Second Chances

Part 2

Posted: February 2004
Author: Larien Elengasse

*****

Halls of Waiting, Aman, End of the First Age

Fëanor had been granted leave to walk Mandos' halls and he immediately went in search of his sons. He came upon Caranthir first, finding him sequestered in his chamber, sitting upon his bed.

"My son," he said softly as he crossed the threshold into Caranthir's chamber.

Caranthir looked up at his father and answered, "Father." He rose from the bed and crossed the room to Fëanor.

Fëanor met his son in the middle of the room, embracing him tightly and whispering loving words into his ear. "I am so sorry, Caranthir," he said softly. "The Oath I asked you to swear has brought about the downfall of my house."

Caranthir answered quietly, "We failed you, Father. We did not retrieve the Silmarils, they are in the hands of the Valar and the Sindar."

Fëanor stroked his son's hair gently and whispered, "It matters not now, Son. They are free of Morgoth's evil. I was a fool to make you swear such an Oath, and I have done horrible things in the name of what I thought was right."

Caranthir pulled back from his father, his face a mask of confusion and pain. "You say this now? After all we have done?" He turned away and paced the floor. "I have the blood of my own kind on my hands, Father!" he shouted. "I killed those I should have loved, for you!"

Fëanor recoiled as if struck, the words burned his heart for he knew they were true. "I know, Caranthir," he answered quietly, "and I bear the burden of blame for you all. You were bound by an Oath I made you forswear, I have brought about the destruction of my own children." He turned away and continued in a voice so small Caranthir could barely hear him, "I will never stop suffering for this, I will never stop paying for what I have done." He turned and faced his son. "But you, my son, you will be absolved, you will be allowed to return home. Such is the bargain I have struck with Mandos."

Caranthir looked at his father and crossed the room to him. He continued softly, "All I did, I did for your love, Father. But that will offer me little consolation in days to come. I, as all my brothers, have suffered the cost of great pride. Not a one of us did not consider breaking the Oath, but we were too proud to do so, too proud to be seen as weak, even when it drove us to acts of madness. I do not wish to see you suffer endlessly, I do still love you, we all do."

Fëanor embraced his son again and whispered, "Your redemption awaits you, Caranthir. Leave this place and never look back, think not upon me again." He pulled away and left his son standing in the middle of the room. He turned and looked back over his shoulder and said quietly, "Farewell, my son." He passed through the portal as Caranthir rushed after him, only to see his father vanish into thin air.

* * * *

Fëanor made his way through Mandos' Halls, visiting his sons one by one, absolving each of them of the deeds they had done in the name of the Oath. His last visits were to Curufin and Celegorm; they could not be absolved of what they had done. He told them he loved them, bid them bear their punishment with dignity and left them, never to see them again.

Maedhros was the next to arrive. It pained Fëanor to see his eldest son so broken. Maedhros, of all his sons, had expressed the greatest remorse for his actions. His stay in Mandos' Halls would be brief; he was released soon after he arrived, to find peace in Aman.

The last to arrive was Maglor. Maglor was most like his mother, delighting in the written word and in music. Maglor told his father of the twin sons he had fostered, a small price to pay for the acts of violence he had committed under the Oath. Fëanor smiled as he saw the delight in his son's eyes when he spoke of Elrond and Elros. Maglor had not suffered a violent death, rather he perished in grief for the evil deeds he had done. Young Elrond and Elros had gone to live with the High King, Gil-galad, in Lindon, and of that, Maglor was glad. Maglor was also released upon his arrival, and he long walked the shores of Aman, singing songs of regret for his trespasses.

* * * *

Halls of Waiting, Aman, Start of the Third Age

Fëanor knelt before Mandos as the Vala sat upon his throne, his spouse, Vairë, at his side. His head was bowed, his eyes cast toward the floor as Mandos recounted his rash deeds. He listened to each one, tears falling from his eyes when the Vala recounted the kinslaying, naming each Teleri that fell, he felt the heavy weight of guilt when Mandos recounted how he had left his own kin to perish upon the grinding ice. In the end, he was guilty of all he was accused of, and more that Mandos did not name. He expressed his remorse and shame, his tears wetting the marble floor at Mandos' feet.

The Vala looked down at the one he had loved most of all of Finwë's children, perhaps the one he loved most of all of the Eldar, and his heart was moved with pity. He could not easily absolve Fëanor of all that he had done, but perhaps his wife was right, perhaps there was a way for the Noldo to repay his debt.

Mandos' deep voice addressed him, "Fëandro, look at me."

Fëanor raised his head and looked into the bottomless, dark pools of the Vala's eyes.

"There is a way that you can pay for what you have done. It will be painful, it will be more than you think you can bear at times, but nonetheless, it can be done."

Fëanor responded, "I would do anything you ask, anything that is in my power to do."

Mandos sighed and looked at the Noldo. "Morgoth may be vanquished and Sauron defeated, but his servants still inflict pain upon the western lands. The time will come when a great battle will ensue, when the free peoples of the west stand against the darkness. Their task is difficult, nearly impossible, but if it is not done, Sauron will enslave the earth and all its peoples. The firstborn are leaving Arda, but a few remain. The men that face this evil will need the help of those firstborn that stay behind. I am giving you the chance to help lead them."

"I would fight until the last breath leaves my body," Fëanor answered.

Mandos nodded. "And you will. Your end will come, Fëandro, in the dark pits of Barad-dûr. Sauron the torturer will deal out his harshest punishment for you and your end will be cruel."

"I understand, hérunya, " Fëanor answered softly.

"Very well. Vairë will take you to where you will leave this place. Do not falter, Fëandro, for if you do, all of Arda will be swallowed by shadow."

Fëanor rose to his feet and followed Vairë from the throne room and into the Halls of Waiting.

As they walked silently, Fëanor saw a tall, golden haired elf, standing in front of a tapestry. His heart leapt in his chest as he raced toward him, Vairë's call falling upon his deaf ears. Just as he reached out and touched the elf's shoulder, the elf touched the tapestry, and both Fëanor and the elf disappeared into ether.

The Queen of Mandos' Halls gasped and placed her hand over her mouth as she watched the two spirits combine and speed through time and space, entering the vessel for which only one was intended.

Mandos had sensed something had gone wrong and came to his wife's side, just as Fëanor and the golden elf disappeared into the air. He placed his hand upon her shoulder and closed his eyes, watching the scene unfold.

* * * *

Greenwood the Great, Beginning of the Third Age

Thranduil Oropherion paced the halls of his palace, just beyond the door he guarded lay his wife, giving birth to their first child. He stalked back and forth like a caged cat, nervousness and anxiety clearly written upon his features. His wife had an unusually difficult pregnancy, something nearly unheard of for an elf, and it appeared the birthing would go no easier. The healers had been in with her for hours, and the longer the door remained closed, the more worried he became.

He wheeled around in mid-stride as he heard his infant child screaming at the top of its tiny lungs. He burst through the door to see the healer holding the kicking and screaming infant, nearly purple with its distress. He crossed the room and the healer offered his son to him, sadly informing him the birthing was too much for his wife to bear.

He took the screaming child into his arms, and looked at the pale form of his wife upon the bed. The sheets and her gown were soaked in sweat and he could see the light fading from her eyes.

"Is there nothing to be done?" he asked quietly.

"Nay, my Lord. It was simply too much for her, it was as if the child consumed her from the inside."

He looked down upon the infant, who had calmed considerably, and touched its tiny cheek. A tear fell from his eye as the small elfling grasped his finger in its small fist and hung on for dear life. He sat upon the bed, his voice soft and low as he spoke to his dying wife, "Look upon him, meleth, before you leave us. He is beautiful, he has your fiery spirit."

She smiled weakly and whispered, "I know you will love him, Thranduil. You will be a good father."

He smiled as a tear fell from his eye, landing upon his son's chest. "I will do my best, melethen," he answered.

She whispered, "Melon le, my husband."

"Melon le, seron vell," He answered. He watched as the light faded from her eyes and her spirit passed to Mandos' Halls.

He cradled his tiny son in his arms, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. He watched the elfling draw his finger to his mouth and begin to suckle upon its tip. He looked up at the healer and asked weakly, "What am I to do? He needs his mother, how can I take care of him without her?"

The healer reached down and took the small infant into her arms as it started to scream again. "We have those who can help with this, my Lord, mothers who have recently given birth. They can feed him until he is strong enough to take other sustenance."

It pained Thranduil to see his son so distressed, but he could see no other way. He sat quietly beside his wife's body, praying silently as they took his son to be fed.

* * * *

Greenwood the Great, Early Third Age

Thranduil lay upon his side in the tall grass, watching his tiny son kick and wriggle upon the blanket. Legolas was his pride and joy and had been the center of his life since the death of his wife. The small elfling squeaked and giggled as Thranduil tickled his belly and the soft spot under his arm.

**Ticklish?** the deep, soft voice said. "Yé," his own voice answered.**

He blinked, the sudden vision causing him to feel disoriented. Another peal of laughter from his small son returned him to present and he leaned down, blowing a loud raspberry upon his belly. Legolas shrieked in delight, grasping his father's hair in his fists as he tried to pull him closer. Thranduil laughed and grasped his son's hands.

"Easy, Iôn, lest your Adar be bald before you are grown," he said softly.

Legolas giggled again and pulled his father down, blowing a sloppy raspberry upon his cheek.

Thranduil was amazed at the strength of his young son and quietly grimaced as Legolas pulled his hair. "Greenleaf," he said softly, "Adar is serious, you are about to remove his hair from the root."

Legolas cooed and released his father's hair, blinking slowly and staring up into Thranduil's face. "Da!" he shouted.

Thranduil smiled broadly and tucked his hair behind his ears, placing a soft kiss upon his son's face. "Yes, Greenleaf, I am your ‘da'," he answered softly.

He lifted Legolas into the air, rising to his feet and spinning around. Legolas laughed and squealed as he waived his arms in the air and kicked his tiny legs. He lowered his son, holding him close to his chest as he rocked him back and forth. "My beautiful son," he said softly. "Melon le, Legolas."

"Ada," Legolas said softly.

Thranduil held his son away from him and looked at him, his eyes wide in amazement. Legolas had never spoken a real word before, ‘ada' was his first. He smiled broadly, and held his son closer. Legolas brought his small hand to his cheek and smiled. "My Ada," he said softly.

Thranduil smiled and nodded. "Yes, Greenleaf, I am your Ada," he answered softly.

* * * *

Legolas grew and matured at a remarkable rate that none of those near the King could explain. When most elflings were taking their first tentative steps, Legolas was running. When most were beginning to express themselves with rudimentary language, Legolas was reading and writing. Those around the young prince remarked that he must be blessed by the Valar to be so strong and intelligent. By Legolas' twelfth year, he was already drawing near the skill of Thranduil's captains with the bow and he had started training with knives as well.

As Legolas grew older, he was bold beyond measure, showing no fear of anything that his tutors or father could see. He also grew more beautiful each passing day, tall and strong like his father, with a wicked sense of humor like his mother had. He never asked about his mother, even when he saw other young elves with both their parents. For Legolas, Thranduil was enough, his father was the center of his world.

One night, the Prince lay upon his bed, staring out the high window at the stars that circled overhead. He held a conversation with himself, as he often did. His tutors and friends all thought it was an imaginary friend he talked to, but he knew different.

He pointed toward the window at a bright star high in the sky. "That one?" he asked softly.

**"Yes," came the deep voice in his head.**

"It is beautiful. You made that?" he asked again.

**"Yes, I did," the deep voice answered. "It was a bright jewel taken from me, along with two others just like it. The one who took them took my father as well."**

Legolas frowned and answered, "Well, no one will take Adar from us, ever."

**"Aye, Greenleaf," the deep voice answered. "We will protect him always."**

"Who are you talking to, Iôn?" Thranduil entered his son's bedroom and sat upon the bed.

Legolas sat up and looked at his father. "Myself," he answered matter-of-factly.

Thranduil smirked and nodded. "I see," he answered.

"Ada? Who is Fëandro?" Legolas asked.

Thranduil felt a strange dizzying sensation come over him; these attacks seemed to happen more frequently as time drew on, and always in the presence of his son. An image of unparalleled beauty entered his mind, raven hair, sparkling gray eyes, lips as full and soft as a rose in bloom, a deep haunting voice, a touch that lit his soul afire. He placed his hand upon his forehead and answered, "Fëandro is Quenya for Fëanor, creator of the Silmarils. Why do you ask, Greenleaf?"

Legolas scooted closer to his father, placing his hand upon his back. "Ada? Are you all right?"

**"He is ill, have him lay down," the deep voice spoke to him.**

"Lay down, Ada," Legolas said softly as he guided his father to lie upon the bed.

Thranduil lay upon his side, his head resting upon Legolas' pillow. Legolas lay facing him, his own head resting upon his hands. "There, do you feel better now, Ada?"

Thranduil smiled and answered, "Yes, Greenleaf, I do. Thank you. I am sorry, Legolas, I am tired, that is all."

Legolas furrowed his brow and nodded. "Then you should sleep, right here. We will watch over you," he said softly.

Thranduil blinked and looked at his son. "We? Who is we, Legolas?"

Legolas smiled and answered, "My imaginary friend, Fëandro."

Thranduil's eyes widened and he asked quietly, "Fëandro is your imaginary friend?"

Legolas blinked slowly, and for just an instant, Thranduil swore his son's eyes changed from blue to gray then back to blue again. "Yes, he is, Ada. He watches over me, and you. He loves both of us very much."

Thranduil reached out and touched his son's face, and he saw his eyelids flutter for a brief second. He whispered, "When did he come to you, Legolas? When did he first speak to you?"

Legolas furrowed his brow and answered, "I am not sure, Ada. He has been with me for as long as I can remember."

Thranduil rose from the bed and smiled to cover his concern. "Do you speak of Fëandro to others, Legolas?"

Legolas sat up and answered his father, "Not by name, Ada. Why?"

Thranduil placed his hand upon his son's shoulder. "Do not tell another his name, Legolas."

Legolas shook his head. "I will not. Is all well, Ada? You look worried."

Thranduil smiled and kissed his son upon the forehead. "All is well, Greenleaf. Go to sleep now, it is past your bedtime." He tucked Legolas beneath the covers and kissed him again.

**Melinya…** he heard a deep voice whisper, a voice that he came to realize was from his past.

"Ada?"

Legolas' voice brought him back to the present. He blinked and looked at his son. "Yes, Legolas?"

"Good night, sleep well," Legolas answered softly.

"Good night, Iôn," Thranduil replied.

He turned and left Legolas in his chamber, returning to his own.

* * * *

He moaned quietly, breathless sighs escaping his lips. He arched beneath his lover's touch, soft caresses of hands and mouth upon his flesh. "Nárnya," he whispered, the old language spilling easily from his lips. "Melanyal, Fëandro," he whispered again. **Maurinyel, Thranduil, melanyal,** the deep voice whispered. He cried out in his sleep and arched his back as his seed spilled onto his stomach.

He opened his eyes, tears flowing from them as he gasped for air. "Forgive me, melethen, I forgot," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "How could I have forgotten?" he asked the empty room. He sat up slowly and rose from the bed, walking to the washbasin to clean himself before sliding back beneath the sheets. He rolled to his side and whispered to the empty room, "What am I to do? My love inhabits the body of my son." He did not sleep for the rest of the night.

Hérunya = my Lord (Quenya)
Meleth = love (Sindarin)
Melethen = my love (Sindarin)
Melon le = I love you (Sindarin)
Seron vell = dear lover (Sindarin)
Yé = yes (Quenya)
Iôn = son (Sindarin)
Adar = father (Sindarin)
Melenya = my love (Quenya)
Nárnya = my flame (Quenya)
Melanyal = I love you (Quenya)
Maurinyel = I need you (Quenya)

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