Promises Made: Legolas/ Elladan

The Intervening Years : Legolas Story Part 3

“Legolas?” Estar whispered softly, unsure whether his friend was still asleep or the action had been as result of his dreaming and had woken him.

Legolas turned his head, looking out into the darkness of the night. “Elladan….Elladan, he grieves, his pain, it is unbearable for him.”

There were tears in his eyes as he lay back on the bed, pulling Estar’s arms around him. “Hold me awhile.”

The silence lifted some of Legolas’ spirits and Estar tried once more to ask his friend to speak with his father. Legolas shook his head.

“I have no wish to worry him over this, it is a trivial matter, there is more to concern him than this.”

“He would want to know what ails his son, Legolas, this is not the first of its kind, it has gone on too long.”

Legolas felt tired now the sensation had eased, knowing instinctively that Elladan had calmed allowing himself to slip back into slumber.

Estar watched and wondered if Legolas would not speak to Thranduil whether it was his place to do so. Over the years it had steadily increased, this awareness of the Imladris prince. Legolas would lie in his bed, soft moans whispered into the air, waking aroused but unable to recall the images that haunted his dreams, a half murmured name the only clue. Estar had said little to Legolas unsure in his assessment of the causes. Then had come the incident that convinced Estar that something must be said.

The morning had been unsettled, Legolas unfocused on his training. Unusually Estar had bettered him with both sword and bow. Inquiry into any illness had been met with a silent shake of the head and they had continued. When Estar countered and Legolas’ sword flew through the air, he stopped.

Legolas stood still, nothing around him seemed real. The images shimmered between the trees around the meadow in which he stood and long low plains that teamed with orcs and elves. There was no definition in any of what he saw, nor what he heard. Shouts in unfamiliar tongues, flashes of metal, familiar voices around him. Then it came, slicing through his body more severe than any arrow head or thrust of a sword into flesh. It seared through the very fibre of his being. He screamed to match the one he heard reverberating in his head, falling to his knees sobbing before Estar’s hand on his shoulder and arms around him quietened the cacophony of mangled voices. Legolas breathed heavily amidst the struggle for control.

Estar waited until Legolas was silent before gathering him into his arms, carrying the exhausted elf to his bed. Watching him Estar wondered and understood. He smoothed the damp cool cloth over Legolas’ brow, singing softly as he did. Slowly sapphire eyes focused on the world around him and Estar took his hand. It was then he first asked that Legolas speak to his father, and for the first time but not the last, Legolas declined.

Now as Legolas slept, Estar’s course became clear to him. He would wait until the morning, but not another day would pass without this being spoken of.

“Speak to him Legolas, please, he has the knowledge we lack, he will know how to help.”

Estar cut off the start of the well known reply. “Not this time Legolas, this time we go.”

Legolas smiled. Over the years he had learned that Estar was a most accommodating elf, until he set his sights on something. Legolas did not envy the elf on whom Estar set his sights.

Thranduil looked up at the tap on the door, sensing the range of emotions matching his own. He was not unaware, but had held back from summoning his son to him. Legolas was no elfling who needed to answer to his father in such matters. Thranduil had long ago seen the companionship between Estar and Legolas was not an affair of the heart, but a deep friendship that was of comfort and benefit to them both. There was a welcoming smile that hid his anxiety as Legolas entered with Estar behind.

The patient king waited as Legolas began his halting story, watching as he glanced to Estar frequently to affirm the words or seek his help when the words would not come. As he came to the end, lastly telling of the pain he felt, Thranduil placed his hand on his son’s arm, holding him to his chest. Kissing the soft crown of gold hair, Thranduil thought carefully on his first words. They both, Legolas and Estar, had been tutored in the ways of a warrior and those of a more gentle nature. They had both heard the lore, knowing of the life bonds that came when one soul encountered the other. It was a hope that all found such a one, what Thranduil had not expected was that his own would find it so young.

“I am sorry,” Legolas had finished, waiting with increasing alarm at his father’s silence.

Thranduil held him tighter against him. “There is nothing to be sorry for my child, I had merely not anticipated this so soon, it should be when you are able to exercise control over what you feel.”

“It is Elladan, Ada, it is Elladan.”

Thranduil nodded. “Yes, it is.” And perhaps I should have known, should have done something sooner, he thought as he continued.

“He is safe now, within Imladris, we have word he will not stray far for several seasons hence.” There was no guarantee that it would come to pass, but it had the desired effect to soothe Legolas. “The paths are cleared for the most part, and none will stray there until this is forgotten.” Thranduil caught his son’s chin in his fingers, lifting his head. “You will be tutored, Estar too, it will not go amiss.”

Both young elves nodded.

“It will give you the ability to calm what you feel, to feel less if you so desire it.”

Legolas studied the clasp of his hands before looking up at his father. He asked the question Thranduil had dreaded to hear and did not know how to answer.

“What if Elladan does not feel the same?”