Golden One: Story of a Prince

Thank you very much to those who have been reading my interpretation of Legolas’ story. I hope that you enjoy the following chapter.

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

Soft, thrumming rains fell placidly from the dark sky above to shower the elven realm of Greenwood with their plump, swollen drops. A low hum of thunder shuddered lightly against the heavens. Quick flashes of lightening pulsed a sudden light to renew the kingdom to brightness despite the fall of eventide.

Within the large cavern of Thranduil, the majority of the Kingdom’s inhabitants sat contentedly and pleasantly inside the dining hall, feasting merrily, yet quietly. The calm lull of the mild storm baring its gentle anger beyond the cavern walls seemed to create a general calming effect on the elves. On occasion, they would perhaps speak quietly amongst themselves and inquire as to their companion’s well-being or their enjoyment of the meal, though for the larger part, most were silent.

However, at the head of the table, where the members of the royal family seated themselves, not a word had been spoken the entire evening. King Thranduil merely stared off into nothing in particular, drumming his fingers nervously on the wooden table’s edge, and every once in a while taking a quick and cautious sip of wine. His plate remained untouched. Queen Lómësil beside him sat sternly upright, partaking in swift, ladylike bite of her meal; a small, pleasant smile remaining on her features. Her light eyes taking in each of her family in turn and smiling toward them; seemingly hoping to restore peace and comfort to the awkward demeanor that had settled. Culmîr, to the King’s right, kept his eyes glued to his plate and ate quietly and passively.
Legolas sat to Culmîr’s right, his eyes furrowed as he stared podly dly into his goblet of wine, thinking and reflecting.

The only being who remained lighthearted and at ease in their presence was Galenril. Her wide eyes shifted inquiringly between her loved ones, curiosity shining in her young, sapphire gaze. Whilst a wondering expression was still perplexing her countenance, the young elf maid suddenly turned towards her mother.

“Nana, when is Barasûl coming home?”

Lómësil quickly glanced upwards; clearly thankful the uncomfortable silence had been broken. The Queen cleared her throat before answering.

“I believe henot not due upon return for another few weeks yet, hun nîn,” Lómësil consoled her daughter.

Galenril gave a small nod of understanding before she returned to consuming her supper, and strove to secure the contents of her stew from falling onto her lap, which had already occurred a few times during the span of the evening, though thankfully her elders had been too preoccupied to notice.

A heavy silence settled itself upon the small company once more. Legolas strove to keep his expression nonchalant and calm; which was in fact a striking contrary to what he truly felt. The prince had pointedly focused his attentions anywhere but towards his father and Culmîr, sitting beside him. He’d gazed upwards to the large tapestry atlas of Middle-earth suspended against the far cavern wall and also peered into his wine as if searching for something; therefore, projecting that his mind was completely elsewhere than in his father and tutor’s company.

The prince bit the corner of his lower lip uncomfortably as he begun to feel Culmîr attempting to gain eye contact with him. The elder ellon was peering at him expectantly, awaiting Legolas’ attentions. Legolas then attempted to occupy himself by seemingly dropping his dinner cloth onto the floor and picking it up. It soon became perceptible to everyone, including Galenril, that Legolas was making a point of avoiding his tutor. The prince sighed inwardly.

Ai, I do not wish to slight him, yet I am afraid that once I look on him, I will merely regain the vision of himself in my adar’s embrace. . . . .

With a slight hesitance, Legolas turned himself to look into darkling elf’s shadowy silver eyes.

Culmîr’s disposition softened vaguely as he came upon the prince’s gaze. Absent-mindedly twirling his dinner knife between his forefingers, the tutor began,

“Legolas, I was wondering if I could speak with you later this evening. Perhaps following the meal?”

Legolas’ swift eyes leapt downward to see the elder elf’s hand slightly shaking whilst holding the dining utensil. Licking his lips anxiously, the prince glanced upward to see his father give him a short assertive nod.

Adar wishes me to speak with him. . .

He glanced further to the right to see his mother nodding and smiling encouragingly.

Naneth as well. . . .

Reverting his gaze to Culmîr, Legolas quickly swallowed his qualms and smiled warmly.

“Very well Culmîr. We shall speak.”

The royal company then continued the meal with a newfound peace and comfort, though Legolas stared down at his meal nervously.

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

After the evening meal, Culmîr and Legolas excused themselves from the hall. The elves paused at the exit way from the cavern, taking note of the storm that had grown harsher in the passing hour. Rains thundered down relentlessly through the clearings in the thick canopy of trees, creating a thick veil in the areas beneath the clearings.

Culmîr glanced over his shoulder to Legolas and commanded gently,

“Come.”

The darkling elder then exited the cavern, followed closely by the elven prince. The two made their way stealthily through the humid forest, avoiding the areas through which rain down poured persistently. Legolas gazed into the forest, wishing for the solitude of his own talon where he could lay peacefully and dream of the sea. However, he determinedly and reverentially followed his elder into the wood. Every now and again, Culmîr would gaze back towards Legolas quickly, assuring himself that the prince was still following him.

Eventually, the two elves came upon a large hut resting beside a considerably sized beech tree. The pale bark from which the home was made glied sed softly with the reminiscence of rain. Culmîr approached the entrance to pull back a heavy velvet drapery, revealing a large room within. The large space inside included a spacious bed towards one corner, unmade. In the farther corner sat a large wooden desk, papers and scrolls scattered atop it chaotically. A quill lay against the edge; an ink stain protruding from its tip. The wall towards the rear of the home boasted a number of weaponries lining it. A large golden bow and quiver hung to the far right, whilst twin sparring swords crossed in the center. To the far left, a large broad sword stood leaning against the wooden wall, its hilt glinting secretively.

This was not the first time Legolas had entered Culmîr’s abode. He’d been there many a time, and always, his eyes would linger upon the large broad sword, wondering of the circumstances of when it had been previously used. When he had been younger, Culmîr would occasionally let him grasp it in his hands, though it took a great deal of strength. The sword had captured the prince’s interest not only for its beauty, but for its reason. . . .purpose. Why did Culmîr have in his possession such a sword, when elves generally carried weapons of light and quick stature?

Though the room lay in darkness, Legolas could easily make out every nuance of the space with keen eyes. Of a sudden, an abrupt pulse of lightening shone its wrath, creating the room to brighten with an eerie flicker. A short time after, a low growl of thunder was heard, belatedly accompanying its counterpart. The sound of the storm was muffled swiftly as Legolas lowered the drapery over the entranceway, barring the outside world. Moments later, Culmîr knelt to the floor to light a fire for light and warmth.

An orange spark flickered in the wood for a moment before swelling into a comfortably crackling fire. A steady stream of smoke snaked its way towards the ceiling and through a small shaft leading towards the heavens. Legoals felt his body warm contentedly as the smell of burning beech wafted through the air pleasantly.

Culmîr stood, his eyes beginning to furrow as his gaze strayed to the untidy desk and unkept bed.

“Forgive me, Legolas. It has indeed been a while since I have thought to tidy my home.” The elder smirked good-naturedly, attempting at humor to lift their spirits.

“’Tis quite alright,” Legolas replied promptly and returned the smile. He moved his eyes downward towards the bed. The sheets lay in tangled masses, whilst the pillows withheld ample indentations. Legolas could not keep his mind from wondering if Culmîr and his father had ever made love within that bed. . . . . .most likely.

Ai, I must not dwell on that. . .

The two elves’ shadows flickered and twitched against the wall with every licking flame from the fire. The prince took notice of how much larger the shadow of his elder seemed than that of his own. ‘Twas no doubt since Culmîr stood nearer to the fire.

Culmîr stood, merely gazing at the prince as if studying him. His dark hair was slightly damp from their previous trek through the wet wood. Loose, wavy tendrils had formed around his face from the humidity.

He almost looks as he did yester evening. . .Ai! Why can I not cease to dwell on the memory?!

The prince exasperatedly rubbed his face with his hands; groaning frustratedly.

Culmîr at once noticed the prince’s distress and quickly bade him sit down. Tiredly, Legolas strode across the room to plop himself down upon the wooden chair set before the desk. He nervously cracked his knuckles and glared at the floor. Moments passed silently as the prince sat wearily and his elder stood quietly before him.

“Do you resent me, Legolas?”

The soft inquiry had been nearly inaudible, yet pain and apprehension had lined the tone heatedly. Legolas looked up into his elder’s eyes that seemed to glisten in the dull luminescence of the fire.

“Resent you? How could I?” the prince croaked, his voice breaking awkwardly.

Culmîr knelt before the prince to become eye-level.

“Long have I perceived you as a son, Legolas. From the moment you were born to this very moment, I have loved you.” He placed both of his hands to rest on the prince’s shoulders. “I was wrong to keep such a thing from you, and I never, not once, meant-”

“-to hurt me. Yes, Adar and Naneth spoke to me as well, Culmîr, and I understand.” Legolas finished for him. He opened his mouth to continue, and then shut it resignedly.

“What is it you wish to say?” Culmîr prompted. “Speak with me, Legolas, I am here.”

Legolas raised his weary eyes. The sapphire depths were flooded with confliction.

“I. . . . .I find it difficult to gaze upon you or my adar for overlong.”

Culmîr returned to a standing position and sighed heavily. He turned and paced towards his bed to grasp a half empty bottle of wine resting beside it. The darkling elf tiredly took a swig before answering.

“I can understand. ‘Tis something you have never known before. Naturally, you can not fully understand our relationship.”

“I suppose. . .” Legolas returned quietly. “Culmîr, do you love him?”

The suddenness of the question caused Culmîr to raise his eyebrows in surprise. He lowered the wiottlottle to the bed before answering.

“Yes, yes I do love him, Legolas. . . . . .with all of my heart.” He uttered the last quietly.

Legolas gazed downward with a melancholy expression gracing his features, until he uttered softly,

“I envy it,”

Culmîr strode closer.

“What is it that you envy?”

“Love.”

“Love?”

“Yes. When I saw you last night. . . . . . I was troubled, yes, however I was moved in a way. Your love is truly deep and I fear I shall never experience such a blessing.” The prince’s voice trailed away silently. For a moment it seemed as though he would w yet yet he maintained a solid composure.

Culmîr emitted a small, remorse smile before walking silently toward the grieving prince and softly lifting his chin to meet his gaze.

“Do not worry overmuch, golden one. The day will come when another will claim your heart, and you will claim their heart in return. An ocean of love and adventure awaits you, prince.”

Legolas smiled.

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

Legolas started towards his talon wearily. Sleep seemed ready to claim at any moment. He smiled, reflecting his time with Culmîr. The darkling elf had never before failed to set his heart at ease. With a few soft spoken words, he’d felt contentment and ease course through him once more.

Legolas plainly felt the presence of birds up above, nesting in the trees. The storm had passed and the sweet smell of fresh growth hovered in the air.

In order to reach his home more quickly, the prince decided to take a shortcut through the training yard. The yard seemed eerily empty in the still night. Not a soul in sight. The sudden call of a crow caused the prince to jump nervously. There was something. . . . something. . .

Warning. Something was not right. Legolas spun himself around reflexively, his fatigue forgotten. The touch of cold steel rested against his throat. . . . . .

This Will Continue. . . . . .

Thank you very much for reading


Hun nîn – my child