate in their talan. This time Legolas was careful not to allow any of the honey into their hair, although Gîlríon pouted a little when he was not allowed to put his fingers directly into the jar of honey.

“What are your plans for today, my lord?” Legolas asked once they were finally finished, and Gîlríon’s fingers cleaned.

“There are no plans yet for the morning – we will have the midday meal with the Lord and the Lady, but until then, I thought we would simply walk a little. Certainly Gîl would like to explore the Golden Wood?”

Both smiled at their son's insistent nod and soon they were walking beneath the mellyrn, Gîlríon running before them and gathering those stones and leaves he deemed were the most beautiful.

They stayed away from the parts of the wood where families had built their telain, but the path they followed carried them to several places where the Silvan and Sindarin elves of the wood were gathered – the archery ranges, shallow ponds where youths were fishing, a hill of large rocks where a silver-haired elf played the lute for an audience of fellow musicians.

Finally they settled near a shallow brook, where drifts of small flowers bloomed in abundance. Gîlríon played among them, gathering as many different flowers as he could before a snail distracted him. When he dropped the blossoms into his atto’s lap so that he could follow the glistening trail the small animal had left, Glorfindel chuckled and began to weave them into a wreath.

“Do not go too far!” Legolas told their son but stayed where he was, sitting next to Glorfindel who was humming an old melody while his fingers worked quickly on the wreath.

“Never fear, we will guard the little warrior for you!” a voice called out in answer, and when Legolas looked up in surprise, he saw that two of Glorfindel’s guards had joined them. With some embarrassment he noted that they were the two elves whom he had overheard that night in the mountains – Fairion and Laindir.

This time, though, they did not speculate about what might happen between him and their captain at night. Instead, they squatted down next to where Gîlríon was watching the snail and soon engrossed him with a game.

When he suddenly felt something touch his hair, Legolas looked up in surprise. He had been so busy watching the guards that he had forgotten what Glorfindel was doing, and apparently the wreath made of the small flowers that Gîl had gathered was now resting on his head.

Glorfindel chuckled at his expression, and Legolas gave him a small, uncertain smile while he touched the wreath with one hand. He bit his lip, not quite certain how to react to this, but then, almost reluctantly, his smile got warmer and he leaned towards Glorfindel to quickly kiss him, not daring to meet his eyes afterwards.

"How sweet,“ a cold voice interrupted them. “What a loving little family you have made for yourself, Legolas – adar should be glad that he got rid of you.”

Legolas winced, but then he forced himself to take a deep breath before he slowly looked up, taking in the familiar form of his brother Galuron who stood glowering at them from the path. His hair was paler even than Legolas’s tresses, and while his face was narrower, his build lighter than that of his sire, he bore himself with the same arrogant confidence.

“Galuron! I am glad to see that you are well.” Legolas smiled at his brother, although at that moment he felt more like running away, and then got up to walk towards where Gîlríon was playing with the guards. They had immediately moved their hands to their weapons and watched warily when Legolas took his son’s hand to gently lead him towards the other Sinda.

“This is my brother, tôr adarech Galuron, Gîl. Say hello to him,” Legolas instructed gently.

“Mae govannen, tôr adaren!” Gîlríon said readily, staring at the blond elf with a mixture of fascination and unease. “Your brother, ada? Does atto have a brother, too?”

“No... you only have two uncles, Gîl, my brothers Galuron and Celeirdúr,” Legolas assured his son, who seemed intimidated by the scowl on his new uncle’s face.

“So it is all true... Do you not care about the shame you have caused adar? To see a son of the Great Greenwood’s king sink so low – ai, what shame you bring to our house! Whence comes this weakness in you? I would rather have died than become a whore to a Noldo!”

Legolas stiffened, then leaned down to tell Gîlríon to return to the guards and play with them, as he had seen that Glorfindel had gotten up to join them. Gîlríon gave him an unhappy look, his eyes starting to fill with tears when he sensed that his ada was upset, but still went obediently to the guards who had taken a few steps towards them at Galuron’s insults.

“In front of my son, Galuron?” Legolas whispered agitatedly as soon as his son had left them. “Hate me if you want, but to call me that in front of my son? Even if you no longer consider me kin, I did not believe you to be so needlessly cruel...”

“What do you call it then, traitor, to bend over for the enemy and to let him get you with child only to run away to his realm once your depravity becomes known? You have led to our downfall, Legolas – because of you I am forced to live among these strange trees as a hostage, far from my home and family and friends! And do you even know what some of these Galadhrim did to Celeirdúr? Their Marchwarden told me, he told me all the details – and he enjoyed it, Legolas! All of this is your fault, little brother!

So do not think that I will pity you for spreading your legs for that accursed Balrog-slayer when I can see for myself how you enjoy being pampered and coddled by him! Just do not come crawling back once he decides that he has gotten enough children – you are no longer welcome in the Greenwood, and if I have any say in it, you will never set another step into the wood again!”

“How dare you judge me!” Legolas whispered fiercely, straightening so that he could answer his brother’s glare. As a child he would never have dared standing up to Galuron, the older, smarter one, adored by all of his teachers – but he was a child no more. For good or for ill, he had changed, and although he was still not sure what he was, he would no longer be frightened by such words of hate. What did he have to lose, after all? Already he was exiled from the home of his childhood... No, there was nothing Galuron could do now to hurt him worse than it had hurt to be banished by his own father.

“You who have never known me! You who have never cared about what I did! Did you ever think of your brother who spent his days out in the wood with nothing but horses for company, while you had the finest tutors and captains teaching you the art of politics and tactics of battle? Where were you then? Where were you when I spent my begetting days without my family’s smiles? Where were you when I was... raped, when I called out for my ada to help me but was all alone...”

He broke off and turned away from the cold disbelief on the face of his brother. Tears began to run down his face as he remembered the terror of being pressed to the ground by the weight of a stranger who cared nothing for his pain and fear.

"You are right, I am not your kin... I have never been. I know not why, but I have always been unwanted, unloved. Call me a whore if you must, I do not care – I have my son’s love, Galuron, and that is more than I would ever have had in Mirkwood!”

Legolas flinched when a hand came to rest on his shoulder, then relaxed when he realized that it was Glorfindel who had silently waited behind him during their exchange.

“You will never insult him again,” Glorfindel said slowly, his voice cold and threatening. “If I ever hear you calling him that again – or if you ever hurt him again in front of our son, I will teach you a lesson with my sword, prince – and hostage or not, I will not stop until I hear your screams for mercy!”

“Fairion! Laindir!” he then called out. “Pleace bring my son back to our talan; we will join you there shortly. And you, Galuron, will have to excuse us... We have better things to do than to listen to your poisoned words.”

His arm wrapped tightly around Legolas’ waist, Glorfindel led the young Sinda away from the brook, neither of them looking back at Galuron. Legolas was still weeping quietly at the memories this dispute had brought back, and Glorfindel knew that he had to find a deserted spot for him to calm himself as he did not want Gîlríon to see his ada’s tears.

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Losto vae, hîr nín – Sleep well, my Lord
Losto vae, pen vell – Sleep well, dear one
tôr adarech – your father’s brother
tôr adaren – my father’s brother
atto – affectionate form of "father" [Quenya]
ada – affectionate form of "father" [Sindarin]