Fractured Light

Thranduil's Bargain

It was quiet in the sumptuous luxury of Lord Elrond's private bathing chamber, the only sounds the subdued swirl and swash of the water in the tub as Thranduil tried to enjoy the first relaxation he had known in many days. It was proving more difficult than one might imagine for this was not an easy silence, not a restful quiet. The King knew he should be relieved and he was. His son was alive and, if not well, at least he was no worse. There was hope; he would accept no other evaluation, no matter how small and fragile that conviction was at the moment.

The silence was so complete he could hear the tiny bubbles popping between the strands of his long hair. All the amusing banter had ceased with Elrond's request and Legolas had become pensive and withdrawn, hiding his thoughts and feelings, locked in his own world again as was his wont. Outwardly he was calm and composed and nothing seemed amiss. He was just quiet. Inside, who could guess what turmoil raged? Thranduil forced the thought away. He would not guess; he would have answers.

And a solution. There is a way; there must be.

To distract himself, he concentrated on the opulent environment. The smooth, marble basin was wide and deep, the water hot, pumped from a natural spring infused with minerals his weary body absorbed as readily as a summer-scorched sapling drank the first rains of autumn. He reclined and focused on these aspects of the experience, designed to be soothing, relaxing, and calming. He inhaled the rich damp tendrils of steamy mist arising around him, exhaling the agitation and strain of the long journey, forcing from his thoughts the grim images that had plagued his every moment, visions of Legolas nearly drained of blood, poisoned by his failing body. He shuddered and gave a small gasp.

"Ada?" Legolas spoke softly, worry in his words.

"Nay, do not be concerned; I am just…I am weary, ion."

Thranduil tipped his head back to give his son a bright smile and met an expression of sadness and chagrin. He reached back and squeezed the bare forearm, just preventing himself from running his hand down to where the scar would be. "I am well," he reiterated and Legolas resumed his task.

"What a fine home Lord Elrond keeps," Thranduil said, for the quiet was an unbearable burden. "I appreciate the solitude this chamber provides yet find the soft undercurrent of music and song nearby a comfort."

"Aye, it's wondrous place," Legolas agreed but he heaved a rather heavy sigh.

"Most of all," Thranduil continued, "I am grateful for the presence of my son perched on a bench behind me, soothingly massaging sweet smelling soap down to my scalp."

"I am glad, too, Ada," Legolas answered and his smile was in his voice, but nothing more did he offer.

That was Legolas' typical form of response; nothing that had ever roused concern before.

His usual manner, though how can it be normal?

When not on patrol, when at home in the stronghold, Legolas might be any servant of the House, so little did he speak, so seldom was he seen. Thranduil wondered how much of Legolas' life had transpired unnoticed and invisible, the insular attitude encouraged because his undemanding demeanour meant no one was burdened with tending to him when he was young. That he could not remember any of his younger son's childhood sent a sharp pang of guilt and sorrow to his heart.

Yet it isn't just me who can't recall his early years.

Legolas' reserve was accepted as just part of his personality. Everyone agreed, without ever discussing it that Thranduil could recall, that is was due to the grief to which he'd been subjected at so young an age. It became so commonplace for Legolas to refrain from interacting with others that no one even questioned it. He was Rammas' little shadow and when he couldn't be with his brother, he waited quietly somewhere out of the way until Rammas was free.

Yet there must be more to it than that. A frightened child cries, an angry child cries, but Legolas was silent. What fears or threats squelched these natural impulses?

The conditioning had been so successful that even now, an adult and a respected warrior, Legolas preferred to end his life rather than reveal what ailed him. Thranduil did not know how to change this as every tactic he'd tried before had failed. His son had learned this lesson early and efforts to convince him that his input was welcomed and much desired yielded a wary, almost distrustful retreat, often both physical and mental. It was as if Legolas suspected a trap of some kind and was both frightened of failing to evade it and hurt that it had been placed in his path, so he disappeared. What he feared the ploy would make him do or say was incomprehensible.

Thranduil did believe the root of this present ordeal had sprouted in those early years; years when his son had so needed attention and instead had been silenced. That, he decided, was the best place to start digging for answers.

"When your mother died and I fell to grieving, you must have been terrified yet I do not recall hearing your cries in the stronghold," he said abruptly and Legolas' fingers froze on his scalp before withdrawing completely. There was a long silence and the King thought his son had even stopped breathing.

"You think I did not cry?" Legolas finally managed with effort, his words bearing the pain the notion caused him.

"Nay!" Thranduil turned, expression horrified, and water lapped over the rim of the pool. "I only meant that you are very quiet and I think you were made to be this way contrary to natural instincts. I was wondering what my brother said, what Gwathel Gelir told you."

"Oh, yes," Legolas sighed, relieved. "Actually, I screamed and cried so much they could not bear it anymore and locked me in the nursery."

"What?" Thranduil had not been told this. "I will have Galion skinned and…"

"You will not do anything to Galion," smirked Legolas, leaning forward and catching his father's eye with gentle censure. "He saved your life and you know you love him dearly. Have you not told me so? In any case, what else were they to do? Rammas finally got through to me and made me stop."

"I see." Thranduil resumed his relaxed posture as Legolas resumed the shampoo. "Does it bother you?"

"That I was locked in the nursery? Nay, I understand why now that I am grown."

"I didn't mean that and you know it," Thranduil admonished softly. "I will never replace her but I could not survive alone."

"I know this," Legolas answered and bent over his father's lathered pate to press a kiss to the wet forehead. "I love Galion, too, for he saved you for me. I just wish you hadn't fought him for so long," he added wistfully. "Things might have been different."

"You are thinking I would not have been absent from your life and you are right." Thranduil said soberly. "I wasn't able to let her go. It seemed a betrayal and I couldn't manage it. Deeply do I regret it; you were grown before I regained sufficient presence of mind to even recognise you."

"I did not mean to suggest you did wrong, Ada. You were fading; it was not something you could control," Legolas assured, but at that moment he remembered what Elrond had told him about indulging grief.

Could it really be true? If so, then his father might have been pulled from mourning sooner. He suddenly felt sick and heavy inside and once again withdrew from the gentle massage, listlessly wiping the fragrant suds on his leggings, watching the dark streaks that spread down his thighs. The dark red lines marking his newly healed skin stood out starkly, an ugly, fitting representation of the way he felt. He rubbed at the left wrist with the right hand.

"I have lost everything and cannot get it back," he said, bereft and melancholy, "and I cannot bear it that maybe I did not have to lose some of it, or at least…Ai, Ada, I'm sorry…I just can't…"

"Legolas, ion, be at peace," Thranduil said, turning again and grasping his son's soapy hands before he could rise and get away. The healed slashes at last fell under his sight and his gut clenched in revulsion. To think his son had been moved to such horrible violence upon himself was enough to make him ill. To behold the evidence was more devastating than he'd imagined. With effort Thranduil fought off the reaction.

"You have not lost everything; I am here. Look at me, Legolas," he insisted softly for Legolas had turned his face away. He gave a small tug on the hands between his, glad for the small trust his son granted in not pulling free, in letting him see. Slowly, with hopeful hesitance the distraught eyes lifted to meet his gaze. "Whatever you must face, you are not alone. We will see this through together. I was not there before, when all of this happened, when your young heart somehow came to such deadly harm, but I am now."

"I know you want to understand this," Legolas said quietly, "and I know you do not mean to hurt me, Ada. No more do I wish to give you sorrow, but I cannot speak of it."

"Ai, ion, it is only to help heal you that I would delve your secret heart, but I would not pressure you for answers. Not now, not until you are ready to speak," replied Thranduil. He offered a smile and his soul quailed to see the hopeless, lacklustre one Legolas produced in response.

"And if I never want to discuss it, what then?"

"Then we will not," the King answered, confused. "What do you imagine would happen?" His son shrugged, eyes averted and face lowered beneath a curtain of golden hair. "Legolas, if you can be made whole then I will be satisfied. I do not want to lose you. I could not abide that."

"Aye, well do I know it and if I didn't Rammas has gone to great lengths to remind me," Legolas ground out angrily, getting up suddenly and stalking across the room to take up a pitcher so to rinse the suds from his father's long tresses.

"Rammas?" the King watched this sudden bloom of rage and received confirmation for something he had been considering on the long journey. Whatever this was about, it all started when his eldest began courting. "You and Rammas were close once; what has happened between you?" he demanded spontaneously and watched in amazement as his son flinched and dropped the earthenware ewer.

The vessel broke apart, scattering sharp, curved, shards all across the tiled floor. For a second, father and son stared at the fragments as though mesmerised by this minor accident. Then with a soft and fearful cry Thranduil bounded from the tub, stooping, naked and dripping, to hastily gather up the fragments and wrap them in a towel.

"Adar," Legolas called out, stunned to see this and ashamed the reason was his doing. He took a step and knelt there beside him on the puddled floor. "I won't, Ada, please. I won't."

"Legolas, I cannot dare chance it," Thranduil said, rising and depositing the broken pottery on a shelf near the pool.

He climbed back in the water and ducked under to rinse out his hair, hurrying though he knew Legolas would never break his given word and leave the chamber. When he surfaced and pushed the heavy mane behind him, he found his son slouched dejectedly on a bench, arms and legs all folded together around his body, one great ball of misery. Legolas lifted a woebegone countenance, his expression one of apprehensive entreaty.

Again the King sighed, stepping from the warm water. "Be at peace, ion. Bring me a robe and come comb out my hair."

This initiated an immediate unfurling of the desolate form as Legolas stood, smiling a shy, adoring smile, pausing long enough to encircle his father in a swift embrace ere retrieving the requested items. The two sat on the comfortable bench and simultaneously relaxed as the careful grooming began. The quiet relinquished some of its edgy strain; the connection between them mellowed, no longer interrogator and captive but father and son once more.

Thranduil had few memories of the dark years following his beloved's death, but he did have vague recollections of someone combing his hair, singing, the voice ethereal and soothing. Years later, Galion had informed him this was Legolas, who had once or twice sneaked inside the forbidden apartment and found his Adar sprawled across a sofa or limp in the bed, senseless from drinking himself into oblivion, reeking of sweat and wine and urine, hair a matted, greasy tangle. Galion never had the heart to make him leave, seeing the comfort it gave him to do this small thing for his father, seeing the comfort the simple action gave to Thranduil.

Since learning of it, Thranduil always asked his youngest son to share this chore whenever he returned from patrol. Indeed, it had become a mutually anticipated experience and in this way Thranduil had first managed to come to know what little he learned of Legolas, their quiet talks unhurried and unaffected. He let a few moments seep away until it felt his son had regained sufficient poise and then decided to take the conversation in another, hopefully harmless, direction.

"What of you? A soak in these rejuvenating waters would be beneficial, surely," said the King, smiling as his son drew the comb carefully through his hair. Legolas was humming just barely loud enough to be heard and Thranduil wondered if he was even aware of it.

"Aye, that would be grand, but I am not permitted to get the chest wound wet until Elrond is satisfied it is truly healed this time," he answered with no small amount of wistful longing. "I have been bathing out of a bucket all these many weeks."

Thranduil worked hard to suppress a snort of laughter over the obvious disgust in this last statement. The strange hiccup this generated and the sinister glare Legolas leaned forward to focus upon him robbed him of all control. Thranduil snickered and shook his head.

"Oh, laugh if you like, but I am not accustomed to being so grimy I offend my own senses," groused Legolas, dismayed when this only made his Ada laugh harder.

"Legolas, forgive me, I do not mean to disparage your fetish for cleanliness."

"It is not a fetish!"

"Your habit, then, or shall I say, your excessive concern over natural bodily odours and…"

"It is not excessive, Ada, I just don't like it. Reminds me of when you were so ill."

That took all the humour out of the situation and Thranduil turned, reaching anew for his son's hands. "Ai! That is what lies behind it?"

"Aye. I'm sorry, Ada, but the smell was frightening and I will always associate lack of cleanliness with approaching death."

"Then I will make every effort to prevent you from reliving such a terrifying experience. Forgive me for jesting; I had no idea."

"Ai, it doesn't matter now anyway," sighed Legolas, regretting he'd said anything. "You are not fading and I am foolish to let such trifling things as how often I bathe bother me." He turned his father's head back and resumed the grooming, hoping to return everything to ease and comfort.

"You are not foolish and of course it matters," Thranduil coaxed gently. "The sorrow we have weathered has marked you deeply and I feel certain the present grief is also centred in those days."

Legolas felt his heart skip anew, not expecting his father to strike so near the truth and remain adamant in bringing it up. Once more he retracted the comb from the tresses. "Even if that is so, nothing can be changed. I see no purpose in discussing it; I told you this."

"So be it," Thranduil replied gravely and let the matter drop. He had already probed the soul-wound and discovered what he'd expected. For the rest, he would express his thoughts to Elrond before pressing his son further.

Ill he had surely been, to the point of fading, but Thranduil was neither blind nor simple. Talagan never made the connection between the happy announcement of Rammas' courtship and the immediate decline of his King's younger child, but Thranduil had. It was this event that triggered Legolas' grief and the fearful father had gone at once to Rammas and asked what was between them, suspecting Legolas had harboured unspoken feeling for Mallos in his youthful heart. Rammas refuted the possibility out of hand, angry and defensive, and Thranduil next sought the answer from Legolas. There he was met by the usual wounded withdrawal into sullen silence, and between the brothers arose a tension and uneasiness that had never existed before.

Thranduil sighed deeply. Reviewing all this availed him nothing unless he could find a means to break through Legolas' formidable reserve. He hoped Lord Elrond concurred with what he wished to try and sent a silent prayer to Yavanna to make it so.

Anor's zenith heralded the arrival of Elrond and Erestor at Thranduil's door, the seneschal and his lord each bearing a laden tray. While the meal was delicious and the conversation amiable, all four were keenly aware of the one topic which remained untouched. By its very absence from the dialogue, Legolas' despair and craving for self-destruction achieved monumental proportions in each one's thoughts. At last it could be avoided no longer and Thranduil moved to broach the subject, deciding the best way to do so was to dismiss his son.

"Legolas, I would like to speak alone with Elrond for a time. Mayhap you could go with Erestor and visit Emmelin now."

"Adar, I am not a child to be sent from the room so the grown-ups may talk freely," Legolas stood from the table, rigid with anger, fists tight at his sides. "You wish to discuss me, fine, but I have the right to be here to contribute what you don't know and to refute anything inaccurate."

"You told me yourself you have no wish to analyse what has happened to you," reminded Thranduil, "but I am your father and have need for advise on how to proceed. Lord Elrond is the one to give it."

"I will stay and hear this advise, also," countered Legolas grimly, sitting and crossing his arms over his chest, daring another rebuttal.

Elrond intervened, seeing the King's face slowly going red. "It is good that you want to stay," he addressed Legolas. "We have made some progress and I am sure you want your father to be reassured of that, yes?"

"Yes," Legolas hesitantly relented, recalling the unpleasant scene in the bathing chamber. "I am no longer seeking death; this I would have him know. Yet the rest…You gave your promise that what I have revealed would remain between us."

"So it shall," nodded Elrond, smiling and settling a hand upon Legolas' shoulder. "I will not betray your confidence, young one, now or ever." His words rang with genuine fervour and he knew they would recall to mind the vow he'd made to Legolas that first night. He watched as bewildered recognition washed through the young prince's eyes, revealing this was the case and that the memory was partially shrouded as would be a dream. Elrond squeezed the muscle beneath his grip and let go, giving a quick nod. He turned to Thranduil. "Now, ask of me what you will. As long as answering does not infringe upon the promise I have given your son, I will reply fully."

"Very well, that is certainly fair and I respect your commitment to Legolas," the worried father paused and in the moment of silence Erestor arose.

"Perhaps it would be best if I left," he suggested. "Let me take away all this clutter so that you will not be interrupted by a servant."

"Nay!" announced all three of the other elves in harmony and Erestor eyed them askance, slowly reclaiming his seat.

"As you wish," he murmured and let his glance linger on Legolas, worried about the somewhat frantic glint in the warrior's eyes. He leaned closer and spontaneously settled a hand on the prince's knee. "You are certain this meets with your approval?" he asked quietly, searching the blue irises, hoping to learn what really lay beyond them, for he was sure Legolas would not want his private pain put on display like this. The touch made the harried ellon jump and Erestor quickly withdrew.

"Yes, it is fine. Please, stay," Legolas managed a shaky smile.

"Now then," Thranduil said firmly, "can you tell me for certain that you believe Legolas has given up the notion of seeking reprieve in Mandos?"

"Adar, I told you I…"

"No, sadly I cannot promise you that," Elrond ignored the interruption. "Even though he says this, and even though he may believe it himself, I fear that Legolas is in denial, saying what we want to hear because he feels guilty for causing worry and distress."

"Elrond, how can you tell him that?"

"That is what I surmised when you demanded from him a solemn promise not to leave my side," Thranduil sighed. "I must tell you that an incident occurred in the bathing chamber."

"Adar!" Legolas leaped to his feet, face pale and eyes enormous. "Don't tell him!"

"What incident?" Elrond leaned closer, anxiety plain on his wise countenance.

"I mentioned the tension between Legolas and Rammas and asked directly to know the cause. Legolas became so rattled he dropped a pitcher, shattering it. The pieces looked like dagger blades. I feared he might reach for one and gathered them up at once."

"Ai Valar!" Legolas groaned, dropping back into his chair where he bent over and clutched his head in his hands, covering his ears. "Ai Valar, I cannot hear this; you cannot be saying this."

"You did right," Elrond assured. "I have seen his eye follow the edge of even the dullest butter knife, measuring in his mind the amount of force he would have to use to make it effective."

"No, no, no, no," Legolas was now rocking back and forth in misery. "It isn't true, I just…I wasn't going to…"

"Legolas," a cool and quiet voice, the assassin's voice, reached him at the same time a firm hand wrapped around his biceps and stopped his nervous oscillations. "Legolas, come with me, mellon, and let us check on Emmelin. Even better, let us go riding for a time. Surely you would welcome a change of scene."

Legolas turned and let his eyes rest on the hand clutching him in such a sturdy grip, feeling the compassion and empathy within it, grateful for the distraction for he had been on the brink of madness, listening to his psyche being dissected by his father and his healer. Quickly he lifted his glance to the seneschal's face and found the grey eyes guileless, the invitation given with hope that it would be accepted but not out of pity. Erestor simply and honestly wanted to take him away from a situation that caused him so much discomfort. Legolas suddenly became aware that everyone had stopped talking. He swallowed and tried to find the courage to face his father. He failed.

"Ada," he paused and licked his lips, "I would like to go riding with Erestor now. Is that all right?" His voice was subdued and pleading, head down and eyes on the floor much as any elfling who found himself in his father's bad graces.

Thranduil noted it and his heart ached with tender anguish for his son's condition, but outwardly he gave no sign. "Of course, ionen, that is fine. You may ride Emmelin as long as you care for her afterwards." He smiled as Legolas rose and bowed, though the glance he received from those beleaguered eyes was fraught with confusion and misery. He shared a swift look with Erestor, silently eliciting the seneschal's promise not to let anything happen to Legolas. He watched his son fairly run from the room and met Elrond's woeful countenance. Conversely, now that they were alone without hindrance, silence stretched between them. Thranduil cleared his throat.

"Lord Erestor is very attentive and solicitous toward Legolas."

"He is," Elrond nodded, "and, more importantly, your son is intrigued by it. That is the most promising development I can name."

"I see." Thranduil rose and moved to stare out the window, watching his son and the seneschal crossing the grounds. "Then we are in accord regarding the course of this cure, but I fear for him, Elrond. What if he seeks to bind over his soul again? Will I not lose him?"

"I wish I could deny it," Elrond sighed heavily, joining his guest at the window, observing the prince and the assassin disappearing into the gardens. "It is true; he could suffer further damage if things go awry. If that happens then getting him to Aman is your only hope. If you convince him to sail now, he will be healed by Estë, but you will be separated by long years."

"He does not want to sail; he would rather die. Am I to force him?"

"I cannot make that determination, Thranduil. He is your son, but he is an adult with rights that I cannot abridge."

Another silence ensued as each considered the hard decision Thranduil faced.

"So be it; we will try the remedy. It worked for me, but the process was excruciating in its own way."

"Yes, I know the sensation. I did not want to let go either."

"Will Legolas be able to do so? He has no children to think of, no realm to govern as we both did."

"True, and again I cannot promise you success. He is young and it is my theory that he has not truly given up all of his heart. He just believes he has. The response to Erestor supports that notion."

"Then you have hope and I will hold to that." Then the King paused and turned from the window to study Elrond, his gaze searching, assessing. "Please understand me," he began delicately, "I have nothing but respect for Erestor and know him to be honourable and worthy."

"That he is; you need not fear he will misuse your son's heart. If anything, Erestor will suffer during this process."

"I would not ask that of anyone," Thranduil shook his head, "even to save my son I would not want to inflict his suffering on another heart, a blameless heart."

"Erestor understands the risks and has been through this before," Elrond said diffidently, unaware that his face coloured and gave away more than he might wish.

"All the more reason to be concerned," Thranduil's shrewd eyes tracked over the august ruler. "There is another possibility; I was hoping you would attend this aspect of the cure yourself."

There he'd said it; now the King returned to his seat and waited for the response, unable to guess the thoughts behind the inscrutable expression trained upon him.

"Me?" Elrond was genuinely surprised. He didn't know what to say, following the monarch to the chairs where he flopped heavily in his. "Mellon, I am not free to attempt it."

"Are you not?" Thranduil insisted gently, peering into Elrond's guarded eyes. "Everyone knows, mellon. I beg you will not turn away from Legolas. I can see that he respects and admires you greatly. That is a strong foundation on which to build. He trusts you."

"Aye, as his healer, as a surrogate, a father-figure, but not…"

"His father is here now," interrupted Thranduil, "and you do not look upon him with the eyes of a father. Your interest is obvious to me and it will be so to him, also, once he has a moment to think on it."

"Nay!" Elrond recoiled in flustered denial and got up again, pacing back to the window. "I would never abuse the delicate position of authority I hold over him. As his healer, someone who has been at his side in the most frightening moments, it is normal for him to become attached and feel gratitude. That is not the same thing as desire, though he may come to mistake it as…"

"I was not talking about his desires," Thranduil said calmly and smiled. "I understand your reticence, but at least consider it."

"It is wrong," Elrond announced forcefully, turning to glare at Thranduil.

"Why, because you love Celebrian? The heart need not be limited, Elrond. Yours can accommodate more than one bond upon it."

"I do not want that!" Elrond suddenly shouted and immediately gasped at the vehemence in his words, the anger in his tone. "Forgive me, I should not have raised my voice, but what you suggest is not possible. We will proceed with Erestor as his suitor."

"As you say," Thranduil stood and bowed, neither disappointed nor angry. "I think I need a short walk among these lovely gardens, if you will excuse me." He smiled and moved toward the door, pausing to look back at the famous ellon standing rigid in dumbfounded quandary, feeling deep compassion for him.

"She is never coming back," the King said quietly, "and when you sail over sea, she will not be there to greet you." With that he exited the room, regretting the shuddering wince his brutal honesty caused, but Legolas was everything to him.

And Elrond will bend to my will, for it is his will, also, though he cannot see it. Erestor will be Legolas' suitor, true, but only one of two and the seneschal's success will force his kinsman to face the truth."

The King decided to follow his son and the advisor, hoping to find a moment to approach Erestor with this plot. The legendary seneschal would certainly agree to aid his kinsman once again, and in so doing aid Legolas, too.

TBC

The Names:

Gwathel Gelir: Sister Joy

RAMMAS: Wall

TALAGAN: Harper

MUINDORADAR: Uncle (brother-father)

FORN'WAEW: North Wind

SAMMAR: Neighbour

GILION: Star Son

Note: Should be pretty clear what Thranduil is hoping to do: make Erestor and Elrond rivals for Legolas' heart. Does he know, do you think, which one's emotions are stronger? Has he considered what will happen if Legolas rejects them both? If it goes as planned, has he considered what will happen to the loser of this competition? Of the three, Legolas, Erestor, and Elrond, someone's heart is going to take a serious battering.

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