Faded Light: Book II

(For additional notes and disclaimers, please see top of Chapter 1.)


- - I have been asked before for more details about Legolas’ life before his enslavement; while this chapter is only partly a flashback, here are a few more pieces of his past...- -


Chapter 8
Remnants


Feredir was surprised to find himself wandering aimlessly through his brother’s old rooms the night after the return to Mirkwood; little thought having gone into the action.

He seldom came in here on his rare visits home though he knew their father still had everything kept nearly as it had been when Legolas lived here.

It was the typical apartment of a young elf, spacious as befitted the crown prince and occupied with all the accouterments an elven student and novice warrior might use, as well as other artifacts that revealed the youth’s personal interests.

Books on various subjects lined the shelves, a few neatly stacked on the desk, beside a pair of knives that he remembered brought back to the king along with the bodies of his fallen warriors...the only sign ever found of his son...

An extra quiver with arrows and a small harp both set against a tall dresser...bits and pieces of someone’s life, waiting to be reclaimed.

Feredir could remember many nights when he had sat in this very room, in the weeks following the brutal slaying of their mother, trying to comfort a very young Legolas...

"Las...you’ve been locked up here for days. Come down to supper."

"I don’t want to.”

The little prince who sat on his bed with a set of coloring sticks and a book, of dragons and ents and an array of other strange creatures continued stubbornly coloring in the drawings, not even glancing up at his brother. “I don’t want to see all those people...”

For a fortnight after the queen's death the elfling had kept to his rooms, too distraught to even attend his mother’s burial. He had cried himself to sleep every night and woke out of nightmares from which only his father or brother could comfort him; until Thranduil began to fear that he might lose his younger son to his deep sadness...

"I know it’s hard right now and you miss Nana,” he tried, “but you know she wouldn’t want you to hide up here forever.”

“Iston.”

Feredir sat down and gently took the colored chalk out of Legolas’ hand.

"Naneth was much loved by everyone in Mirkwood,” he said, searching for anything that might ease the child's pain, “and we’re all going to miss her for a long time. But the way to honor Nana is to go on...do you understand?

"She was a very brave Elf,” he went on soothingly, and tilted the stubborn chin, “and now we have to be brave too...that means facing the world outside this room...starting with a dining hall full of officious old elves.”

The Elfling couldn’t help smiling slightly at the face his brother made on officious.

“That’s what Ada says...except he'd never call any of his nobles officious...”

"...not where little ears would hear it at least...”

“...it isn’t fair...why did she have to go away...?” he asked suddenly, wiping angrily at his eyes as they brimmed over. “Why couldn’t uncle save her...?”

“I don’t know why such things happen," he wrapped his arms around the tearful elfling, as the princely poise he held even at that age and the semblance of willfulness he had tried to hide behind for days finally crumbled.

For long minutes he held his brother tenderly as he wept, and wishing so much that he knew how to allay such grief...though even after nearly eight hundred years he knew had never fully escaped his own...

He had known from an early age just how unfair life could be, even to an Immortal, but it was not a lesson he had ever thought the prince would have to learn so soon.

“It’s all right to be sad,” he said, “but you are not alone, tithen pen...you still have me and Ada, Aunt and Uncle and Grandfather Elavorn...we’re always with you even when you don’t see us, and so is Naneth...never forget that...


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Feredir pulled open one of the doors to the empty wardrobe not expecting to find anything still in it. Though of course the servants would have been told only to take away clothes and such things, and the king would not have had the heart to go through his son’s room.

Kneeling down, he pulled out a medium sized box that had been set far into a back corner; likely out of sight when the wardrobe was filled with other things, surprised it had been overlooked.

Most of the contents of the box were trivial things. A child’s mementos it appeared; some old picture books, a few carved toy figures of elven warriors Feredir could remember a very young Legolas playing with, and a small shell from some distant ocean Mithrandir once gave Legolas when he visited Mirkwood.

He looked in the dresser again and smiled at his next discovery. “Tathar, how long have you been back there?” he asked smoothing the old elven doll’s long dark hair, Legolas’ favorite until he decided that dolls were for little elflings. It had been about the time Thranduil agreed the prince could be given a real horse of his own.


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"Come riding with me tomorrow,” he had suggested wiping his brother's tears and pulling away as Legolas sobs calmed, and trying to think of a way to help the heartbroken elfling. ”We’ll take some flowers to Nana’s glen and...”

But the prince shook his head adamantly. “I don’t think I’m ready to see where she’s...where she’s buried.

“Besides, I’m supposed to go back to my lessons with Mistress Randiriel tomorrow,” he said looking for an excuse not to go further than he had to from his rooms, his refuge since his mother’s death.

It was not healthy for a child that age to try to shut out the world...

“I’ll talk to Mistress Randiriel and Adar, and I’ll help you catch up with your work, if you want.

“We’ll go wherever you like tomorrow, just us...”

The Elfling seemed to struggle hard with himself for a minute before he slowly nodded.

“Will you come down to the dining hall?” he asked again, gently smoothing his brother’s unbraided golden hair and drying the remaining tears from the damp face.

”Adar had them prepare your favorite dessert in case you decided to join us.”

He could see the inner conflict it took for the child to be won over by the small bribe and finally smile a little. “With almonds?”

“Lots of almonds.

“Now, let's put your toys away," he said, closing the book and the box of colored chalk. "We’ll braid your hair and go downstairs.”

"Gwador..."

"What is it, little one?”

"Do you think Nana will mind, if we don’t go see her?”

“I think Nana will understand. We’ll go whenever you’re ready...”

He set the slightly tattered doll on the floor, letting himself smile a moment at his memories, before he returned his attention to the box.

Near the bottom, he found a curious-looking book, made of thin wooden panels bound together, each containing a miniature portrait. The first few were family pictures; their parents, Mereniel, Ruthlagor and their children, Feredir, and of Morwen who had been betrothed to the prince.

The others were pictures of several of Legolas’ friends...Aphadon and Nemir, who like Morwen had perished fighting the marauders that dark day and of Nardol who had sailed nearly a century before that; of that close circle only Faervel, Talagan, Ciel and the young healer, Tadion, remained.

As he continued to study the pictures, he noted they were all by the same artist, and he recalled that Faervel had gained some renown in that area since finishing his required tenure as a Mirkwood warrior. He also recalled that their father had strongly objected to that friendship, which explained why his brother would have kept the unusual album out of sight.

Just as he was about to put everything back, one more item caught his attention.

He knew his brother had kept a journal. It was part of the curriculum all royal tutors insisted on. But as he hesitantly began turning the pages, taking note of the gaps between entries of weeks or months, he could see that this was not the dull everyday writing filled with tiresome details for the teacher’s benefit.

“Not very disciplined laes muindor,” he spoke to the air. “Mistress Randiriel would not approve.”

Most of it seemed rather unremarkable, an adolescent's concerns, which alternated frequently between the trivial and the serious, and Feredir was beginning to feel a bit guilty for even glancing through it, until a series of entries not long after Legolas’ three hundred and twentieth begetting day.

We returned yesterday from Lorien, he read, “minus Nardol, who had decided some time ago to join his wife in Valinor.
I cannot express my sorrow at having bid farewell to my oldest friend, who has been at my side for nearly as long as I can remember. Only the Valar know now when we shall meet again.

And a few days later...

Ruthlagor has temporarily assigned Delos, one of those insufferable supplemental Human guards, as Nardol’s replacement though I had asked for Faervel or Nemir...

I am never comfortable with those Men about...much less to rely on one as a bodyguard. But I suppose I must endure Delos until I can speak with Adar.

I wish he and Gwador were here. It has been nearly six months and I miss them terribly...


Feredir remembered those days well. He had spent quite a bit of time in Rivendell on some matter of Thranduil’s who had been kept busy pushing back the Orcs that were becoming more brazen in the southern forests.

It had been a lonely time for the young prince, still several years away from beginning his formal military training and with those closest to him so frequently absent. And then, the departure of Nardol, who had served as the prince’s personal guard almost from the time of his mother’s death.

The next series of entries were dated several months later...


Faervel, Talagan, Ciel, Morwen and I spent several days camping near the river. It rained part of the time, but we still were able to do some hunting. And being allowed not to have Delos along made it feel like a true holiday though Ruthlagor insists there is no point in having a bodyguard if you persist in leaving him behind...

Aphadon was supposed to join us, but there was word of marauders on the borders and he was called away. Valar, those Men are becoming almost as much a nuisance as the Orcs...

It is a pity the summer is almost over. Talagan and Ciel are to be stationed far from the palace and Morwen is going to Lorien for a time. But hopefully Ada and Feredir will be home by the time of the autumn festival.

By the way, I think Faervel and Talagan have become more than friendly...they spent a good deal of time going off on their own, anyway...

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Adar refuses to give Faervel the position as my bodyguard.
I cannot understand what he has always had against Faervel or his brother, Aphadon unless it is Faervel's preference for ellons. I know Ruthlagor dislikes him for that...but I did not think Ada shared such a small-minded view...

It is not as if Faervel is the only one in Mirkwood; though Valar help Leralonde, if Uncle ever finds out about him and Saelbeth.

(Cousin and Sael are sure it is their secret, but I have known about them almost from the beginning.

I know Leralonde still thinks of me as that tiresome little brat he used to tease, but he is fortunate I’m not spiteful enough to give away his secret...Uncle is adamant in his ideas of duty and princely behavior. If he knew his heir was bedding one of the advisors...I would rather not even imagine his reaction...)

Anyway, if Faervel’s lovers were the real reason for Ada’s disapproval, he could have nothing against Aphadon and would not tolerate Talagan, and he would not have raised Feredir, the child of two ellons, as his own son...

So why does he object to my friendship with Faervel and Aphadon, both of whom have always proven themselves loyal friends to me and able warriors to MIrkwood...?

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Ada had not been home long when there was another report of a pack of Orcs to the south. There was almost no time to discuss Delos’ replacement.

I fear I will have to continue to tolerate that Man until I can persuade Ada to assign someone else.

Ruthlagor calls my sentiment toward Men an irrational prejudice (as if he had a right to point out anyone’s prejudices), and I fear Adar has been listening to Ruthlagor on the subject.
But I cannot make myself feel differently.

I do not like the looks Delos gives me of late...there is something in it that leaves me cold, more so than other Men...


Feredir was not sure why the last sentence sent something like dread through his mind…

The final entry was dated nearly a year later and preceded by a set of pages that appeared to have been torn out. The tone was noticeably different from the previous entries, neither cheerful nor preoccupied but overtly disturbing.


Uncle insists that I should tell Ada. But I cannot bring myself to speak of it. I have tried to do so more than once and dared not.
I cannot bear for Ada to ever know...

I must make myself forget. It must be as if it never happened, for I don't think I could keep from fading if Ada found out...

...how could I endure the shame then...?

...Valar, how I wish that I might tear the memory from my mind...but each night he returns in my dreams where there is no escape, and I fear I shall go mad if it continues...

But Ruthlagor must be convinced that all is well, or he may yet decide to tell Ada. Though I think I have persuaded him to keep silent. I must erase it from my thoughts, and he must believe there is nothing amiss, lest he change his mind or I fade.


Feredir’s initial frown had deepened as he continued to uncover his brother’s thoughts.

What could this thing be that Legolas had kept from their father and seemed so desperate to put from his mind?

...he had been hurt by someone, that much was clear, but by whom...and how badly?

Half a dozen different scenarios came to his mind, but Feredir dared not acknowledge any of them...he knew he could not begin to imagine things with no more facts than an old journal.

But whatever this thing had been, it appeared Ruthlagor had known at least some part of it...


TBC...


Elvish Translations:

Naneth, Nana / Mother, mom
Iston / I know
Tathar / Willow (I just thought it was a cute name for an elf doll.)
Adar, Ada / Father, dad, daddy
Laes muindor / baby brother
Gwador / sworn brother