Golden One: Story of a Prince

Thank you to all who gave their input to my previous predicament. I’ve decided to just keep things as I wrote them, with a slightly alternate universe. Thanks again. Love you.
.

**********************************************

Sunlight filtered through the trees, creating shafts of golden rays to filter down into the deep intricacies of the forest known as Greenwood. The elven realm lay basking in tranquility and silence in the late hours of the morning. The stillness of the solace ruptured slightly as a crow cried in the distance. The bird’s call faded, enveloping the forest into yet another calm. The forest fell into a drowsy slumber, awaiting its inhabitants to coax it back to life. Of a sudden, the sereneness was shattered once again as a high hissing note shot through the wood’s aura. A moment passed, then another. The note was heard again. And again. The notes were growing more frequent, and more urgent.

Legolas stood in the training yard within the center of the woodland realm, his bow held up before him, an arrow held firmly against the bowstring. His eyes narrowed, lips parted as he panted silently. Abruptly hissing an intake of breath he released the arrow in a swift movement. The arrow sang into the air, producing a high-pitched resonance to sound throughout the entire wood. With a hard ‘thump’, the arrow dove itself into the wooden target fastened to the side of a large tree, alongside a number of other arrows; their penetrations so close their points nearly came into contact with one another.

Even as the arrow had begun to fly into the air, the prince and already drawn another arrow to his bow, and poised in still tension, waiting to release the following shot. Sapphire eyes narrowed somewhat, aiming their target once more. He released the arrow.

Minutes passed, and soon the wooden target became askew from the overwhelming amount of arrows driven into it. Breathing somewhat tiredly from the constant exertion, the prince reached behind him without hesitation to retrieve another arrow from the quiver fastened onto his back. He paused suddenly, as he found his quiver empty. Lowering his arms down to his sides in dismay, he gripped the handle of his bow tightly, unsure of his next purpose. His mind swam with fatigue, yet he refused to let exhaustion overcome him. The previous night held hours worth of a dreamless nevertheless fitful sleep. Awing ing that morning, he’d felt as if sleep had claimed him not at all, and that he’d been sprinting long into the night.

At the early hours of dawn, he’d stolen himself to the training yard, eager to set his mind at ease. The art of archery had never failed to soothe his nerves. With relentless speed and precision, he could fire arrow after arrow precisely into his target without uncertainty, unaware of all other things. His mother’s unsettling words from the preceding evening had still soared through his being, unnerving his manner. Bow and arrow were the only current remedies for his discomfort.

Clenching his jaw passively, he let out a deep sigh, and briefly closed his eyes, feeling the aura of the Eldar flow around him smoothly and calm him.

“If your skills with a bow and arrow continue to improve thus, you will by far surpass any warrior in my realm.”

Legolas opened his eyes in startled discomfiture. He had been too consumed in hisnkinnking to feel the approach of another. His ears immediately flushed a pale crimson slightly as he recognized the possessor of the deep voice. Craning his head slowly over his neck, he acknowledged his father’s presence reluctantly with a small nod.

King Thranduil stood at the edge of the yard, adorned in a burgundy tunic; a garland of forest leaves crowning his brow. The King gave a weak smile in the direction of his son. His manner seemed as discomfited as Legolas’.

Legolas turned his head back around, wishing to hide the growing flush slowly creeping down his neck.

Culmîr nîn. . . . .meleth. . .

The passion infused growl his father had muttered the night before to his lover still rang uncomfortably through the prince’s ears. He found it difficult to attain eye contact with the King. His eyes strayed lower to his bow still resting in his hand, and he fingered it awkwardly, wishing to maintain his attention away from his father. From the corner of his sight, he perceived the King venturing closer at aw, cw, cautious walk. Reluctantly, he raised his eyes to meet his father’s. To Legolas’ surprise, a faint blush crept up towards the King’s tipped ears as well.

Placing a hand on his son’s shoulder, Thranduil meekly guided his son from the yard, and into the neighboring gardens. The gardens of Greenwood were breathtaking to behold. Silver trees lined in long rows, with vines of green leaves and blossoms intertwining within the branches. Pale, wooden benches lay interspersed throughout the garden. Numerous elves could be seen roaming its region, or perhaps glancing through a book or sketching quietly. It was to a nearby bench that the King guided his son and motioned for him to be seated.

Legolas unconsciously bit his lip worriedly, watching his father’s gaze as the King sat down slowly beside him.

He knows. He knows that I saw him. He knows that I know. . .

The prince gave an audible swallow, awaiting his father to speak.

Thranduil seemed at a loss for words. He opened his mouth to speak, then, thinking better of doing so, closed his mouth once more. It took several moments for the King to finally find his words.

“Legolas, I - . . . . your naneth spoke to me this morning.” The King uttered softly.

Legolas nodded in understanding, gripping his bow tightly that lay on his lap. Thranduil sighed, guilt lining his light eyes, yet he continued,

“I – I must apologize. We – I was quite careless last night. I’m afraid I consumed a little more wine than I am usually accustomed to.” Thranduil tiredly rubbed at his eyes. “I’d always meant to tell you of – of relationships of those of the same masculinity, just not until you were. . . . .you were married. . . .I suppose. Your naneth and I, we never intended to cause any harm to you, Legolas.”

Legolas nodded and replied in a slightly strangled voice,

“Naneth said as much last night. And I understand, I just – I don’t know what. . .” The prince sighed in exasperation as he trailed off helplessly. He found it quite difficult to speak to his father whom he had seen in the throes of passion with a male only the prior evening.

Father and son sat in the garden for a lapse of moments, silently brooding each in their own thoughts and reflections. Their golden hair shone alike in bright luminescence, sapphire eyes full of confliction and wandering.

“Legolas,” Thranduil ventured in an unsteady voice, “Your. . . .knowledge of my relationship with – with Culmîr. . . . .none other knows save your naneth, not even Barasûl. And I – we. . . would appreciate it greatly if you did not divulge this knowledge to -”

“I shall speak of this to no one.” Legolas finished for him. His knuckles turned pale as he gripped his bow more tightly. He had always known his father to be a strong and assertive elven K To To see him stammer with apprehension and uneasiness now was all the more unsettling. Breathing in a shaky sigh, Legolas managed,

“Adar, if you’ll excuse me. . . .I-” He stood up uncertainly, his father’s eyes following him resignedly.

As Thranduil gave a nod of permission for his son to depart, Legolas quickly turned to head back to the training yard.

Valar, will I ever be able to face my adar again?

Legolas hoped that, with time, the newfound barrier that had been raised between himself and his father would eventually fade.

After all, he is still the father who raised me, is he not?

The prince found himself once again entering the training yard, eager to practice with his bow once more. At the edge of the yard, he froze. A group of young elflings had accessed the yard, sparring swords and diminutive bows in their hand, eager for their lessons to begin. Their instructor stood farther to the right, curreninstinstructing a young one on the proper stances of firing an arrow. With a panicked jolt, Legolas recognized the instructor. His dark, auburn hair, which had been loose and untamed the night before, was now plaited securely behind his head in a professional manner. His strong and proud countenance gave him an eminence that demanded respect.

Culmîr, who had taken a large part in the upbringing of Legolas, had been his father’s lover all this time. Legolas knew immediately tha wis wished to speak of this pristine knowledge with the darkling elder no more than he had with his own father. The prince slowly took a step back, aspiring to vacate the yard. No sooner had he taken a step back, when Culmîr’s silver eyes suddenly shifted up to capture the golden prince into his gaze.

Legolas’ blue eyes widened. His face flushed crimson and he felt as if he’d been caught doing something that was forbidden. He found himself frozen as he stared across the cleartowatoward his elder. Culmîr, after a moment’s thought, swiftly acknowledged the prince with a tight smile and an awkward nod before returning to instructing his pupil.

Dear Eru, he is aware of my knowledge as well?!

Sighing in helplessness, Legolas fled.

***********************

Queen Lómësil was seated pleasantly within the private garden near the royal dwelling, sketching the petals of an amethyst blossom intertwined within a nearby beech tree. Lil hil had proved a skilled artist indeed for she had painted elaborate and beautiful portraits of her children, which hung amiably in the throne room of Thranduil.

She sat now; gazing down upon her drawing with a critical eye, a long tress of her bright hair tumbled down across her white shoulder. Of a sudden she glanced up and turned her attention behind her. An understanding smile donned her face as she quietly placed aside her drawing.

Thranduil, a defeated look glazing in his eyes, made his way quietly toward his wife to sit beside her on the lounging seat. Husband and wife sat together in silent companionship for a while before a word was spoken. The heavy silence was shortened by the Queen.

“Did you speak with him, Thranduil?” she asked bluntly, yet gently. The King gave a quick nod and stared off into nothing in particular.

“Yes.” More silence followed. Lómësil gave an impatient glance towards the heavens before she persisted,

“And what did you tell him, herven?”

“I told him. . . . .I told him that I was regretful of the circumstances in whhe dhe discovered the truth and I had meant him no harm.” Thranduil blew out a sigh, now asserting his gaze downwards amongst the grassy earth.

“How did he respond?” the queen questioned quietly whilst taking her husband’s hand and squeezing it comfortingly.

The King visibly tightened his jaw and shook his head slightly before looking into his wife’s eyes imploringly.

“He could not even remain in my presence overlong, Lómësil. He fled from me as a rabbit flees a fox.”

The queen nodded understandingly. She had expected as much. Placing her other hand on her husband’s as well, she smiled confidently.

“Give him time, Thranduil. This distance will close between you in time. He has had quite a shock,” she nudged her husband lightly, “Imagine discovering your own adar with anothale ale when you had never before heard of such a thing, believing all the while that your naneth was his only bedmate.”

The King nodded resignedly, though a flicker of pain blazed within his sapphire eyes for an instant at the recollection of his own elders. King Oropher had reigned as ruler of Greenwood for only a short span of time before his bonded maid, Melwen, had been caught unaware towards the border of the forest by a horde of ruthless orcs, and killed. Blinded by his grief and hanging upon the perilous precipice of fading, Oropher had made arrangements at once to pass over West. Upon his father’s departure, Thranduil had appointed himself King as the only heir to the realm.

Thranduil vaguely remembered the fond admiration that his father had held for his mother. Their love was that as he felt with Culmîr. The King nodded slowly as he began to understand his son’s distress, for he knew that he himself would be indeed shocked if he should ever learn his father had kept another lover from the eyes of others.

“Perhaps you are right, herves.” He smiled at Lómësil, gratitude causing his smile to enhance his crystalline eyes. His eyes lowered downward once more to the ground, and he noticed the sketch the queen had been drawing moments earlier. Picking it up, his gaze roved over it appreciatively. “This is stunning work, Lómësil.” He glanced to his queen beside him, who smirked sheepishly, a faint blush tainting the tips of her ears.

“I fehat hat it seems rather rushed,” she stated skeptically.

“No. ‘Tis perfect.” The King smirked, “This shall far surpass any abominable scratch I shall ever hope to achieve.”

The small, private garden rang with the merry laughter of the queen, and the Kingiseaisease was comforted by the joy of his closest friend.

***********************************

Legolas sat in the dining hall, absent-mindedly churning his breakfast grain with his morning spoon. His earlier flight from the training yard had eventually led him to the cavern of Thranduil, and he’d decided perhaps he should have a bit of breakfast to clear his mind. He’d quickly persuaded one of the cooking maids to spare him a delayed morning meal, and they’d gladly obliged. His thoughts jerked to awareness suddenly as he heard an elleth give a loud shriek from the end of the hall. He half stood, ready to defend against whatever had caused the elleth’s distress, when he jadedly sat down once more, a tired smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Apparently, Galenril had been “practicing” with her bow and had shot an arrow directly into a nearby drum of wine, causing a steady stream of the violet liquid to arc into the air and spatter onto the floor.

He watched on as an elf-maid scolded the young princess, warning that the queen was sure to hear of this and began to storm out of the room. He glanced downward toward his meal once more as the sounds of his sister chasing after the elleth and pleading for a pardon from her mother’s wrath faded from the hall. Casually grasping his goblet, he swished a bit of wheat milk inside his mouth, savoring its sweet taste as he set down his goblet once more. Only a few others remained in the hall, the majority of them struggling to repair the drum of leaking wine, and he felt the beginnings of solace creeping upon him as he sat there in pleasurable silence, sighing in contentment.

“On a beautiful morning such as this, why do you remain inside where the sun shines not, prince?”

Legolas glanced to his right to see the Lórien elf with the silver-kissed hair approach him. Color flooded Thilion’s face, along with a faint sheen of sweat upon his brow.

“’Quel amrun, Thilion.” Legolas nodded respectfully as the elf sat himself beside him, though a tinge of exasperation flickered within his blue depths, and he abruptly lowered his gaze to his forgotmealmeal lying before him.

Valar, please. Bid him to leave me be!

If the Valar had heard such a plea, however, they gave no acknowledgment, for Thilion remained seated beside him, smirking in his impish manner as if he knew something Legolas did not. Needless to point out, it was very unsettling. The prince chanced a gaze to rove the being beside him. Strands of Thilion’s silver locks had come undone from the clasp fastened to the nape of his neck and they lay in a disheveled, yet not uncomely manner around his face. He was adorned in a forest green tunic of the Greenwood folk, with a slight gray trimming. His chest rose and fell rather heatedly. The elf had obviously been participating in rather vigorous activities only moments before.

Taking note of the prince’s questioning glances, Thilion promptly began,

“Your lord Culmîr bade me assist him in sparring with the young ones to improve their training. I must say, prince, the skill of your people is rather practiced. Never before have I been so winded by mere elflings!” He then laughed heartily, causing Legolas to laugh appreciatively as well.

Perhaps he is harmless after all. . . .

As their laughter died however, so did the mirth in Thilion’s eyes, which dissolved into a smoldering glare.

“You did not answer my question, golden one.” He questioned softly. “What is it that you are hiding from. . .or who?”

Legolas raised his eyes to glare directly into the light blue eyes of this unwelcome companion. He sought to decipher the thoughts harbored in the other’s mind, yet he came upon a solid barrier. Obviously, Thilion had learned to bar his thoughts from all others, a skill which took a great deal of training. With that, Legolas hastily stood, wishing to leave this somewhat devious elf behind him.

“I was merely indulging in a late breakfast, Thilion, now if you’d be so kind as to excuse me, I bid you a good day.” As Legolas began to stride away, the Lorien elf called after apologetically,

“Come now, prince, I meant you no transgression!”

Atlve lve paces away, Legolas halted, as he realized the rudeness of slighting a guest of his own kingdom. His mother would scold him endlessly if she saw him now. Reluctantly he turned around in the direction where Thilion remained seated at the table and still smirking. Once he noted that he’d caught the prince’s attention, he rose from the table to stride towards him.

“Come, prince, walk with me. I fear I’ve been rather lonely this past morning.”

Legolas’ eyes narrowed.

“I thought you had become quite friendly with my elder brother. Perhaps he can entertain you.” the prince returned with a bit of slyness of his own. Thilion’s eyebrows raised in amusement before he replied,

“I’m afraid he departed on sentry patrol during the early hours of dawn. He requested my accompaniment of course, though I informed him I wished to explore the further beauties of your. . . .realm.”

Legolas’ mistrust deepened and he gazed up at the slightly taller elf a long while before he curtly replied,

“Very well. We will walk.”

Exiting the royal cavern , both elves walked in amiable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Legolas silently praised Eru for not having to speak any longer. He found speaking, at the moment, to be very trying and tiresome.

Glancing to his left, he saw that the celebration pavilion had been removed and there was no longer any sign that a festivity had been held the night before.

The path that they chose to walk upon was clear of any homes or talans. Forgetting that Thilion still walked silently beside him, Legolas’ mind drifted.

Eventually, I must speak with Culmîr. It is inevitable. I fear I was rather rude to him earlier, blundering off the way I did, without even a smile or greeting. Though I wonder how our relationship will be affected. Will I ever be able to gaze upon him again without seeing him as solely my adar’s lover? Will he-

Legolas’ thoughts struck back into reality. He’d felt another presence in his thoughts, though it had been fainFurrFurrowing his gaze, he suddenly remembered the sly elf who was accompanying him on this walk. Snapping his gaze to the right, he saw Thilion gazing up into the trees, eyes lost in reverie. Legolas shame-facedly returned his gaze to the path before him. Perhaps he had only imagined the unwanted presence. He was after all, on an excessive edge this day.

The two ellon walked on in silence for a while before they came upon a small glassy pond. Without another word, Thilion set himself down by the water’s edge to silently drift his hand across the glass surface, creating tiny ripples. Unknowing if he should speak or not, Legolas sat himself down as well, though he did not touch the water. He simply sat and gazed upon Thilion, who was unaware of his stare.

The prince found it extremely difficult to determine Thilion’s age. At times, he looked youthful and only just past his majority, yet now, gazing wisely upon the stream, he looked learned and established. The Lórien elf had a strong jaw and graceful cheekbones, with full crimson lips.

Thilion slowly withdrew his hand from the stream, watching intently as drops cascaded down his fingers to drip back into the water, creating more ripples. He slowly turned to gaze at the prince, a warm smile on his lips. This warm smile put Legolas at ease, for the slyness was gone for now.

“When did you arrive in Greenwood?” questioned Legolas, being the first to speak since they set out. “It has indeed been long since we have had a guest stay more than a night’s worth.”

Thilion backed away from the water and leaned back to rest on his elbows, his long limbs stretched in front of him. Gazing up into the canopy of trees, he replied,

“I arrived two weeks past.”

Legolas waited to hear more, yet Thilion remained quiet. After an extensive spell, he finally continued.

“My purpose for coming was not that of a messenger, nor a maker of maps. I simply wish to explore. Middle-earth is a vast and beautiful land with extraordinary sights to see. . . . . .and I intend to see them.” His eyes roved down from the heavens to gain eye contact with the prince.

Legolas noted the pale blue eyes once more, and found himself noticing that they were not the same shade of blue. The elf’s right eye was more of a pallor blue, whilst the left was a darker stormy blue. He had never before seen such a variance in an elf’s eyes before. It was truly striking. Thilion smiled knowingly,

“You have striking eyes as well, Legolas.”

Legolas swallowed deeply.

“Thank you,” he replied in a strangled voice. The prince suddenly felt very hazy and warm.

Am I unwell?

Legolas decided he was not unwell, for he felt ill not at all. All the while, Thilion continued to smile at him, eyes shining with exuberance. The prince tore his eyes away from the multi-hued eyes, and noticed the pronounced lining of the other’s jaw, his throat, and also the collar of the other’s tunic, which lay slightly open to reveal a defined collarbone.

Oh dear Valar. Am I mad?

Legolas looked hastily away into the trees, not really noticing them.

“Good. . . .”

Legolas could barely distinguish the nearly inaudible murmur Thilion had just muttered, though it sounded as if he had decided something. . . . . .something which had made him rather pleased. The prince wished to know what the elf had meant, and yet he did not. Perhaps he would not wish to know.

Turning his eyes once more back towards Thilion, he managed,

“Perhaps we should return.”

Once again, Thilion pulled a sly smirk, and raised a delicate eyebrow,

“Yes, prince. Let’s.”

The two elves then stood and walked quietly back towards the heart of the realm.

****************************************

Thank you so much for reading. Reviews are like money to me. Sometimes I even like reviews more than money (I know, weird huh?), so please review. It makes me feel good inside.


herven - husband
herves - wife
'Quel amrun - good morning