Fractured Light

Elrond's Prescription

"Mae govannen, Hîr Erestor. Please, forgive my disregard for the formality such a visit generally demands. I just need to see Legolas. Please."

The King of the Woodland Realm stood alone in the shallows of the crossing, dirty and dishevelled, face haggard and emerald eyes haunted. Clearly he had not slept for untold days on end, more than accounted for by the length of the journey from Greenwood. His long golden hair was braided down in a simple, utilitarian style; an unkempt braid that likely as not hadn't been combed out and reworked since leaving his homeland. Erestor wasn't sure if that was due to a despairing heart or merely an example of desperate haste.

He'd arrived unescorted and there was nothing at all to distinguish him as one of Arda's most powerful rulers. Instead he presented as a common messenger, his dress that of any woodland warrior, lacking any insignia or sign of his nobility save for the ancient and mighty broadsword cinched round his hips. No humble courier would ever possess such a weapon, especially among the woodland elves who preferred the traditional and more pragmatic bow and quiver.

Yet only a fool would fail to mark his lordly presence, though the haughty arrogance Erestor recalled from the Last Alliance was no longer apparent. Even so, Thranduil held himself straight, head high, hand upon the sword's hilt, the stance regal and commanding. He was much like his father, save perhaps not quite as tall as Oropher, and justly proud of his exalted heritage. Strength and majesty draped his form more closely than the torn and muddied cloak cast about his shoulders; his brow newly crowned with a cap of wisdom earned under the relentless tutelage of adversity, misfortune, and time. Even in the merciless grip of personal tragedy, Thranduil was an elf to be admired and feared.

For all that, it was the eyes that struck Erestor hardest; vivid green irises limned in dread and darkened with the sort of fatalism usually associated only with the most ancient of elves, a stoic acceptance that yet again only dire, calamitous doom would be his lot. It was most disturbing to behold and the jaded seneschal was moved to prove him wrong for once. He offered a smile and raised his arm in welcome, motioning the monarch across the ford and into the fair valley.

"Aye, I shall escort you to him at once, Aran Vrand (Noble King)." He watched the distraught father lift a dismissive hand, face contorting in contempt at the signifier.

"Please use my name, Hîr Erestor. I've no taste for such titles."

"As you wish, but only if you will do the same."

"Done." Thranduil was on the pebbled shingle and held forth his hand, taking Erestor's arm in the customary greeting between warriors. "Take me to him, mellon."

He proceeded across the mossy bank, awaiting neither invitation nor brevet, striding past the honour guard standing attention, utterly oblivious to the presence of Glorfindel, their legendary captain, eyes on the tree-lined track ahead, scanning either side eagerly as though he thought his son might be there to greet him. His horse strolled along behind, muzzle dripping from immersion in the fast flowing fluid where she'd quenched her thirst, neck arched proudly, butternut coat slick and dark, head high and eyes bright. She trailed him like an adoring pup and with like energy; this was not an animal pushed to the brink of collapse.

The King made a little clicking noise with his tongue and her ears twitched forward, a faint whickering breath answering. The brief communication was transparent: he ordered her to stay and enjoy the lush riparian landscape; she declined. He gave a minute shrug and the faintest acquiescent sniff.

Erestor could not suppress a smile. Though more than a league lay between the borders of Rivendell and the Last Homely House, Thranduil would walk rather than subject the horse to undo exertion, while she intended to follow just in case he changed his mind. He wondered how many leagues the noble scion of Oropher had already walked. Whatever the condition of other steeds he may have ridden on the journey, this mare was well loved, indeed. Instantly the seneschal decided he much liked this unassuming, care-worn King. He hastened to join him, leaving his own mount to the care of the soldiers, lengthening his stride to match Thranduil's.

"You received the latest news by falcon?"

"Aye and am grateful for your reports, Erestor. But for those few encouraging words I might well have given way to madness on this trek. Now I need only to see him, touch him, hear his voice once more. I cannot tell you…you have children?"

"Nay, I have never wed."

"Then I know no words sufficient to express the anxiety that grips a father's heart when one of his children is suffering, or the relief that flushes it out upon hearing he is improving."

"Aye, Thranduil, yet I must caution you not to expect too much," Erestor warned. "He is physically almost completely recovered, but the state of his soul is another matter. For that, you must take counsel with Elrond."

"For this have I come," Thranduil nodded in morose agreement. "While I am grateful for the diligent guard Elrond has maintained upon Legolas to forestall any new suicide attempts, I am dismayed to understand such is still necessary."

There was nothing beneficial Erestor could offer to counter that and silence fell between them. Indeed, the seneschal had been cautious in the reports sent to the King, describing only the closing of bodily wounds and the return of a more robust constitution. Nearly four weeks had passed since Rammas carried his brother across the Bruinen and Erestor was not certain any progress had been made regarding Legolas' broken heart. On that subject, Elrond was unusually reticent. Erestor could only hope this was due to discretion rather than pessimism.

Thranduil permitted Erestor the lead upon reaching the formal courtyard of the Last Homely House. His stride slowed as he evaluated the place where Legolas had found refuge, gazing upon the grand, columned portico, admiring the elegance of the stately manor, impressed by its carved friezes and decorative accents while yet a bit prejudiced against the blatantly Noldorin architecture. The massive doors, inscribed with the crests of both Eärendil and Tuor, the double insignias of the Swan's Wing and the Silmaril, stood open and the King wondered if the rumour was true. It was said they had never been closed since the founding of the realm in the middle of the Second Age. Elrond Half-elven, Gil-galad's bold standard-bearer, had become a scholar and healer after the Last Alliance and none in need were turned away.

Not particularly interested in Elrond's general policy on visitors, Thranduil was simply and sincerely grateful the Lord of Imladris had not barred Rammas and Legolas. He had made no effort to renew ties with the Noldorin folk after the debacle of the Last Alliance. There was good cause but he had never offered any explanation for slamming shut the forest gate.

Not that Adar ever extended more than the barest diplomatic courtesy anyway.

Elrond might easily have construed this isolation as a sign of hostility and would not have been entirely erroneous. Yet the reality was more grim than any outsider knew. There had been doubt, at least in Thranduil's mind, whether Greenwood could survive as a kingdom so great was the decimation of her population. Nearly two thirds of the woodland folk either died in battle or from grief in its aftermath. Of the remaining handful, almost a fourth left Middle-earth forever, bound for the Undying Lands, the immigrants Sindarin and sylvan alike.

Besides this exodus and on top of his personal sorrow, Thranduil faced two challenges for succession, one from his brother and one from an elleth claiming to be a direct descendant of Lenwë. Not even after the wearing turmoil of this contention was resolved had the King resumed contact with other realms, for the Necromancer attacked Amon Lanc and Oropher's fortress became the dread tower called Dol Guldur. Thranduil built a new stronghold far to the north, buried beneath a mountain and shielded by sylvan magic. Even this did not guarantee freedom for his people. There was no Watchful Peace under Greenwood's canopy.

Men saw fit to invade and settle in the midst of the woods, Orcs and Spiders multiplied while resources diminished. It took Oropher's young heir centuries to establish workable compromises within and without his kingdom and rebuild the once proud nation. Even before Thranduil wed, his people had become leery of outsiders. Needing to blame someone for all they had suffered, the woodland folk pointed to the weakness of Isildur and the arrogance of Gil-galad. By the time Legolas' naneth perished, over two thousand years later, the break was complete.

Erestor stood waiting in courteous patience while Thranduil's thoughts meandered through the past, obviously accustomed to the awe and appreciation his home inspired in newcomers, though there was nothing boastful or pretentious in his demeanour. The King smiled thinly, unable to produce more than this faint rendition of the friendly expression, his effort thwarted not by displeasure but heartache and fatigue. Before he could proceed up the broad marble steps, a sweep of gold flashed across his peripheral vision and in nearly the next instant a familiar voice hailed him.

"Ada!" Legolas called, jogging right through the formal flower beds, a smile on his face that plainly displayed the warring emotions at work in his soul.

"Legolas! Yavanna be praised," Thranduil responded, turning from the stairs to catch his youngest son in a strong but careful hold, latching onto his forearms as he scanned the pale, drawn face before him. He could not prevent his sight from glancing to the wrists beneath his clasp, but of course there was nothing to see. The gashes were healed and any evidence of the self-inflicted wounds judiciously hidden beneath the long sleeves of Legolas' silk shirt.

"I am well, Ada; do not fear." Legolas said, but he could not hide the tell-tale panting respiration his brief exertion caused. Then he caught his father searching for the signs of his madness and abject shame gripped him. Hastily he tried to pull free and was at once yanked into a crushing embrace.

"Nay, don't go from my side," pleaded Thranduil, nose buried in his son's golden tresses, inhaling the strong scent of the woods that clung to the gossamer strands. "These last many months I have known such fear I cannot describe it. I was wrong to let you from my sight. I must have been mad to permit you to leave Greenwood."

"I am sorry, Ada," Legolas whispered, squeezing back with all the strength he could raise, almost giddy with joy to have this fear squashed; his father was not fading. "I never meant to hurt you. I did not want to go."

"Elbereth, hen vaethoren, I know this," the King answered, though he understood fully the truth was something else. "You need not worry for me; I did not mean to burden you with my regrets." His desperate hold eased enough to peer into his son's blue eyes, shining with tears as surely as his own must be.

They both became still as he framed the fair face carefully, searching deep into Legolas' soul, past the walls and shields that easily stopped others, and found there the soul-wound even as he had dreaded. A harsh gasp left him and he pulled his son against his heart again, gently this time, protectively, wishing his physical presence could repair the damage in the delicate seam joining hroa and feä.

"I should never have let you out of my sight."

"Please, bring him inside, Aran Thranduil," a firm, quiet voice commanded and Thranduil turned to find the Lord of Imladris at the top of the stairs poised between the opened doors. "Please, that you may have the privacy such a reunion deserves."

Thranduil met the calm grey eyes, his gaze direct and frank, the depth of his gratitude plain for all to see. Yet this was not enough and he moved forward a pace, still keeping tight hold of Legolas' arm, and dropped on his knees, bowing his chin to his chest.

"Accept the humble thanks of a grateful father, Lord Elrond, inadequate though such words are to express the magnitude of what you have done. I am in your debt until the world changes, for you have returned to me that which is priceless and most dear to my heart. If there is any service Greenwood can render, or myself personally, you need only make it known and it shall be done instantly as though Manwë himself ordered it so."

"Ai! This is not necessary!" exclaimed Elrond, embarrassed and looking it, glancing about to see if anyone was observing, turning in helpless quandary to Erestor, who could only offer an elaborate shrug as he reversed his steps to assist Thranduil.

Of course there were many elves in the courtyard for word had gone out that Thranduil, last of the Sindarin Kings of old, the famous monarch of the secluded forest, was among them. Elrond had urged the King inside so to spare the harried father and his equally frazzled son the scrutiny of curious eyes. By now a small crowd had gathered in the courtyard and the soft murmur of appraising comment began to rise. Elrond hurried down the steps after his seneschal, halting as he caught sight of Legolas' expression, warm and smiling, as the prince bent and grasped his Ada's arm. Together he and Erestor hoisted the King of the Woodland Realm unceremoniously to his feet.

"No more of that, mellon," scolded Erestor. "We do not take kindly to such grovelling and kow-towing here in Imladris. Makes it seem we have ulterior motives for our policy of benevolent welcome to all. It is very nearly an insult, such obeisance from the leader of a foreign land, but I dare say Elrond will forgive it if you swear there will be no repeat of the objectionable behaviour." He grinned at the wide-eyed, red-faced King, who peered in dumbstruck dismay from him to Elrond to his son and back as he tried and failed to find words in answer.

"Erestor!" Elrond hissed, his rebuking scowl fierce. Before he could explain that it was his seneschal's idea of a joke, Thranduil regained his voice.

"Your pardon," he murmured, bowing low to Elrond, "I meant no offence, Hîren, and will not…"

"Ai! Ada, he is teasing you," Legolas leaned close and whispered loudly, blue eyes sparkling with mirth as they scanned the confused viridian irises returning his stare.

Thranduil looked to Erestor, who gave a deprecating dip of the head and a shrug, to Elrond, who looked ready to pummel his kinsman, and to the crowd where polite smiles and a chuckle or two confirmed his son's explanation. Yet it was again to Legolas' eyes he turned for answers and so glad was Thranduil to see happiness there he failed to experience any chagrin over the jest at his expense. His smile grew huge and he laughed, clasping Legolas on the shoulder while shaking an admonishing finger at Elrond's kinsman.

"What cheek!" he exclaimed, still laughing. "Yet I admit it feels good on the heart to be merry after so many months of solemnity and dissension. My thanks, Erestor, my thanks!"

A few of the gathered elves laughed and scolded Erestor, too, saying it was on his head if Greenwood and Imladris fell into enmity over his rogue tongue and wayward wit.

"Praise Varda," Elrond exhaled in relief. The one thing he hoped to avoid was igniting the volcanic temper legendary among Oropher's people. "Now if all the foolishness is behind us, I pray you will come inside and permit me to welcome you properly to the Last Homely House." Indeed, the harried lore-master was unwilling to wait for his guests to obey and escorted Thranduil up the stairs and through the door. Once inside he offered a deep bow of his own. "Mae govannen, Aran Thranduil. The House of Eärendil is honoured by the presence of the House of Oropher. Please, consider Imladris your home for as long as need demands."

"Well said, Lord Elrond, and I graciously accept your generous hospitality," Thranduil half-bowed, caught himself, met Legolas' eye, and the two broke into snickering glee as he righted himself. "Elo! While I wish the circumstances had not been so grim, I am genuinely pleased that Legolas is here. I can think of no place in all Middle-earth where he would find such good will."

"You are indeed gracious, Thranduil," Erestor said. "It is a difficult job, keeping the valley in high spirits, but I give it my all."

"Erestor, I am as willing to endure your jesting as anyone, yet I think it goes too far to claim such familiarity with our guest," Elrond was ready to have Glorfindel confine his cousin to his rooms.

"Nay, that was by my request," Thranduil interposed. "I pray you will call me by name, also, Hîren."

"Oh," Elrond nodded gravely, flustered and rather thrown off. The King was nothing at all as the most recent intelligence described him. Said to be mercurial and ambivalent, remote and taciturn for days only to suddenly explode over some minor annoyance, this ellon expressed almost the complete opposite of such a character. Elrond suddenly decided he was being ridiculous to find this off-putting and smiled with genuine felicity. "Certainly, as you wish, Thranduil. Indeed, formality is a hindrance in present circumstances. Please, no titles for me, either."

"So be it, Elrond," Thranduil smiled, still clutching at his son's arm as, indeed, he had been through all the permutations of introductions and greetings. "My mare needs care; is there someone who can see to her? And I left my pack behind as well."

"Is it Emmelin?" asked Legolas, stretching the connection as far as possible in hopes of poking his head back outside to see. His father did not loosen his hold and he glanced back, annoyed. "Ada, let go."

"Nay, nay, I don't think so, not just yet. Come here, hen vell." Thranduil tugged insistently and displayed his first hint of a frown as Legolas stubbornly pulled back.

"Valar, I just want to see her," complained Legolas, struggling to worm free of the confining grip. "Let go."

"Legolas, you can see her later." Thranduil added his other hand and held on. "I have only just arrived after longs days fearing never to see you alive again. My eyes have not beheld you enough to believe the proof in front of them, hênen."

"I am not a child," snapped Legolas but obeyed, returning to stand beside his father, head down, cheeks adorned with garish blotches of crimson, blue eyes flashing though they would meet none of his elder's.

The silence succeeding this display was fraught with tension, electrified with the energy of Legolas' thwarted will and seething anger.

"Forgive me," Thranduil removed one hand and used it to gently soothe his son's rigid shoulders. "It is not my intent to treat you like an elfling; I just need to feel your presence, ion. Please, do not go from me yet. Indulge your Ada's whim."

His honest words reached straight into Legolas' heart and smothered the rising fury instantly. The young prince turned a warm smile upon his father and leaned against him, letting his head rest on the King's shoulder.

"Aye, it is no burden you ask of me," he admitted quietly, glancing sheepishly at the two Noldorin Lords to learn what they might make of his oafish behaviour. Both had eyes bearing the bright sheen of emotion and smiles both tender and compassionate. Legolas passed his arm about his father's waist and stood straight again.

"It might be best if we allow you two sometime apart," Elrond said. "Thranduil, I have readied a suite for you across from Legolas' rooms. He can show you the way and acquaint you with the rest of the house. After such a taxing journey, you may wish to bathe and rest for a time."

"Aye, Ada, I will guide you to the bathing pools," Legolas agreed, already moving down the hallway, arm still linked through Thranduil's.

"What haste!" intoned the King in amusement. "Is my odour offensive?"

"Aye," Legolas arched a brow and let his gaze sweep over the ragged figure. Never had he seen his father this unkempt, not even after a sortie amid the spider colonies. "You haven't washed since you left Greenwood and it is evident to almost all the senses."

"Imp!" laughed Thranduil, shaking his head. "I had other concerns occupying my thoughts."

"As it should be," agreed Erestor, chuckling. "I will have the noon meal brought to your quarters, Thranduil, and we will join you both then."

"I beg you will not leave your Adar's side, Legolas," inserted Elrond quickly, for father and son were almost to the stairwell. The command stopped them both and they turned shocked expressions upon his. Elrond sighed and offered an rueful smile. While he regretted injecting this sombre note into the chipper mood, he was not prepared to have Legolas slip away and make a fourth try for Námo's realm. "Your word, young one,"he insisted.

"Given," Legolas bit off the promise and darted up the steps, mortified, face ashen and eyes dark with afflicted gloom.

"He understands," Erestor offered, seeing his kinsman's bereft expression, "and will not fault you for it, no matter how sharp the sting of that knowledge."

"Aye, he has not complained once about the unending supervision of his every action," Elrond nodded. "I would like to say I trust him, but at this point I cannot risk that courtesy."

"So it is as I suspected; you have not yet touched upon the source of his despair."

"Touched upon it and more," Elrond corrected, "but it is an affliction with very deep roots and as resistant as any I have ever encountered. I dare not leave so much as a fibre of its essence lest it rejuvenate and sink its murderous tendrils even deeper."

"Ai! You frighten me, Elrond," Erestor indeed was pale. "I thought his spirits much improved when last I sat with him."

"Oh, he is well versed in presenting a believable facade of normal, quiet reserve. Remember, he has been practising the role for almost all his lifetime," Elrond nodded. "Underneath, his spirit is dimming. Only when roused to anger does his aura shine forth."

"Nay, I see it plainly enough," argued Erestor.

"Do you?" Elrond peered at his kinsman closely and saw that Erestor was entirely serious. His brows rose in speculative interest. "That is promising, for he does not make the effort for me or for Forn'waew. He is responding to you, mellon vrun, and we must make the most of it henceforth."

"How do you mean?"

"The timing is right," Elrond murmured thoughtfully, wandering down the hall toward his study, knowing Erestor would follow. "Thranduil and I have much to discuss and cannot do so in Legolas' presence. His health is improving daily and he grows impatient within the confines of his rooms and the garden beyond. I need you to become his guide to the valley, Erestor, his very shadow. His friend and more. He finds your presence pleasing; I want you to enhance that sensation." To Elrond's utter surprise, Erestor balked at the opportunity to court the young prince. In fact, his kinsman looked angry.

"Nay, that would not be right."

"Why not?" demanded Elrond. "You and I both know what the next step in this cure requires. I would have this suitor be you. He is already drawn to you even if he hasn't realised it and you…of course!" Elrond broke off abruptly.

"What? What is it?"

"Your words, Erestor, your words reached him," Elrond was smiling and nodding as he settled a hand on his seneschal's shoulder. "The day he languished in fevered dreams, he heard your quiet avowal on behalf of his injured heart."

"I see," Erestor sighed, neither pleased nor hopeful, and stepped from beneath his cousin's grip.

"Why do you resist?" asked Elrond, his tone warm and soft for he thought perhaps he knew. "If it is because of our time together then be assured my heart will not resent your actions."

Erestor stared at Elrond in dour disappointment. He could plainly detect the level of interest Elrond felt for Thranduil's son and had not believed the wise lore-master could so easily hide it from himself. Self deception and denial, he supposed, were immune to experience and common sense. He scowled and shook his head, heading for the exit.

"Elrond, you are a blind fool," he muttered over his shoulder and left his kinsman to consider that in private.

TBC

The Names:

RAMMAS: Wall

TALAGAN: Harper

MUINDORADAR: Uncle (brother-father)


FORN'WAEW: North Wind

SAMMAR: Neighbour

GILION: Star Son

NOTE: I know there seems to be a huge inconsistency in time revealed here. Legolas and Rammas are both currently UNDER 300 years old, but their father's thoughts indicate that his marriage took place early in the Third Age. There is a legitimate reason for this and time will reveal it, I promise. The AU for this story is a little different from others I have formulated for Greenwood and for Thranduil. Someone once asked me to write a Thranduil story, and while I haven't done it yet, this tale belongs to that unwritten, though fully conceived, one. I promise to load up a complete timeline and synopsis of Greenwood's history once the story is complete. Can't do it now, too many spoilers, but the general time for FL is TA 2700, which the trouble with Dunnland gave away. Thanks for reading and bearing with my little foibles :D

Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.