Eyes That Fire and Sword Have Seen
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Synopsis: Legolas meets the mysterious Mithrandir, and forces his father
to face the past and the future.
Pairing(s): Elrond/Legolas assumed
Rating: PG 13
Not mine, no harm intended, the sheep are lying through their teeth! Thanks
to Emma for the beta job.
Comments are always cherished (elrond@ithilas.com)
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“Roads go ever ever on
Under cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that fire and sword have seen
And horror in the halls of stone
Look at last on meadows green
And trees and hills they long have known.”
--JRRT, “The Hobbit”
Part 1:
[Spring, the Year 2770 of the Third Age, several days after the destruction
of Dale]
Legolas breathlessly ran along the river as he had since dawn, threading
his way past familiar trees he had known since his earliest childhood. His
companions followed on his heels in uneasy silence, still shaken by the
terrible tableau they had witnessed in the smoldering ruins of the once-vibrant
town of Dale. A slight smile of relief graced his face for the first time
since leaving Lake-town upon passing the first row of sentries, his heart
beating more furiously in his chest as he crossed the bridge over the river
and down to the household gates.
Dismissing his companions to retire to the much-needed comfort of their
individual abodes, he hustled inside the subterranean fortress his family
called home, his mind racing as he tried to organize his thoughts in a final,
coherent form before facing his father. He had rehearsed what he expected
to be a confrontation over and over again during the journey back from Lake-town,
but he knew the reality would be far different from what he could hope to
anticipate. All he could be certain of is that it would be most unpleasant
for all concerned.
“My Lord, you have returned,” an unusually nervous attendant said with
a bow as he reached the main antechamber.
“Where is my father?”
The sentry licked his lips. “He has a private audience with – a visitor.
He gave strict orders that he was not to be disturbed.”
Ignoring the pointed admonition, Legolas turned toward the hallway toward
his father’s private chambers.
“My Lord – he was most insistent --”
With a wave of his hand, the prince bounded down the stone passage without
pausing. “You have dutifully warned me, Haldreth. ’Tis not your fault that
I disobeyed.”
He paused at the doorway of the throne room, catching a much-needed, steeling
breath. His resolve was soon bolstered by his haunting memories of Bard’s
young face, remembering how the child’s innocence was so rudely ripped away
in the cruelest of manners, and he grabbed the silver handles of the double
door and roughly yanked them open.
His gaze crossed the room immediately, spying his father pacing before
his throne, a unfamiliar, grey-clad figure standing between them.
“Father – Dale has fallen, to an amlug,” the prince loudly announced, entering
the room in wide strides.
“So I have heard,” Thranduil grimly noted, gesturing to the stranger.
The unidentified figure turned to face the door, and Legolas immediately
took note of his features. His hair was long and grey, as was his beard.
His general appearance could only be described as unelvishly disheveled,
yet his air was far from Adanic.
“Mithrandir,” Legolas finally whispered to himself in reverent awe. He
had heard much of the wizard, some snippets surreptitiously gleaned from
conversations in his father’s court, far more information gathered from
the advisors of Imladris.
“Hail, son of Thranduil,” the wizard offered with a slight bow. “Much has
reached my ears concerning you.”
The blond elf king visibly bristled at that statement. “Leave us,” he gruffly
directed toward his younger son. “I wish to speak to Mithrandir alone. This
is none of your concern.”
The insult stung Legolas’ ears. “None of my concern? I held the dying lord
of Dale in my arms, healed his elder son’s wounds, witnessed the tears of
his widow and tried to make sense of this all to a boy far too young to
know the meaning of death, and you claim this is none of my concern? If
for no other reason than I am your son and a prince of Mirkwood, what happens
to our neighbors -- our one-time allies -- is most certainly my concern!”
A haughty chuckle rumbled in the king’s chest. “Your attention has been
directed *elsewhere* these past years,” Thranduil accused with dripping bitterness.
“Your sudden interest in our borders strikes me as insincere.”
“Speak your mind, Father,” Legolas fumed, taking several steps closer.
“You still believe that I have abandoned our forest for Imladris. If this
is so, then why is my time here in your service far longer than that *wasted*
in Elrond’s court?”
Color rose visibly in Thranduil’s cheeks, the king stalking angrily toward
his son. “Do not shame our house further by discussing your -- indiscretions
-- in front of outsiders,” he slowly growled.
“’Tis your actions which bring shame to our house, Father, not mine,” Legolas
replied, meeting his father with matched gaze. “‘Tis you who forget your
duty to your allies.”
“I do what I must to protect our people, our home. You are far too young
to understand.” Thranduil’s eyes blazed with anger. “Perhaps if you spent
more time in the forest than hiding in *his* valley you would understand
that.”
Ignoring the offered insult, Legolas held his ground. “I am not nearly
as young as you pretend – neither in the passing of years or what my eyes
have seen in that time. I have already tasted my fill of battle, felt the
cold chill of death in my own flesh. I have witnessed both devastation and
devotion, and have enough wisdom to know which I prefer, not only for myself,
but for all of Iluvatar’s children.”
“Yes, often you have forsaken the troubles and responsibilities of your
birth-land for the peace of Imladris,” Thranduil angrily agreed, venom dripping
from each pointedly pronounced syllable of the name of the Peredhel’s realm.
“You neglect your duty to your home and our people in the name of this *devotion*
you claim to have found.”
“His devotion to Lord Elrond, and that which is returned, may prove to
be a boon without measure to both lands,” Mithrandir offered.
Thranduil spun on his heels and glared at the wizard. “Do not condone my
son’s actions in my own house! He swoons like a maiden in the safety of
the Bruinen’s valley, when he should be here, protecting our borders.”
“He is no more a maiden than you are a diplomat,” the wizard pointedly
corrected. “You still allow your family’s irrational distrust of the
High King and those who were close to him to cloud your better judgment.
Would you rather your son succumb to the damnable pride of your house than
to finally bring closure to some of the wounds that ill-founded grudge has
caused?”
“What about the wounds of shame I feel whenever my son leaves my side to
be a mere dalliance in the Half-elf’s bed? What peace or pride could I possibly
find in that?”
Legolas stormed forward toward his father, the anger on his face making
it clear that he would have stuck his father if Mithrandir had not intervened.
With an outstretched staff, he halted the prince’s progress, exchanged a
knowing gaze, and continued his own verbal assault on the stubborn elf king.
“What shame or regret could you find in your son being a respected member
of one of the highest elvish courts east of the Blessed Lands? There he
not only learns much which will serve your lands well, but builds strong
bonds of friendship between not only Mirkwood and Imladris, but with Lothlorien
and Mithlond as well.”
“I have my forged my own bonds of kinship and alliance with the Havens,”
Thranduil proudly stated, “and my father led his people deeper into the
great forest to escape the influence of the Kinslayer princess.”
“*You* forged no bonds with the Havens, Father,” Legolas accused. “Brethilas
did so, with his wedding bed.”
“I will not allow you to speak of your brother’s wife with disrespect in
my presence,” Thranduil shouted.
“As I will not allow you to defame Lord Elrond in mine!”
Part 2:
Mithrandir raised both outstretched hands toward the warring elves as he
now stood directly between them. “I do not wish to interfere in the affairs
of family, but there is far more at stake here than either of you can know,”
he warily warned. Lowering his hands, he directed his gaze to the irate king.
“I see the heirs of your House reigning in this forest for ages to come, but
none shall spring from Legolas’ loins.” Before the king could comment, the
wizard quickly turned his head toward the prince. “You know in your heart
that the Lady Elbereth blesses your love for Lord Elrond, but she cannot prevent
the toils and sorrows which all must face in this Age. Trust that even as
she ever watches over you, you must also trust the wisdom of your own heart
to never lead you astray. One day two Greenleafs shall meet in the Undying
Lands, equals in the account of their brave deeds.”
Legolas remembered the terrifying tales of the fall of Gondolin he had heard
from Glorfindel’s lips, including the role of another Legolas who had led
the survivors to safety. “I do not doubt the Lady’s hand has intervened on
my behalf more than once. Nor do I doubt that she will ask much of me in return,
which I shall gladly grant with all my strength and reverence.”
“Take care what you expect of the Valar,” Thranduil bitterly interjected.
“Their favors can be fickle indeed.”
“The Valar cannot remove the curse which has been laid upon your House,”
Gandalf sadly answered. “Only he who cast it can remove it, with Eru’s blessing.
But I see in your younger son a glimmer of hope for the future, as at least
one of your house distances himself from the follies of the past.”
Thranduil shook his head forlornly. “My son distances himself from our home.
All I see in his future is disappointment and despair.” Turning his back on
his son, he slowly walked back to his throne. “Our business is finished, Mithrandir,”
he coldly announced, his back to the wizard. Gripping the arms of his wooden
chair with bloodless fingers, his shoulders slumped slightly under the weight
of whatever private demons now plagued his mind. “You and my son should both
leave me now.”
Legolas stepped forward, exchanging an unhappy expression with the wizard.
“You cannot dismiss me as easily as you would our visitors, Father.”
“Will you never obey me?” Thranduil argued, turned around sharply to focus
his displeased gaze upon his son.
“Will you never respect my counsel?” Legolas angrily countered.
“I would, if you brought me counsel worth my while.”
Gandalf strode closer to the father and son, his staff sharply clicking
against the stone floor as he walked. “You would do well to listen to your
son’s eye-witness account of the fall of Dale, if you would so easily dismiss
the one which I have brought you.”
“I do not doubt that the Men of Dale have fallen to a fire-drake, as you
have said, Mithrandir,” Thranduil answered without emotion. “But I do not
agree that it is any concern of my people.”
“How can you say that, when 'twas our people who robbed Dale of its rightful
king?” Legolas angrily disagreed.
Thranduil blanched. “What manner of madness do you mutter now?”
“’Tis not madness, but the truth, spoken from the lips of an innocent child,
which showed me the depths of the depravity of my House.” The prince smiled
sardonically, then recited part of Bard’s sing-song description of his family
tree.
“But Bard the First, the rightful heir,
Was lost, they say, to one most fair.
From whence she came they did not say,
But by her spell led him away.”
His smile fell into a frown of anger, his eyes flashing brightly with the
fury he had kept buried within him since leaving Lake-town. “You cannot rule
my actions, or my heart, as you could not Minuial’s.”
Thranduil began to shake slightly, his fists clenched in anger. “I forbid
you to discuss your sister in front of outsiders.”
But Legolas would not be silenced. “Would you have Elrond murdered, as you
had the Prince of Dale?” he inquired, the terror of that horrific possibility
trembling his voice despite his best attempts of self-controil.
The lord of Mirkwood sank onto his throne, the weight of the totality of
his accumulated sorrows and sins suddenly apparent in his normally ageless
face. “’Twas an accident, as I told you when you recovered in Elrond’s halls,”
Thranduil wearily offered in his defense.
“Aye, you admitted at least that much,” Legolas grimly agreed. “But you
said it was to a Man from Dale that my sister had given her heart. He was
no common man, Father. He would have been a king, an heir of the Edain, the
Elf-friends, and my sister his much-cherished and honored queen. He would
have offered a dowry no less lovely than which Beren offered Thingol for
Luthien’s hand, and brought honor to our House and security to our eastern
borders. Instead you schemed to separate them, bringing nothing but shame
and sorrow to us all.”
“My daughter could not be bought with emeralds, not when I would lose her
forever,” Thranduil tried to explain, tears dampening the corners of his eyes.
“She was more precious to me than any treasure. I could not bear to have
her marry one of the Visitors, and have her choose as Luthien to leave this
world behind after his death.”
“Instead you lost her far sooner, with nothing to remember her by except
the pain her death caused us all,” Legolas softly added, his voice now losing
all of its anger at the sight of his father’s anguished expression. He knelt
at his father’s feet, laying a hand upon one of his father’s as it clung to
the arm of the chair. “I believe you did not mean to have Bard killed, but
your blindness and your pride could have no other outcome than unhappiness
for all. Honor my sister’s memory now, and cleanse our land of the burden
of sin it has unwittingly endured all these years.”
Thranduil stared at his younger son, a slight hint of a memory-driven smile
tugging at the corners of his lips. He raised his free hand and affectionately
traced the high line of one of his son’s cheeks. “You were always so dear
to her,” he softly explained. “I see much of her face in yours, and the same
light of unbounded happiness which lit her eyes when first she lost her heart
mirrors what I have for so long now seen in yours.”
Legolas smiled. “Then you know without doubt that what I feel is true and
good.”
“I may have doubted the wisdom of your heart, but never truly its fidelity,”
Thranduil softly offered. “Not to our House, or to Elrond. ‘Tis the latter
which brings me pain, as I can see naught but tragedy in your future if your
heart does not realize the folly of its ways.” He swallowed visibly. “I have
lost my daughter and my beloved wife to the Halls of Mandos due to the breaking
of their hearts. I could not bear to lose you as well.”
“His love is true, Father. Whatever pain faces me in the future, it will
not be brought at his hand.”
Palpable pain deepened in the elf lord’s eyes. “Not even when the High King
returns to claim that which is his?”
The father and son lingered in an uneasy, silent gaze, both understanding
the full meaning of that awkward question.
Legolas turned his head over his shoulder and sought some answer in the
wizard’s face. “He will return, will he not?” he asked with trepidation.
Mithrandir rested both hands upon his staff, as if drawing strength from
it. “None remain in Mandos’ care forever, save the most corrupt.” He smiled
sadly as the young elf’s expression grew solemn. “You have thought of that
eventuality, more than once,” he correctly surmised. “What will come to pass,
I cannot say, for there is much which is hidden from me.” His smile grew fuller
and more peaceful, an expression which was soon mirrored by the prince. “Remember
to trust in the Lady and your own strength, whatever the future brings. For
although I see hardship and heroics in the path ahead, I also see happiness
along the way. Savor those moments as most precious jewels, for none are
assured of their number.”
Nodding in understanding, Legolas returned his attention to his father.
“Honor Minuial’s memory now, as well as demonstrate your trust in my counsel.”
Thranduil’s expression grew puzzled. “What would you have me do?”
Legolas rose to his feet, an air of confidence in his demeanor. “I promised
to return to Lake-town before the snows, with a treaty of renewed friendship
and alliance with all the men of the river. Prove to them that the word of
Mirkwood is trustworthy.”
Thranduil sat in silence, then weakly nodded his assent. “Return to the
lake with all the host you require and all the supplies the survivors need.
Secure the town, and if they would risk the journey north, help them to honor
their dead with a proper burial. You have the authority to act in my stead
to negotiate any treaty of trade and alliance you see fit.” He glanced down
at the smug smile on Gandalf’s face. “Are you satisfied with the arrangement?”
“Most definitely, Lord Thranduil,” the wizard offered with a slight bow.
“A wise and just decision it is. I would have expected nothing less.”
Legolas turned and hesitantly stepped towards the wizard. “‘Tis an honor
to meet you at last, Mithrandir,” he reverently offered with a respectful
bow.
“The honor belongs to me, Legolas Thranduilion. I must depart your home
now, and bring word of Dale’s fall and your father’s wise course of action
to Imladris. Have you any message you wish conveyed to Lord Elrond?”
An unmistakable expression of longing lingered on the prince’s fair face.
“Tell him of my small part in all this, and to expect my presence before the
snow returns.” He glanced back at his father, a smile gracing his lips. “Of
all the wonders my eyes have seen, snow upon the Bruinen is among the most
magical and peaceful I have ever known.”
Thranduil’s face reflected sorrow, but he kept his mixed emotions hidden
as best he could. “Then you deserve to enjoy its peace once more.” Abandoning
his throne, he walked over to his son and clasped both his forearms. “I do
not pretend to understand what joy you have found in Imladris, nor can I deny
the grave misgivings of my heart. But this I swear, in the name of Eru the
One – never again will I stand between one of my children and the calling
of their heart.”
With a beaming smile of relief and boundless joy, Legolas wrapped his fingers
around his father’s wrists. “I have not the words to thank you, Father.”
“None are required, my Son. I just pray that one day our family’s curse
will be lifted, and you will find and hold on to the happiness which I have
forever lost.”
“You may find that your ‘forever’ of sorrow will also come to an end, one
day” Mithrandir sagely predicted.
“From your lips to Eru’s ears,” Legolas happily prayed. “With the Lady’s
grace.”
“With the Lady’s grace,” Thranduil half-heartedly agreed, seemingly unconvinced
that he would ever regain that which he had lost, even unto the end of Arda.
The End
Notes:
Much of this story follows directly from “Who Grieve and Yearn.” [http://www.ithilas.com/fos/grieve.html]
For more information on Thranduil’s actions and policies of the Third Age,
see the essay "Third Age Politics and Second Age Memories: Thranduil and the
White Council" [http://www.ithilas.com/fos/White_Council.html]
The description of Thranduil’s attire and abode follow that in The Hobbit.
The reference to snow in Imladris is from “Fanuilos” [http://www.ithilas.com/fos/fanuilos.html]
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