Cuil Eden

65

Glorfindel smiled as he watched Legolas fasten the belt around his waist, leaning against the door to enjoy the view in open admiration. As he had thought, the style of the Teleri suited Legolas well, and the long, heavily embroidered garments gave him a formal air despite his youth.

Legolas turned at last to face him, a light flush coloring his cheeks when he found himself so observed. "What do you think of your gifts now, my Lord?" he asked, his mouth curving into a smile so sweet that Glorfindel had to keep himself from drawing him close and kissing him breathless.

"You look so very, very fine. Fit only for kings and princes," he said, his voice a little husky from the desire he could not quite hide.

Legolas smiled, all trust and gentleness when he stepped closer and took his Lord's hand. "No, my Lord. Fit only for you," he said softly, reverently raising the hand to his lips to kiss it in both supplication and love.

"Sweet Legolas..." Glorfindel found himself speechless for once, overcome by emotion when he thought of knowing the beautiful youth's heart bound to his and his alone until the end of all things. "I shall cherish you always," he whispered, then quickly turned away, taking up a sheaf of flowers he had earlier gathered with Gîl, lest in his maudlin mood he gave away the day's greatest secret.

"Let me weave these flowers into your hair, then we will be done, and you will outshine even the radiance of Undómiel this eve." Legolas eagerly acquiesced to him, relaxing in obvious enjoyment of the affection and attention bestowed onto him when Glorfindel wove the fragile blossoms into the pale silk of his hair. Elanor Glorfindel and Gîl had gathered in abundance, elanor with its flowers of silver and gold growing from the same stem, and he wove both into his prince's hair, marveling at what a difference the rich clothes made. It gave Legolas a touch of graveness, set off by the sweet eagerness to please, and added a layer of unwonted confidence which Glorfindel found surprisingly pleasing to behold in his prince.

“You have never looked more beautiful. A prince of your people in truth,” Glorfindel said quietly, moved by emotion when he thought of just how much Legolas had lost by his father's neglect. Gently, he touched one of the royal braids which framed the beloved face, noting the slight hint of insecurity in Legolas' eyes, although there was no protest at these signs of rank and lineage Glorfindel had asked him to wear.

“I know these do not please you, and I am sorry that I must ask it of you on this of all days. I would not have your joy diminished in any way, yet for now, at least, these are needed...”

“For political reasons.” Legolas nodded in quiet understanding. “I will wear them gladly, because it is you who asks me to, my Lord. I need no other reason.”

Glorfindel kept quiet then, even though he realized that the thought that had once stood behind it, the plotting he had indulged in with Elrond that would see his son in line for the throne of Greenwood to spite Thranduil, had long since lost all importance for him. His heart had changed and with it the reason to have Legolas wear the Sindarin braids of royalty, so that now he desired little but joy and safety for his family. It was not that he was hesitant to bind himself to an outcast without name, but more that – now that he was beginning to see the inherent nobility of the youth that had been buried beneath his fears and doubts for so long – he could not help but desire for him to be given the recognition he deserved. There was much in Legolas which Thranduil and the Greenwood would one day rue to have lost, he thought, no matter if it took a hundred years or a thousand. He would not let Legolas give up the inheritance that was rightfully his, even though for now there was little chance that Thranduil would accept him back.

“I have something for you as well, my Lord.” Legolas turned and took up a wreath of golden celandine which had been hidden beneath a silken scarf, then placed it tenderly on Glorfindel's gleaming hair.

“I gathered them while you were out with Gîl,” he admitted, reverentially smoothing back a wayward curl that had escaped the elaborate braids of the ancient style of Glorfindel's house. “Does this please you, my Lord? I still do not know how the Noldor view such things...”

“The Noldor like such things just fine,” Glorfindel said gently and took hold of Legolas' hand to press a kiss to his fingers. "Thank you. This is very thoughtful."

Legolas looked up at his Lord who was so much more than he had ever hoped for, whose eyes still shone with the light of Aman, whose form was tall and strong and whose sword arm had never known defeat...

He was truly a hero of a long-gone age, and it still seemed impossible to Legolas that such a hero could love him, could want him – not just in his bed but also by his side at a banquet. He thought of the oath he had sworn, to know no Lord but Glorfindel for all of his life, and he wanted to fall to his knees again to prove his devotion, to swear himself his Lord's once more, for he could think of no other way to express his love and adoration.

He sank to his knees in truth then, clutching his Lord's hand, pressing a kiss to it in fervent supplication. "My Lord," he breathed, cheeks flushing with color when a thought came to him all of a sudden, a memory that made the blood rush through his veins with sudden, surprising desire. "This morning you told me that if there was aught else I desired of you as a gift, I should ask and you would consider it. There is indeed a boon I would ask of you... I want to wear your knots again, my Lord.”

Legolas heard his Lord take a sudden, deep breath, as if he were as surprised as Legolas about this request – and although but a few months ago Legolas would have sworn that he would never beg for that particular humiliation, as his Lord had once promised he would, he now knew that Glorfindel had been right. He was frightened by his own boldness, afraid what his Lord's reaction might be – and yet, even if he were commanded to wear Glorfindel's knots to his begetting day feast, he knew that he would do it, if only to please his Lord.

“You told me that one day, I would beg you for that honor, and I am begging you for it now. To wear them tonight, to know myself fully yours, it would be a great honor indeed. I am sorry I did not understand then--"

"No," Glorfindel said quickly and rested a finger against Legolas' lips. "No, not that, never be sorry for that. I lied to you then; 'twas no honor but a thing I did to shame you. Never feel regret – I am the one who regrets! When I wove my knots into a lover's hair, it was always a sign of honor, but in what I did to you I turned it into a mark of shame.

“Tonight,” Glorfindel promised then, his voice darkening as he twined a lock of pale gold around his finger. “Tonight – or mayhap tomorrow, if we are too tired. But yes – my knots in my bed, the royal braids during the day. I would like that very much, roch neth... Oh, that is exactly how it should be for you. It will remind you of how you owe me your service, your obedience...”

“I owe you everything, my Lord!” Legolas breathed. “Whatever you think to demand, I will always obey!”

“Sweet Legolas... Ah, the things you make me want to do to you...”

“Anything!” Legolas swore again, pressing another yearning kiss to his Lord's hand.

“Lovely!” Glorfindel murmured throatily, taking Legolas' chin into his hand to tilt the youth's head up, looking down into the gentle eyes that were now dark and soft with longing, as if there were truly no thought left in Legolas but the desire to please.

“Just as it should be,” he repeated darkly, a faint threat in his voice that made Legolas tremble slightly from fear and excitement both. “You will have a chance to prove the truth of your words to me before we leave, roch neth. I will want all of you, all you have to give; unquestioning obedience, surrender to the bottom of your soul...”

Legolas closed his eyes with a soft, helpless moan and Glorfindel laughed at his reaction. “As sweetly as you beg for it, you would tempt even one of the Valar. Up with you, roch neth. Tempting you may be, but I have no time for this now. And you do not want to incur my wrath by ruining your fine clothes...”

“I am sorry, my Lord!” Legolas breathed, mortified to discover that he was indeed so hard that he felt he would come at a single touch – and yet he found that a part of him could not help but relish the thought of how attuned his body was to his Lord's presence.

“Lovely,” Glorfindel murmured again and drew him up and against him, delighting in the way Legolas eagerly surrendered to his kiss. It took all of his control not to give in to his desire right then and there, to use Legolas the way he so obviously needed to be used – but there would be time for that later, more than enough time. Ages of passion and love and that sweet, intoxicating surrender, if Legolas would agree. And why should he not? Already he had sworn himself to him as a warrior would to his liege lord; no, the youth could have no reason to shy away from taking it one step further... And yet, for the first time in many, many years, Glorfindel felt strangely unsettled. Legolas had no reason to reject his suit. Legolas had already given him a child; had given him his love as well... And yet the simple possibility of being denied this one thing that he had thought to never find made him more afraid than he had ever been even on the eve of great battles.

At last, when the time had arrived to leave for the royal talan, Legolas gave him a searching look, unsettled by his Lord's strange mood, yet Glorfindel did not share his thoughts with him. He kissed Legolas before they entered the large flet, feeling the youth calm at his touch, as he always did, and when they went inside he held Legolas' hand in his in a blatant show of both possession and affection.

The talan was well-filled with people already when they entered, and brightly lit so that the festive garments of the attendants glittered and gleamed like a hoard of gems. Glorfindel's guards wore their dress uniforms, and even Haldir - though still without his red cloak – wore fine gray velvet instead of wool.

Legolas flushed a little to find himself the center of attention of so many, but the heavy, costly garments he wore worked now almost like a shield. For once, he did not feel out of place, not when he was wearing his Lord's thoughtful gift. The garments were beautiful beyond belief, and he thought that he had never seen one of his brothers wear something so fine - certainly, today no one could look at him and find him lacking. And he had Glorfindel by his side, who wore his best clothes as well and looked stunning in a robe of dark green velvet embroidered with golden flowers, the insignia of his House, his noble head crowned with the celandine Legolas himself had gathered and bound.

Today, at least, no one could look at him and feel pity or derision, Legolas felt certain of that, and he enjoyed the feeling of security that gave him. Today, he would make his Lord proud and prove him right in bringing him here. He still felt shame when he remembered the immaturity he had shown when last Glorfindel had taken him to a feast in Imladris - but that seemed almost a lifetime ago now, and Legolas swore to himself that he would embarrass neither himself nor his Lord so ever again.

Arwen was the first who met them, Gîlríon by her site, for she had taken care of him for a while so that Glorfindel and Legolas could prepare for the banquet in peace. Now Legolas swung Gîl up into his arms, pressing a kiss to his cheek that already seemed to be smeared with the traces of some confection, a rush of pride filling his heart at the thought that still seemed so strange after all this time – that this was his child, his son, so bright, so confident and ever-curious.

“Have you been good, Gîl? You have not caused the Lady Arwen too much work, have you?” he asked, and Gîl quickly shook his head.

“We played with my horses!” he declared, and Legolas laughed.

“Of course you did,” he said in amusement and then surrendered Gil to Glorfindel's arms.

“He is a delight,” Arwen said warmly. “I will gladly watch over him for you whenever you decide you need a respite. But come now, my grandparents are waiting, and it will not do to antagonize my grandsire further, not when it is already the talk of the city how you stole the services of his personal seamstresses away from him – to very good effect though, as we can all now see.”

“Indeed.” Legolas turned around quickly at Celeborn's warm, amused voice. “But I am much more inclined to forgive your Lord now that I can see for which reason he did this. Ahh, a true scion of the Teleri indeed... You look as if freshly sprung from a historical tapestry, and I find I cannot bear your Lord any ill will – you look much finer in this than I would have. Indeed, cousin, you would have been the envy of the court in Doriath during the time your grandsire and I dwelt there. Come now, there is food and drink, and you must allow us to present our gifts to you.”

Legolas followed obediently, Glorfindel's arm curving around his shoulders, reassuring and warm. He was pleased and embarrassed by all the attention bestowed on him – after all, no one had ever done something like this for him before, and it still seemed strange that so many people had come to acknowledge the day of his begetting. It felt somewhat treacherous to enjoy the gifts Glorfindel had given him so much, for while it was true that he had never seen his brothers or even his father wear anything so fine, how could he admit such a thing, when he knew that it would be taken as but an admission of his father's lack of sophistication?

But for now, many of those who had been invited came to offer their well-wishes and to present him with gifts, so that he felt grateful for the continuing presence of his Lord by his side, lending him the strength to bear all of the attention as he clasped hands and thanked people he did not even know for the gifts they had brought.

It felt strangely official, as if he did indeed have another function besides being Glorfindel's bed toy, which he knew was how most had regarded him in Imladris when Glorfindel had brought him to meals or the Hall of Fire. Yet there seemed to be no one here who bore him ill-will, and after a while he calmed and to his surprise, found that this was even a pleasurable experience, for it made him feel competent, and in truth it was much like the way he had dreamed he would one day be treated as a Prince of Greenwood.

The sheer amount of gifts he was being given surprised him, for even those advisors and nobles of Lórien whom he did not know had brought bottles of wine or cordials, jewelry or leather-bound tomes of lore or poetry, so that soon the small table next to him was piled with presents.

Glorfindel's guards were the next to approach, clad in their dark blue dress uniforms embroidered with Elrond's insignia, the silver star of Eärendil, and their faces alight with pleasure when they crowded around Legolas, clasping his hands and shoulders in true pleasure.

“We did not know what to get you; everything we could think of we were certain Glorfindel would have already presented you with,” Fairion explained. “But we hope that this will prove useful, and that the captain has not yet promised you one himself.”

Laindir gave Legolas a finely turned belt of dark leather, adorned by an etched scrollwork of small leaves. More importantly, there was a short, similarly adorned sheath that held a small dagger, and when Legolas carefully pulled it free, he saw that it was almost as masterfully made as the sword Glorfindel had given him, lacking any ostentatious embellishments as it was a tool to be used and no mere decoration.

“Oh, thank you!” he said breathlessly, his eyes alight with such joy that a few of the guards laughed in pleasure and Laindir clasped Legolas' shoulder with a grin. Another group of advisors arrived then, Ellonúr among then so that Legolas sobered, remembering all too well what his Lord's former companion thought of him and his position. Yet today, at least, there were no insults. Ellonúr was almost painfully formal as he offered his well-wishes, yet when his gaze fell onto Glorfindel who still carried Gîlríon in his arms, his mask seemed to slip for a moment, and his face became grave and still.

“I am glad you found the time to come,” Glorfindel offered and Ellonúr nodded, still gazing at the child in his arms with a strange expression before he finally turned and made way for others.

With a pang of apprehension, Legolas realized that it was Haldir who approached him now. He was flanked by his brothers, holding something wrapped in cloth, and for a moment Legolas worried that Haldir might have decided to pay him back for humiliating him in front of his friends in the saddler's workshop. What would he do if Haldir chose to present him with a whip or crop in front of everyone?

He swallowed and looked at Rúmil's kind face, Orophin's pleased smile. No, his brothers would never allow such a thing, he was certain of that. They shared neither their brother's humor nor his inclinations, and Rúmil had made himself more than clear on what he thought of Haldir's treatment of him.

With a deep breath for courage, he accepted gift and congratulations gracefully, holding his breath when he slowly drew the cloth back to reveal the brothers' gift. His eyes widened when he saw that it was neither whip nor flogger, no implement of pain or pleasure – instead, the brothers had gifted him a bow, and while this was improbably more welcome than a whip, it was still so surprising that he gave Haldir a questioning look, wondering if there was something else behind it.

“Do not look as if you are afraid to believe your good fortune,” Haldir chided smugly, as if he were pleased with Legolas' reaction. “I must admit that it was not my first idea, but my brothers found this more suitable, and I have to concur. A sword makes a mighty weapon, yet I think you will soon realize the advantages of bow and arrow, especially among the trees of a forest. Is it not so for your father's men as well?”

“The bows of the Galadhrim are rightly renowned,” Glorfindel said. “This one will be the envy of many at home. See how skillfully it is wrought, even though it is intended for one just beginning to learn the art of bow and arrow... It shall prove a faithful companion for many years, indeed you might use this bow even if you were to join a patrol under me, and I would commend you on the quality of your weapon. That does mean, of course, that I will have to find a tutor for you quicker than I had thought, once we are back home.”

“Thank you,” Legolas whispered, overwhelmed when he accepted arrows and quiver from Orophin and Rúmil's hands. “Truly, thank you so much... I am sure I am not good at all with a bow yet, but I will care well for your gift, and try to become better.”

“And hopefully, enjoy it,” Rúmil added with a smile. “I am not much good with it either, unlike Haldir who has unfairly been blessed with mastery of both sword and bow, yet even though I will never win a contest, I still enjoy using the bow. Every now and then, I even manage to bring down a hart, which I have to admit is far more pleasing to my stomach than a tournament victory would be.”

“I have sometimes managed to shoot a rabbit,” Legolas offered quietly, giving Haldir a cautious look to see if that would earn him his derision. “Although we more usually used slings – it was always a welcome addition to the rations we were provided with.”

“I am certain you will do well,” Celeborn said warmly, returning to their side now with Galadriel and Arwen next to him. Galadriel stepped closer to Legolas, gently taking his head into her hands as she kissed his brow.

“The Valar's blessings,” she said, her eyes filled with a radiance that made him think of golden light on verdant shoots, of starlight shimmering on the waves of the sea, awed and comforted at once by the light that seemed to envelop him.

“One day soon, you shall be in need of this,” she then said, her voice grave even though her eyes were warm, smiling in reassurance at his confusion. “Fairest of the princes of these hither shores... You have returned estel to Glorfindel the beloved.”

Legolas felt Glorfindel stiffen at her words, a shiver running through his body as he wondered whether she was speaking in foresight, and what it might mean. How could he have returned estel to Glorfindel? Certainly such a hero, beloved by his people, granted rebirth and a return by the Valar, would never lose estel?

Then he saw what she held in her arms and reached out to take it, his eyes widening at the weight. Some of the cloth slipped from his grasp and now he gasped at the splendor unfolding before his eyes – it was no tapestry as he might have thought from the weight, it was a cloak; a cloak of such indescribable beauty that it seemed to him far too fine to be touched even by princes or kings. Certainly such a garment could be worn by a Vala alone?

It was cloth-of-gold as bright as his Lord's golden hair, so thick and heavy he could barely hold it with both hands. And yet it had been embroidered so luxuriously that almost none of the gold was visible, as the entire cloak was covered with thousands of small leafs cut from emeralds that glistened and gleamed in the light.

“Like sunlight falling through a cover of leaves,” he whispered in awe, his fingers trembling as he stroked this priceless treasure, unable to believe what he saw.

Was it truly their plan to reinstate him as a Prince of Greenwood? This would be too much even if they were to crown him King... For he wanted no title, no crown, all he wanted was to be with Glorfindel, to be his and his alone, and he would gladly declare himself his slave once more if that meant that he would never have to see his father again.


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roch neth - colt
talan - flet
estel - hope
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Author's Notes
===========

The estel Galadriel mentions refers of course not to Aragorn, but rather to the two-fold concept of hope of the elves, which is explained by Tolkien in Athrabeth Finrod Ah Andreth:

'Have ye then no hope?' said Finrod.
'What is hope?' she said. 'An expectation of good, which though uncertain has some foundation in what is known? Then we have none.'
'That is one thing that Men call "hope",' said Finrod. 'Amdir we call it, "looking up". But there is another which is founded deeper. Estel we call it, that is "trust". It is not defeated by the ways of the world, for it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being. If we are indeed the Eruhin, the Children of the One, then He will not suffer Himself to be deprived of His own, not by any Enemy, not even by ourselves. This is the last foundation of Estel, which we keep even when we contemplate the End: of all His designs the issue must be for His Children's joy. Amdir you have not, you say. Does no Estel at all abide?' (MR 320)

Before someone points out that the making and/or wearing of wreaths of flowers is a 'girly' thing to do for Legolas, I would like to point out that it is Thranduil who wears “a crown of leaves upon his golden hair” (Hobbit 144). And how do the Noldor view such things? Who knows... Galadriel at least seems to like it enough to wear “a circlet of golden flowers [...] in her hair” when she bids the Fellowship farewell (Fellowship 489).

A description of what elanor looks like can be found in Tolkien's letter 312:
“Lit by that light, niphredil would be simply a delicate kin of a snowdrop; and elanor a pimpernel (perhaps a little enlarged) growing sun-golden flowers and star-silver ones on the same plant, and sometimes the two combined. “(Letters 402)

Carpenter, Humphrey. The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien. London: HarperCollins, 2006.
Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. London: HarperCollins, 1999.
---. Morgoth's Ring. Ed. Christopher Tolkien. London: HarperCollins, 1994.
---. The Fellowship of the Ring. London: HarperCollins, 1999.