The Folly of Starlight 17. Interlude: The Distance That the Dead Have Gone by AC

[Laire 34, the year 2717 of the Third Age, the dwelling of Elrond Peredhil in the valley of the Bruinen, known in the Common Tongue as Rivendell]


Anar had passed beyond the highest point in its daily journey through the sky, yet one bed in Imladris still bore an occupant. The younger prince of Mirkwood fidgeted uneasily between the cool, feathery-soft sheets of the healing hall's bed, his disquiet far more mental than physical in cause. He was supposed to be resting, healing, conserving his strength, yet he found his mind racing as furiously as the fleetest footed steed. That morning he had been joyously awakened by the sweetness of his lover's tender kisses, before being disarmed by his father's surprise announcement of impending departure. Elrond had promised that he could return to "our bed" in the morn as soon as his father was beyond the valley's borders.

Yes, by the Lady's grace, and his lover's masterful ministrations, Legolas' strength waxed more full with each passing hour. So why was he plagued with anxiety?

Images from hours before replayed in the prince's mind -- the expression of defeated disdain on his father's face when he chided "Do not abandon your home, Legolas. Whatever has passed between you and Lord Elrond, you are firstly my son, and a prince of Mirkwood. Do not forget that." His father clearly expected him to abandon his home and his duty, even though he had nearly given his very life in the name of both. No, he HAD given his life, but it had been returned to him by the skilled hand of his beloved, and by the Lady's grace.

"Your face is far too grim for the beauty of this day, fair prince. Do your wounds cause you pain still?"

Focusing his eyes across the room, Legolas spied a familiar, golden-haired elf lord carefully surveying his expression from the doorway. "My wounds barely occupy my thoughts, Glorfindel," he warmly assured his visitor, "nor the thoughts of my father, finally."

Glorfindel strolled into the room, a graceful smile adding to the classic beauty of his features. A maelstrom of mixed emotions greeted him in the form of the other's expression and tone, leading the ancient elf lord to question just what had earlier transpired between father and son. "So I have heard. No sooner did I return from my sentry duty this morn than Lord Elrond explained to me that I am to join his sons in escorting your family back to the great forest with the next dawn."

"Your aid is much appreciated by my family," the prince honestly offered. With a gesture of his hand, he invited the other to occupy the chair beside his bed. "I am glad you have come to visit before leaving. I have been eager to offer my congratulations to you in person. It is indeed a great joy which your betrothal to Elrohir has brought to Imladris."

The elder elf pulled out the chair and claimed its seat as his own. "Great is the joy which my betrothal has brought to me in the past weeks." His smile grew brighter still. "It brings me even more happiness to hear you will honor us by acting as my witness to our union."

"'Tis an honor to be offered such a role. You have suffered much, and deserve all the happiness the Lady deigns to provide."

Glorfindel raised his gaze from the prince's fair face to the delicate, feminine features carefully rendered in wood in the intricately carved headboard. "She has bestowed upon me blessings more precious than I ever expected," he reverently spoke.

Catching the flash of fond memory in the other's eyes, Legolas craned his neck to allow him to also study the artist's work. "The Lady is more beautiful than any hand could dare capture, no matter how talented," he keenly noted, with no intention of slander or scorn.

"I know. I have beheld her beauty in person."

Is that regret or longing I hear in his voice? Legolas settled back against the soft smush of plump pillows, the solemnity of the bond he now shared with the famed elf lord settling upon him in its full crushing weight. "When you were released from the Dark Halls," the prince whispered in wide-eyed awe.

A disarming yet bittersweet expression heralded the elder elf's reply. "None can return save by her blessing, and that of the other High Ladies and Lords."

An obviously pained pause of reluctant admission hung heavily between them for the passing of several breaths before Legolas dared speak. "I, too, have seen her."

Glorfindel accepted this divulgence without emotion or surprise. "I know."

"Lord Elrond believes it to be merely the delirium of my injuries," the prince uncomfortably explained, shifting with palpable restlessness against the acquiescing bedsheets.

"It is far easier for him to say that, whether he truly believe it or not. He loves you without limit. If you had left him, his heart would have followed to the Houses of the Dead on your heels."

A twilight-hued gaze swiftly sank to where its owner's hands wrung together against the sheets. "I cannot believe that. He did not give up on life when his beloved king fell in battle."

The sorrow of Legolas' sighed words was matched by that in Glorfindel's riposte. "There was many a night when I feared he would do just that. It was only his devotion to duty which gave him cause to continue -- duties with which he had been charged by the High King himself."

The younger elf pondered this truism in silence, raising his gaze to meet that of the other.

"Whatever duties I have are my own, and I would not bind Elrond to them, now or in the future."

"And that makes you more beloved still."

The earnest compliment rolled off the prince unappreciated, his heart and mind more keenly focused on the newfound empathy he shared with the noble elf lord. "How long were you in the Dark Halls? I merely glimpsed their gloom, behind the brilliance of the Lady who saved me from their grasp."

"Time passes differently in the Blessed Lands, and more untenably still in Mandos' realm. All I know for certain is that it was sixteen centuries into the Second Age before I returned to the shores of Middle-earth."

"Do all return?"

Such tremulous hesitation in that uneasy query made it obvious to Glorfindel of whom Legolas truly spoke. "Not all, Greenleaf," Glorfindel honestly spoke. "Some Mandos deems unrepentant for their sins, while others have caused far too much pain and death to ever be released to the light of freedom. Still others are doomed to the care of the Dark Halls by the choices of another's heart. There are also personal dooms just as damning."

Legolas found cause to believe there was clearly some issue Glorfindel masterfully danced around, yet dreaded probing more deeply for fear his queries might reveal truths he was not prepared to face. Instead, he chose a safer road of conversation. "How did you come to be in Mandos' care?"

A chiding smile reflected back at the prince. "They do not tell of the fall of Gondolin in your father's halls?"

Legolas shrugged guiltily, his father's deep-rooted prejudices his only defense. "Only as proof of the ripening to fruition of the Kinslayers' curse. I have read far more in the libraries of Imladris than I ever learned at his knee. I do not know how you bear it. I cannot fathom losing my home. I would gladly give my life to defend it."

"So you have demonstrated to all."

Once more, sincere accolades went unacknowledged. "I did no more than my family would expect of me. I faced yrch, not a Balrog, or a dragon, or the Witch King himself."

A pregnant pause hung in the air, then the prince made a reverent request of his own.

"Tell me of it -- the walled city. Speak to me of the bravery of Ecthelion and Tuor, and King Turgon the Wise." Legolas pushed up against the mattress, straightening his posture in his eagerness. "Tell me of your own bravery, and of the terror of the beast of flames."

Glorfindel smiled, broadly and sweetly. "You would hear of the bravery of Tuor and Ecthelion, yet there is a greater tale still which you should hear -- that of a great love which passed even unto death, and beyond."
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