Cuil Eden

This has been quite thoroughly betaed by Calenharn Elflover, and I've also had some additional help by Gabby and Pip - thank you! :)

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35

It was dark when Glorfindel woke, and he knew at once that something was not right. The room was silent – too silent. It lacked the soft sound of Legolas’ breathing, and Glorfindel missed the warmth of the lithe body curled against him to which he had grown so accustomed.

Of course, Legolas could have gotten up because he had heard Gîlríon make a sound – but then, Glorfindel would have been able to hear both of them in the next room.

No, something was not as it should be, and Glorfindel could almost feel the power of the Lady of Light in the air.

After a quick glance into the other room to make sure that Gîlríon was still securely asleep, he hastily donned a simple tunic and a pair of leggings. Unthinking habit made him gird his sword belt around his waist, but he left his weapon where it was leaning against the wall. No matter what had happened, he doubted that he would need a sword while in Caras Galadhon.

By now he was almost certain that he knew where Legolas was, although he could not have said whether that thought pleased or frightened him. There were many things that had been kept from Legolas, so many secrets that he had a right to know... So perhaps it was a good thing that the Lady had taken it into her own hand to allow Legolas a look into her fabled Mirror. It might serve to finally make him realize that he was more important than he thought.

Glorfindel sighed as he hastened along the delicately twisting wooden pathways and bridges that connected the large telain here at the heart of Caras Galadhon. There had to be a reason why he had woken, and he feared that he knew what it was. He did not trust the Mirror – nay, to speak the truth, he feared it. He had never dared to look into it himself, although he could see the gentle invitation to partake of its wisdom in the thoughtful looks the Lady of the Wood gave him every now and then. Yet the Mirror was dangerous, and deep inside he knew that he still bore wounds that even the long time of reflection in Mandos’ Halls had not completely healed - wounds that he feared to have the Mirror open anew. Who could say what it had shown Legolas, and how it might have affected the youth?

The sense of urgency in him only grew when he finally reached the ground. He might not know what Legolas would see, but he knew that Legolas needed him. The young prince had known little enough of love and affection in his short life, but had been given more than a fair share of pain. Whatever the Mirror might show him, Glorfindel wagered that it would only bring more pain for Legolas.

Glorfindel had never visited the glade of the Mirror before, yet nevertheless his feet knew the way. The closer he came, the more he could feel the Lady’s power. It hung in the air like a silvery melody, and despite his misgivings, Glorfindel could not help but rejoice at the feelings and memories it woke. Too long had it been since he had walked along the shores of the Blessed Realm, the bustling streets of Tirion or the peaceful pastures of Yavanna.

Suddenly he felt a powerful yearning to quit this land - to cross back over the Sea and to be at peace, free of the quarrels of unimportant realms. Why should he, who had walked with Turgon in Gondolin, who had followed Fingolfin over the Sea, now let the madness of a backwards Sindarin king trouble his mind?

Yet he had sworn to serve the heir of Eärendil, and whatever else he might have become, he was no oathbreaker. He would serve Elrond as best as he could, even if it meant another 500 years of emnity with Oropher’s son. At least, no matter what further burdens the Valar heaped on him, they had also blessed him with Legolas.

With renewed purpose Glorfindel made to enter the glade, but then slowed when he suddenly heard voices – voices he knew.

“Do not refuse my offer so lightly, Ellonúr,” a grave voice warned – a voice that could only belong to Celeborn. And while Glorfindel was impatient to get to Legolas and see for himself what the Mirror’s magic had wrought, he could not help his curiosity when he heard the name of his friend and erstwhile lover, and so stopped to listen.

“Nay – what you offer is not what I need, and you know it! You and your Lady, you cannot help me – you do not want to help me! But there is one who can, and who will! So do not seek to hinder me, my Lord; I know what it is that I am doing!”

“Do you really?” Celeborn asked. “I am not so certain. You are hurt, Ellonúr, your fëa is wounded and I can see that you need help. I am not Glorfindel, nor am I Haldir, yet I can wield cane and whip just as masterfully.”

“Do not say his name – I was a fool to seek him out! He has changed... He is no longer my friend or else he would never have refused me when I needed him so! And you, my Lord, you cannot give me what I need to forget – but your Marchwarden can, and I will no longer refuse his offer."

Celeborn sighed. “Ellonúr, that is a bad decision – certainly you can see that. I know that you have been hurt, yet Haldir in his own way is wounded as well. It will not work... Instead of healing each other’s fëar, I fear you will only cause each other more harm. And believe me, Ellonúr, I do not want to see either of you hurt!"

“No, leave me be!” Ellonúr sounded close to tears now, and Glorfindel frowned. He had never before heard his friend sound so agitated... “It is my decision in the end, and I do not want that which you offer! I will make my own decisions, and my own mistakes!”

Glorfindel hesitated after hearing this last outburst. Celeborn and Ellonúr were leaving now, and if he wanted to save his friend from the disaster his decision would certainly prove to be, he would have to act now.

Yet there was also Legolas who might be in need of him as well...

Glorfindel sighed. No, the choice was really not hard to make at all.

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“No, oh no!” Legolas moaned and finally managed to push himself away from the Mirror. “No, no, it is not true, it cannot be...” He was trembling so hard that he did not even succeed in brushing the tears from his face. And it was no use anyway - he could not stop crying, just like he could not stop remembering what the Mirror had shown him.

“Legolas, calm yourself, it does not need to be true,” the Lady tried to soothe him, but when she reached out to touch him he took a step back, his eyes wide with panic, and then he turned and bolted, the only thought on his mind to flee from the Mirror which had shown him such horrors. He ran with no regard for the path beneath his feet, and only stopped when two arms caught him and wrapped themselves around him, pulling him against a strong chest.

“Glorfindel!” Legolas sobbed in relief, still blinded by his tears. “Please, do not let it be true, please, you must not allow it to happen! I do not want to die, not like that, oh, not like that!”

“Shh... I am here, Legolas, calm yourself. Whatever you saw, I will not allow it to happen.” Glorfindel tightened his embrace until he feared he might crush the youth. But Legolas only continued to sob, so completely shaken by what the Mirror had revealed to him that Glorfindel gave the white-clad figure he could see in the distance an angry look.

What he has seen might not be what he thinks it is. Look after him, Glorfindel, calm him – and make him talk about it. If you allow him to keep silent, the visions that he has seen will fester in his heart, and might well destroy him in the end.

Glorfindel nodded slowly. He was not happy with the situation, but now was not the time for a discussion with the Lady, especially since he could feel that for some reason, she wanted the two of them to work it out between themselves. As much as it might annoy him, the Lady did nothing without reason, and she was right about one thing: Legolas needed all of his attention now, and everything else would have to wait.

“Come, let us return to our talan, there we can talk about what happened,” he said gently and pressed a kiss to Legolas’ brow, noting with concern how pale and cold his skin was.

“You do not know what I saw!” Legolas moaned in despair. “So much pain, such a horrible fate – but why? I do not understand why...”

Glorfindel kissed him again, tasting the salt on his tear-stained cheeks, and then gently forced him to start moving again, although he still kept him safely enfolded in his arms.

“It was my fault,” Legolas whimpered. “My fault... it should have been different, I saw it... All that pain, and it is my fault!”

“Hush, Legolas, please!” Glorfindel tried to wipe Legolas’ tears away, but it was no use. The tears would not cease to flow, just like the prince would not be calmed.

For the first time in a very long time, Glorfindel felt helpless. He did not know what it was that Legolas had seen, yet it had left the prince horrified, trembling with shock and panic, and – worst of all – blaming himself for whatever gruesome fate he had been shown.

During the long walk back to their talan, he kept trying to calm the youth, yet it was to no avail. By the time the first telain came into view, Legolas was almost worse than before, and Glorfindel had run out of words. Nothing he said or did would calm the prince, and seeing him in such despair hurt Glorfindel more than he would ever have imagined.

Glorfindel paused briefly, weighing his options, and came to a decision. He set off down the path again, but soon changed direction, pulling Legolas along a seldom used trail that led away from the telain and deeper into a part of the Golden Wood that was not inhabited.

There was only one way to help Legolas, a path that he had hoped that he would never have to tread, or if so, at least not so soon. He was no healer; he was not Elrond who would have known how to heal such grief with dried herbs and calm words. His way was harsh... his way was the way of warriors who had to deal with pain and death on an almost daily basis. What he had done to Legolas thus far had been mild when compared to what he had done to other lovers, for the most part no more than playful teasing. Yet Legolas needed his help now, and this was the only way he knew.

Glorfindel was well aware that it could be a mistake to act now, without knowing what exactly Legolas had seen. But Legolas would not talk; he was too upset to let Glorfindel help him, and Glorfindel thought that he would rather make a mistake now and deal with the consequences later than be forced to continue to helplessly watch his prince suffer so.

“I will help you, Legolas,” he said calmly and stopped next to a tall tree. “I will take away your guilt and free you from your grief – but it comes with a price. I will allow you to rest thereafter, but tomorrow you will tell me what you saw, and you will leave nothing out.”

“I will do whatever you say, as long as you make it go away – please!” Legolas whispered. “I cannot bear what I saw, I cannot! Please, make me forget it...”

“I will, Legolas,” Glorfindel said almost sadly and moved to kiss Legolas one last time. Then he ordered Legolas to strip, and although his voice was calm, it was also firm and almost detached.

When Legolas had finished and stood before him naked and still trembling, Glorfindel removed his belt and drew it lovingly through his fingers, cherishing the silky smoothness of the worn leather. He would have preferred a whip for this, but he would have to make do with what he had. And his swordbelt was not a bad choice – the leather was thick and sturdy, and would make for heavy, bruising blows... and more pain than Legolas had ever known from his hands before.

“I want to hear you say it, Legolas,” he said heavily. “Trust me, I will find no pleasure in this, but I will not hold back. I have done this before for fellow warriors who needed to bear this trial to rid themselves of ghosts, to open again the wounds that had been left on their fëar so that these wounds might finally heal...But it will hurt. So I want to hear it now, Legolas: is this what you want? Do you truly need the kind of release that pain will bring you?”

“Yes...” Legolas breathed. “Yes... punish me. I deserve it. You do not know how much I deserve it...”

Glorfindel sighed and nodded. “Turn around then and grip that branch above you,” he commanded. When Legolas, still shaking, silently obeyed, Glorfindel stepped behind him and gently ran his hands down his flanks. “Trust me in this,” he whispered. “I promise I will not harm you.”

Then he stepped back, and once again his voice was calm and imperious, as befit a captain. “Do not let go of the branch,” he warned.

“Yes, my Lord,” Legolas whispered weakly, and Glorfindel saw his muscles tense in preparation for what was to come.

“We will begin with yesterday’s offense,” Glorfindel decided. “I know that I said it would wait until tomorrow, but with the way things are now, I think we would both rather have it done with right now. Am I right?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Legolas repeated and bowed his head. Glorfindel nodded, although Legolas could not see it, and raised the hand that held the belt. “Three lashes,” he warned, and then he began. This was unlike anything that he had ever done to Legolas before, and it was obvious that the pain was worse than what Legolas had anticipated by the way he cried out and flinched away from the belt. Of course Legolas had tasted a belt before, that time out on the balcony during the feast in Celeborn’s honor, but there was a world of difference between the few welts raised on Legolas’ bottom with the light decorative belt he had worn then, and the beating inflicted by the heavy, thick leather he now swung with all his might. Yes, he had held back then to spare the pregnant youth – but this was a true punishment, executed with all of his strength and the will to hurt and to bruise, to give the youth the catharsis he so needed.

A broad stripe of red adorned Legolas’ back now, and when Glorfindel raised his arm again, another stripe and another cry followed. After the third lash, Legolas was sobbing again, but he did not let go of the branch, nor did he try to plead.

“Tell me why I had to punish you,” Glorfindel commanded sternly.

“Because... I acted against your orders, I... I did not wait for you to allow me m-my release,” Legolas whispered shamefully.

“And are you sorry now?”

“Yes, I am sorry! Please, forgive me, my Lord!” Legolas sobbed.

Glorfindel smiled and rested a hand against Legolas’ back, feeling the heat of the reddened skin. “I forgive you,” he said gently and pressed a kiss to Legolas’ temple.

“But there was another offense you committed tonight. Can you tell me what that was?”

“I – I left our talan without telling you, my Lord?” Legolas asked, his voice trembling with uncertainty and, still, the pain.

“Yes. I know why you did it, but still it does not change the fact that I was worried when I woke and found you gone.”

“Forgive me, my Lord – I am sorry!” Legolas whispered, and Glorfindel pulled his hand away from his skin.

“Five lashes for leaving without telling me,” he declared. Again he raised his arm, and again the belt fell heavily onto the prince’s smooth skin. Glorfindel could feel how Legolas struggled to be brave, to contain his cries, but it was too much pain for one so young, so inexperienced – and Glorfindel was glad of every single cry and tear, although they pained him as well. But Legolas needed to let go this way, or else the pain he bore might never leave him.

After the fifth stroke, Glorfindel breathed deeply and once again rested his hand against the punished skin. Where the strokes criss-crossed, the red was even darker and Glorfindel knew that the skin there would bruise heavily.

“You are forgiven,” he whispered into Legolas’ ear. “You are very brave... Can you take more?”

“Y-yes,” Legolas whimpered, and Glorfindel pressed another kiss to his temple. “So very brave, Legolas...” he murmured, then stepped back once again with a sigh. “Then tell me for what offense you deserve this punishment.”

“The visions...” Legolas wept softly. “I saw... it was my fault. It was my fault back then! I never knew – all this time and I never knew! All this time, and it was I who brought this on myself! It was all my fault...”

“Hush, Legolas... you have judged yourself, but it is for me to punish you!” Glorfindel hesitated. He still did not know what crime Legolas thought he had committed, but from his reaction it was obvious that he thought it an offense most horrible and grievous.

And he had no other choice than to make the punishment just as horrible, if he wanted Legolas to consider his crime paid for and to forgive himself. If he held back now, if he tried to deal him less than what Legolas himself thought he deserved, then Legolas would continue to carry his guilt and his doubts. No, he had no other alternative...

“Twenty lashes,” he said softly, and Legolas sobbed in weary acceptance. Glorfindel wondered uneasily if the youth would be able to bear it – twenty lashes delivered with force, with this most cruel belt, was a harsh verdict. And even though his belt was no whip, he would not temper his blows as the pain was the only way he saw to make Legolas let go of his guilt.

He brushed away a strand of hair that clung to Legolas’ shoulder, then raised the belt yet again. With blow after blow, new cries were forced from Legolas’ throat until his voice was hoarse and he seemed to almost choke from the force of his sobs. Where several blows had struck the same patch of skin, some of the welts had been opened by the edge of the belt and now bled little crimson droplets.

At the sight of this, Glorfindel almost stopped. He had never made Legolas bleed before. This was a threshold he had crossed with only a few warriors, and none of them had been an inexperienced, frightened child. At that moment, Glorfindel hated the Valar for driving them to this, for forcing him to give such pain to innocent Legolas, who had only ever wanted to please.

Yet even these misgivings could not stop him. He could feel that it still was not enough, that he had not yet managed to drive Legolas over that threshold which would enable him to forgive himself, and so he continued.

Blow followed blow, raising more welts, bruising more of the once unblemished skin, and the bite of his belt soon drew more blood. Once, at the fourteenth blow, Legolas almost gave in to the pain and loosened his grip, but at the last moment he clenched his fingers even more tightly around the branch that held him up and continued to bear his trial. Glorfindel thought that he had never been more proud, nor had he ever felt such sorrow before.

It seemed like this torment would never end, but eventually the twentieth blow came, and then there was a moment of silence where they both sought to catch their breath. Then, with a thin whimper, Legolas let go of the branch and fell. It seemed to him like he was slipping into unconsciousness, and he welcomed it, but before he was fully gone Glorfindel’s strong arms caught him and gently cradled him against his chest.

“That was well done, my prince,” Glorfindel whispered tenderly. “You are indeed brave, with the true heart of a warrior. You have borne your punishment more nobly than many Lords I have known. Yes, I forgive you, Legolas. You have paid for any crime that you might have committed with your blood and your pain, and you have proved yourself worthy of being mine. Now rest, pen vell, and I will care for you.”

“Thank you,” Legolas breathed, overcome with a powerful emotion that he could not name. He only knew that Glorfindel had never shone brighter in his eyes. “Thank you, my Lord, thank you,” he repeated, and then he sighed and his head rolled against Glorfindel’s shoulder as he surrendered himself to the healing oblivion of sleep.

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talan (pl. telain) – flet
pen vell - dear one