Faded Light

(For additional notes and disclaimers, please see top of Chapter 1.)


Chapter Four
Heirs of Mirkwood


Lord Elrond was worried.

In all the years since losing his son, King Thranduil had come close to fading many times.

But it had rarely been this bad; not since those first agonizing months when the search parties turned up no trace of the young prince, not even a body for the inconsolable father to grieve over.

Now, however, it was as if he had abandoned whatever final hold he had on this life.

Even with all of his skill, Elrond knew there was nothing he could do, if the king had chosen in his heart to finally join his son.

"Thranduil," he said taking the king's hand, "do not give in to the darkness, Mellon. There are those here who need you still. Do you hear me?"

But the Mirkwood ruler's mind was lost in his own restless dreams.

"My Little Leaf...." he mumbled, clutching despairingly at his chest, as he slept with his eyes closed; both deeply distressing signs, Elrond knew.

"Where has my son gone?”

"Mellon Nin, saes, listen to my voice..."

"Ion...Nin Emel..." whispered the king, "what have they done to you, my sweet child...why do they keep you from me?"

Elrond took a deep breath and sat back in his chair, as the king quieted again, not bothering to turn around when he heard someone enter the room.

"How is he?" asked Prince Leralonde, his voice low.

"I will not give up on him," said the lord of Rivendell. "But it is only the Valar themselves who could fully heal him, if they were to reveal where to find your cousin. Though after all these years, I am not sure that even Mithrandir's powers could make that happen.

"Even if your uncle once more survives, I fear it will not be long before the kingship falls to your Highness."

"You may not believe this, Lord Elrond," said the younger Elf, "but I have no wish to see that day. If I could go out and find Legolas this very moment, I would."

The Elven Lord raised his eyes to meet those of Thranduil's elder nephew, wondering whether he had misjudged the youth because of his father, the king's covetous brother-in-law and chief advisor. "Lord Ruthlagor would not be glad to hear such words, young one."

"I am not my father. And I do not share his ambitions," said the prince. "It is true, I did not always get on well with Legolas, but he was my cousin. And I've no desire to take that place that should be his or Feredir's."

"But Legolas is not here, and Feredir will never be king. You are Haryon of Mirkwood now, Highness, whatever your wishes."

"Our grandfather, Oropher, had not been of the royal family when he was chosen to be king of Mirkwood. I can't see why it should be different with Feredir whose upbringing prepared him better than I for...

"It was a cruel fate that caused Uncle to lose not only the son of the flesh, but one he raised as his own."

"Have you heard from Feredir lately?" asked the Lord of Rivendell.

"Nay. The last we heard, he and Alatariel were somewhere in the south. Rohan, I think."

Both turned back to Thranduil as the king began tossing and turning again. When he opened his eyes, they were dull with grief and his long illness.

"More bad dreams, Uncle?" asked the youth taking the king's hand, as he knelt beside the bed.

He shook his head wearily. "Nay, Penneth. Not dreams...

"...he's hurt. Somewhere he is suffering..."

"Legolas was always strong. No doubt somehow he will be well, wherever he is." He dared not dash whatever hopes the king might yet have that his son, in some place, still lived and would return; though there were few who believed that anymore.

"...it is not grief, or wishful thinking," he said, anger bringing some of the royal fire back into the sorrowful blue eyes.

"My child is in pain ...such anguish, such darkness...and I cannot save him..."


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“You filthy, little whore...how long did you think you could hide that bastard you’re carrying,” growled the whore-master furious, pulling so hard at the mass of golden hair in his fist that some of it came out. For one terrible moment Dafi feared his head might come off his shoulders.

“And now, of all times...when Javad himself has taken an interest in your worthless hide...” snarled the Man.

Nearly five months, Dafi had kept his secret, knowing it could not last, but unwilling to accept this new loss. Tonight, however, when Arya had called him to his bed and had begun fondling him, he had felt a difference in the slave’s slender body, and only his value stayed the brothel keeper's fury.

“I’m calling the healer tomorrow to take care of it...” with one last, angry shake he threw the slave aside and walked away, leaving the wretched youth to be consumed by his grief, wrapping his arms over his belly, around the child that would soon be taken away before he ever saw it.

Though then, at least, he was certain he could finally fade and they would be together in Mandos.


TBC...


Elvish Translations:


Mellon nin / my friend

Saes / please

Ion / Son

Nin Emel / my heart

Haryon / prince and heir, crown prince