Seascapes

SEASCAPES

Chapter 6

There was barely a pause after the brisk knock before the door opened, and Belgan stepped quietly into the chamber. His bow was a masterpiece of understatement.

Merenin grinned. The old steward had performed his role at the castle faultlessly for at least forty years, but nobody could accuse him of being servile, and the younger man loved him for it.

“Sire,” Belgan said. “The prince returns; he is riding towards the gate.”

“Good news indeed!” replied Merenin. “I shall go down to meet him. Please send word to my lady, for she will wish to join me.”

The news was hardly unexpected, since it was two weeks to the day since Imrahil’s departure with Legolas. Nonetheless, Merenin was conscious of a brief flicker of relief at his father’s return. It was almost as if the roles of parent and child had been reversed in the last fourteen days. Smiling at the thought, he headed out of the room and down towards the castle gates.

Lelneth met him in the courtyard, her smile as broad as his own. She was looking particularly lovely, dressed in a dark green gown that complimented her creamy skin tones and brought out the hint of red in her hair. Taking her hand, he could not resist pulling her towards him to whisper for her ear alone,

“You are so beautiful, my wife. Thank the Valar the prince has returned; I shall have time now to give you *all* the attention you deserve.”

The slightest shiver of her flesh as he stroked her wrist told him that she understood him fully.

“Be sure that I shall hold you to your word, my husband,” she said silkily, but with a wicked look that promised more than the simplest of pleasures.

Merenin fought off the urge to ravish his wife there and then on the stone-flagged ground, and sent a silent prayer of thanks to whichever gods had seen fit to send him this passionate gem of a woman.

At the gate, Belgan cleared his throat. The couple laughed in unison, and hurried, hand in hand, to join him.

Imrahil and Legolas were riding slowly up the long avenue, the man graciously acknowledging the greetings of his citizens, the elf looking about him with a quizzical air.

As he watched them, two things struck Merenin forcefully.

Legolas looked exactly as he had done on the morning when they had left, tall, fair, and utterly composed. His skin was perhaps glowing a little more brightly, but it had not darkened in the sun. His hair was once again braided in simple fashion, with not a strand out of place. To look at him, one might think that he had merely trotted down to the end of the road and back.

The change in Imrahil, on the other hand, was astonishing. He was tanned to a handsome dark gold, which made his teeth and eyes seem to sparkle as he smiled at those around him. His hair, which hung thickly below his shoulders, was streaked with colours of the sun; he wore no tunic, and his shirt was loose and open at the neck. It was the change in his manner, however, that was most striking. Even at a distance of many paces, it was clear that the grey, haunted man, who had roamed the castle these past three years, was nowhere to be seen.

Quite simply, his father looked happy.

Merenin cast a sideways glance at Lelneth, who appeared to be suppressing a grin.

“A good plan, do you not think?” she murmured from the side of her mouth, but then raised an eyebrow.

“Look at his hair!” she hissed, and her expression became suddenly thoughtful.

Merenin felt his own eyebrow mimic that of his wife as he saw what she had referred to. His father’s hair had been drawn back from either side of his face into a small plait; the plaits were tucked neatly behind the ears, and tipped with silver. As far as Merenin was aware, such an elvish style had never before been seen on a man of Dol Amroth, and for some reason which he could not identify, it disturbed him acutely.

There was little time to ponder the matter further, since the pair had all but reached the castle gates, and his father was dismounting with a shout of greeting and a wide smile. Seeing the look of relaxed contentment on that much-loved face, Merenin forgot all concerns, and went to embrace his father with his heart full of uncomplicated joy.

At dinner that night the prince appeared in formal dress, but the infernal braids were once again in evidence. Throughout the six fine courses, and the merriment that accompanied their meal, Merenin found his eyes drawn repeatedly to his father’s hair. He tried to distract himself by focussing on Lelneth, as she joked with Legolas, waved her hands expressively while recounting some story to him, or listened with rapt absorption while he spoke.

It was a measure of his confidence in his wife, efleeflected, that he did not feel aggrieved at the single-minded attention she was paying to his father’s guest. He could not really blame her; his own brief experience in Minas Tirith had shown him that elves, whilst reputed to be aloof and superior, could be fascinating company when they so chose. He remembered clearly the silver-haired Lorien elf - Haldir, his name was - who had sat beside him at the coronation dinner and been so attentive and amusing, with his acerbic comments about the assembled company, and his interest in the details of Merenin’s own life. It had been something of a disappointment to him when Haldir had been called away to Lord Celeborn’s side, for some undisclosed reason, towards the end of the night. Merenin could not help but think that he would have learned much more about the ways of the fair folk, if they had continued their conversation over a bottle of wine in the palace gardens, as Haldir had suggested.

It seemed that Lelneth found Legolas every bit as charming now as Haldir had been to Merenin then. It came as little surprise to him, therefore, when his wife suggested that the elf should sing to them, once they had finished eating.

Legolas made no attempt to demur. With a small bo Lel Lelneth, and another to the prince, he stood.

“You should know, my lady, that being an elf, I do not need to be asked twice to sing.” He seemed to be enjoying some private amusement at these words. “What would you hear from me?”

It was Imrahil who replied.

“Sing to us of Nimrodel and Amroth, my friend,” he said.

Legolas nodded.

“It is fitting, though I should warn you that I know only the first part of the song; it is inordinately long, even by the standards of my kin.”

He walked around the table and spoke softly with the minstrel, humming a few notes, and gesturing with his long hands in explanation. The man’s look of awe rapidly faded to one of professional interest, and he strummed quietly on his lute before nodding to Legolas, with a confident smile.

The elf turned towards the company at the table as the minstrel played three haunting chords; and the song began.

‘An elven-maid there was of old,
A shining star by day,
Her mantle white was hemmed with gold,
Her shoes of silver-grey’

Legolas had a beautiful voice, clear and full, as his speech might have suggested. His singing was not only tuneful, but full of emotion. Merenin felt prickles rise on the back of his neck as he listened, and his eyes were fixed to the serene, slim figure before him. In his silvery coloured tunic and dark boots, blond hair on his shoulders, the elf truly looked the part of the magical woodland prince; it was impossible not to admire him.

As the verses went on, and the minstrel’s voice joined the elf’s in wordless harmony, Merenin sat back in his chair, allowing the melancholy beauty of the song to wash over him. He reached for his wineglass, and turned to glance at his father.

Somehow he stopped himself from dropping the glass, as the look on the prince’s face sent a jolt of realisation through In In an instant, he understood why his father had returned from his journey looking so happy and relaxed, and why the silver-tipped braids had worried him so much.

Imrahil’s hands had not the skill to weave such delicate adornments into his own hair. No, those plaits had been put there by other hands, by long pale fingers well versed in such arts. Fingers which had no doubt brushed the hair back from his father’s smiling face, before going on to other, more intimate touches…. Merenin felt heat rising in his face; his blood sang in his ears and his stomach churned, as he tried to suppress the images and tell himself it was not true.

Looking again at his father, who was staring unwaveringly at the beauteous elf, Merenin knew he could not deny the obvious reality. The expression on the prince’s face was a curious mixture of hunger and satisfaction. He knew it well, for in the course of their two year marriage Lelneth had often gazed at him with a similar intensity in her wide green eyes. Inevitably she would recognise it too, for Merenin, with his face so like to his father’s, no doubt wore the same mask of partially sated lust when he looked on his wife in the privacy of their chambers.

The song had finished, and his father was speaking to him.

“Merenin? What ails you, my son?” his voice held genuine concern.

“’Tis nothing, Father,” Merenin replied, rapidly composing himself and taking a deep swig of wine. “The emotion of the song affected me, that is all.”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, Merenin responding to his father’s questions but offering little conversational substance of his own. Perhaps Lelneth had not realised the dreadful truth, for she, at least, seemed to be completely at ease. She was apparently aware of his own preoccupation, however, for as soon as it was polite to do so, she excused herself from the company on the grounds of weariness.

Merenin stood gratefully at his wife’s side and bowed to his father and the elf as he bade them goodnight. On the way out of the hall, Lelneth gestured surreptitiously to a servant, and asked for a bottle one ane and two glasses to be brought to their chambers. After that she fell strangely silent, and they walked up the stairs without a word.

Inside their own rooms, the door closed behind them, Lelneth fell into her husband’s arms and claimed his mouth before he could open it to speak. Her knowing hands moved across his back and her warm, soft body pressed into his, as their tongues entwined and the heat between them grew. As she pulled away and smiled gently at him, Merenin realised that the turmoil in his gut had subsided.

Before he could start the conversation, there a k a knock at the door. Lelneth gestured to him to sit down on the couch, and went to receive the tray. She poured two glasses of the dark red wine and handed one to him, settling gracefully at his side.

“So,” she said, calmly. “Speak to me.”

He hardly knew where to start.

“Did you see it?” it was as much as he could manage.

“See what, my love?”

“The look on my father’s face.” He could not meet her eye as he said the words.

“Yes, I saw it. What did it say to you?” her voice was gentle, neutral.

Merenin put his glass down on the small side table, for his hand was beginning to shake. He turned to look at his wife.

“It said that there is something between my father and the elf that is more than friendship,” he said at last.

If he had been hoping for denial or disbelief from Lelneth, he was disappointed. She nodded.

“Exactly as I thought,” she said. “I will admit, I had wondered, when we first returned here, but I was not certain until tonight.”

In his amazement, Merenin did not attempt to keep the anger from his voice.

“You thought it, but said nothing to me, and yet encouraged me to send them away together?”

As soon as he had said it, he regretted his harsh tone, though not the words. Lelneth made no reply, but simply sat, regarding him with a look of something like pity. The air in the room seemed very still as the moment drew out in silence between them.

At last she spoke, very quietly, each word carefully measured.

“Can you give me one good reason why not?”

For a second, Merenin could think of nothing to say. His voice, when it came, sounded weak and petulant to his own ears.

“A thousand reasons! It is preposterous . . . ”

His wife smiled then, and placed a hand on his.

“Why? Can you not see how happy he is? Would you deny him that?”

Lost for words once more, Merenin wondered briefly which was more baffling; his father’s relationship with the elf, or his wife’s calm acceptance of it.

Lelneth took a long drink of her wine, and put the glass down with a sigh.

“Merenin, my love, it seems to me that you are too noble and intelligent to fall prey to such petty prejudice. Your father is a good man, and has been sad and lonely for too many months. Can you blame him for finding some happiness with such a one as Legolas? He too is noble, and true-hearted, and beauteous beyond doubt in body and spirit. Perhaps such love is not so rare amongst elves. It is not uncommon between men either, as I am sure you must know, even amongst the strongest knights warrwarriors.”

“And how, exactly, did you become so knowledgeable about the ways of fighting men?” he responded, astonished by her words.

Her eyes seemed to wander to one side of the room as she replied.

“I should not tell you this, but it may help,” she paused. “My brother has a . . . friend, a warrior like himself. They have been happy together for some years now.”

“Tamor?” cried Merenin, incredulously, “You are telling me that Tamor loves a man?”

“Please, Merenin, promise that you will never tell him that I told you.”

“Of course not, Lelneth, what do you take me for? But . . . ” he stopped, running out of words to express his astonishment at the thought of Tamor, the stocky, broad shouldered fighter, in the arms of another man. Was nothing certain in the world?

“I do not know what to think,” he said, feeling quite defeated.

“There is nothing *to* think,” replied Lelneth simply. “What others do is their affair; it harms you not, so why should it concern you? Put aside your revulsion; be glad of your father’s happiness if you love him truly, and do not dwell on the details that disturb you.”

‘Words easily spoken,’ thought Merenin, but as usual, he found his wife’s logic impossible to refute.

In the darkness of the night, as Lelneth slept peacefully at his side, matters did not seem to be quite so straightforward. Try as he might to set aside the unsettling images, his mind returned unerringly to those long white fingers, gently caressing a smiling face re tre tucking chestnut-coloured hair behind a sensitive ear. Merenin knew that he could not keep a secret from his wife, and if she asked him, he would be compelled to speak the truth. At least she was patently enlightened enough to cope with it. However, it would not be easy to tell her that he had identified the root of his disquiet, and that it had nothing whatever to do with revulsion.

Rolling onto his side, he moved closer to Lelneth, and buried his face in her abundant hair. There may be nothing certain in the world, but he would not forget that he was a lucky man. He would deal with his own feelings with the help of his wise, loving wife; and tomorrow he would talk honestly with his father.


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Author's note: The song Legolas sings is, of course, the Lay of Nimrodel, written by JRRT. He sang it to the fellowship when they entered Lorién, in FotR. At that stage he admitted to not knowing all the verses; he obviously has not had time to learn them all since!