Second Chances

Part 3

Posted: February 2004
Author: Larien Elengasse

*****

Fëanor felt the body and presence of Legolas always. From the moment he fell into the infant vessel, he shared the space with the spirit it was intended for. Each day was a mixture of bliss and torment, each moment he spent near Thranduil was both joyful and horrible. He was trapped, trapped in a beautiful body, but nonetheless, a body that could not share in the love he felt for the Sinda King. What would become of him and Legolas? How could they continue to co-exist in the same vessel? He wondered if he and Thranduil would ever be reunited in body or in spirit.

What would become of the world now that he was here, where he did not belong? How could he fulfill his destiny when he was not just himself? He grew to love Legolas like one of his own sons; he could never do anything to harm him. Mandos' words returned to him, that he would die in the dungeons of Barad-dûr, he prayed that was not to be the case for Legolas. He swore a silent oath to Thranduil to protect his son, always.

Stories circulated around Thranduil's halls about extraordinary things that happened to the Prince. On one patrol, one of Legolas' first, they were unexpectedly set upon by wargs. Legolas' horse spooked and reared, throwing the Prince to the ground. Before anyone could get to him, he had taken down two of the wargs with his bow. A third came at him from behind, as he was felling the second, and at the last possible moment, he sidestepped the beast and turned, driving his knife deep into the beast's throat. By rights, they said, the Prince should have been killed. How could he have seen the warg's attack coming?

What Legolas knew and they did not, was that it was Fëanor who saved him, Fëanor who was fighting with him, giving him his strength and prowess. Legolas was not a young untried soldier as he should be; he was a seasoned warrior, one who had faced legions of orcs and Balrogs. He carried with him one of the fiercest Noldo ever known. He heard Fëanor's voice in his head, telling him to turn around, telling him where to thrust the knife and exactly when to do it. Fëanor had saved his life.

Thranduil loved his son as much as he ever did, but the lighthearted joy he took in Legolas' presence had changed, the way he looked at him changed. Because now, it was not just Legolas he looked upon, it was Fëanor as well. Thranduil saw all the little things he had missed before, the quick glances, the growing fierceness that lay just beneath the surface of his son's previously gentle nature. On more than one occasion, he could swear he saw his Noldo lover in his son's face, those eyes that could pierce the darkest veil, and could warm even the most frigid body with just a glance.

The dreams never ceased, unending, beautiful, torturous memories of days filled with love and passion, soft, sensuous caresses, drowning kisses, a deep voice that filled him with both love and desire. He did his best to hide it from his son, to never let him see how much he missed his love, how badly he needed to feel his touch once again. But he feared that Legolas knew, he feared that Legolas could see not only his own need, but Fëanor's as well. He grieved for his lover who was trapped where he did not belong, forever a prisoner in his son's body. And he feared for Legolas; he feared his son would lose who he was supposed to be, because he was never just that, he was always more.

It was the eve of Legolas' majority celebration. Thranduil had planned a tastefully elaborate celebration; the obligatory invitations had gone out to the members of Thranduil's court, and to Legolas' peers. He sensed his son would rather skip the celebration all together, but it was a social obligation they had to uphold.

Legolas sat on the side of his bed, dressed in ceremonial robes of deep green and silver, his hair elaborately braided, a mithril circlet sat upon his head. His body had matured and awakened sexually years before. If one were to look at him, they would not guess he was only fifty years of age; he had the body and demeanor of one twice that. Only in his face did one see his youthfulness, though that innocence was fading rapidly from his eyes. He was beautiful beyond the measure of many, tall and powerfully built, like his father; he moved with a fluid grace that belied the strength in his long limbs. His hair hung to his waist, a shimmering veil of flaxen gold, straight as an arrow, and it felt like silk. As he brushed it, he would occasionally stray across a single dark hair, entwined with the rest as to be hidden from most who looked upon him. His large eyes were a color beyond explanation, appearing at times to be bright sapphire blue, like his father's, but at other times, they turned stormy gray, providing a hint of the other that lived inside him.

Legolas felt Fëanor was as much a part of him as his own fëa, he depended upon him and loved him. He felt the growing weariness that emanated from this one who shared his body, and he felt him begin to fade into the background.

As he stared at the wall in front of him, he carried on a conversation with his protector in his mind.

**'You love him, I can feel it,'** he said silently.

**'Yes, I do, Legolas, and I love you as well.'**

Legolas slowly shook his head. **'Tis not the same, Fëandro, you know of what I speak.'**

**I do. I have tried, Greenleaf, I have tried to hide it, to make it stop. Nevertheless, I fear I cannot. I can hide my memories from you, but I cannot hide my heart, no matter how much I try.**

**Why will you not share this with me? Why will you not show me all that you are?**

**I cannot, Legolas. You are his son, to show you what I remember, what I need again, would destroy your relationship with him. You can never know this.**

**He aches for you, Fëandro, I can see it in his eyes, I can feel it when he touches me. He needs you, the two of you can not be parted forever, he will fade.**

**What is there to be done, Greenleaf? You are his son, I was his lover, we share one body. There is no remedy.**

**What if I were to give you control? What if I were to fade into the background, as you do at times? Then you could be together, then…**

**No, Legolas! Never speak of that, it cannot be. Even when my presence diminishes, I still see, I still feel what you do. It would destroy both of you. This can never be.**

A tear fell from Legolas' eye. **This pains me, Fëandro, to see both of you loving one another so much yet not being able to be together because of me.**

**It is not because of you, Legolas. You are the one meant to be here, not I. Had I known what would happen, I never would have touched you when you fell.** Legolas felt a warmth flood his body, wrapping him in comfort and kindness. **Greenleaf, I am so sorry for what I have done.**

**You meant no harm, Fëandro. I am glad you are with me, but sorry you can not be with who you truly wish to be with.**

"Greenleaf?"

Thranduil's voice brought Legolas from his conversation with Fëanor and he looked up to see his father approach.

Thranduil knelt in front of his son and caressed his face. He furrowed his brow when he felt the dampness upon Legolas' cheek. "Why do you weep, Iôn?" he asked quietly.

"I weep for you, Ada," he answered quietly. "I weep for the pain that is in your heart, I weep for the one you fear you will never see again."

"Oh, Legolas," Thranduil answered softly. "Do not do this, do not immerse yourself in sorrow for me. The pain of that is greater than my yearning for him. I cannot bear to see you so sad."

Legolas smiled gently, and for just a moment, Thranduil saw his son, and only his son. "I will be fine, Ada," Legolas replied. "It is just a small bout of melancholy." He took a deep breath and asked, "Have our guests arrived?"

Thranduil nodded. "Aye, they have. It is time to go, Greenleaf, time to celebrate your coming of age."

Legolas nodded and rose from the bed. "Then let us go and carouse with our guests," he said gently. He placed his hand in the crook of his father's arm and they left his chamber for the main hall.

* * * *

The hunting party arrived at the meadow in which they would share their midday meal before returning home. Legolas and his father sat next to one another one a fallen log, sharing a loaf of bread and some fruit. Their expedition had been successful; they had cleared ten acres of land from spider infestation on the southern border of their realm.

Legolas had fought with his customary skill, his accuracy nearly impossible to believe with the bow. It was the first time Thranduil had accompanied his son on a patrol, so it was the first time they had each witnessed the other's skill. During the rout of the spiders, Legolas had one eye on his father, watching over him, ensuring that no harm came to him. Thranduil was an accomplished warrior, he had served in the Battle of Five Armies and the Last Alliance, not to mention countless skirmishes with spiders, orcs, and wargs upon his own borders. Yet, the King was beloved by both his son and Fëanor, so Legolas drew upon the Noldo's power to protect both himself and his father.

As they sat upon the fallen tree, smiling and talking about the upcoming harvest in the fall, a gentle breeze blew down from the north, carrying with it the fresh scent of snow and pine. Suddenly, Legolas dropped the apple he was eating and took to his feet with blinding speed; his knives drawn before Thranduil could react.

Thranduil took to his feet as well, only to be shoved to the ground with surprising strength by Legolas. He rolled to his back as he hit the ground and caught the sound and blur of an arrow as it flew though the air where his chest had been but a moment ago. Their companions were upon their feet as well and Thranduil rolled quickly, grasping his sword that lay beside the log and regaining his feet to join in combat.

They were set upon by a group of thirty orcs to their own company of ten. The battle was brief but fierce as the elves began slaying the large orcs that flooded into the meadow from the tree line. The air was filled with the bright ring of elvish swords upon orcish steel, the grunts and howls of the fell beasts, and the sharp war cry of the woodelves.

The ground was littered with orc corpses. Legolas spun and slashed, carving his way through the swarm of black bodies. Thranduil swung his sword in a large arc, taking the head off the orc captain before bringing it back to his side to run through the next beast that attacked him. Finally the swarm began to thin, the last of their attackers engaged in fierce battle, the elves were determined that none of the orcs would leave the meadow alive. Six of the ten elves that were with them perused the wounded and defeated orcs into the trees, felling them before they could get away.

The unmistakable sound of a growling warg assaulted Legolas' ears.

**Legolas!** he heard Fëanor's voice in his head, **Behind you, Thranduil! The spear!**

Legolas spun, grasping a spear and wrenching it from the chest of a dead orc, as he came around he hurled it with all his might and saw his father fighting off a warg. Thranduil was still upon his feet, his sword buried in the beast's shoulder, his hands upon its collar. The warg's snapping jaws were inches from his father's face and he gave a fierce cry, running toward him even as the spear was yet to find its target. Thranduil felt a burning pain in his right ear as the spear grazed him and lodged itself in the beast's eye.

The warg howled in pain, twisting to the side as Thranduil released its collar and fell to his knees. Thranduil looked up to see his son fall upon the warg, growling in anger as he swiftly gutted it with his knife. He remained on the ground, his right hand covering his ear as blood seeped thorough his fingers. His eyes were wide in shock as he watched the form of his son slay the fell beast and he knew instantly that was Fëanor he saw. He remembered a scene from a tapestry in Mandos' Halls, of Fëanor slaying a wolf of Angband, and it was if he saw the scene replayed in front of his eyes.

He blinked and looked up to see Legolas sinking to his knees in front of him, his hand coming up to grasp his wrist and pull his hand from his ear.

"Adar," Legolas said softly. "Are you hurt? Let me see."

Thranduil was speechless as Legolas leaned forward and inspected his ear. He watched his son tear a strip of silk from his tunic and wet it with his mouth, gently dabbing away the blood from the wound.

"I fear my aim with the spear needs some improvement," Legolas said gently, trying to lighten the mood. His own blood boiled with rage at the attack and he was barely able to contain the tremor in his hands.

"It was good enough this day," Thranduil answered weakly.

Legolas forced a quiet laugh. "Aye, I suppose it was." He blew upon his father's ear to soothe it. He felt the rush of power and strength he had experienced in battle leave him in a sudden flood, and he faltered, placing his hand upon the ground to steady himself.

Thranduil brought his hands up to his son's shoulders and supported him as he whispered, "Are you well, Legolas?"

Legolas rested his head upon his father's shoulder, his feelings at war inside him, torn between helping him and melting into him. He felt the profound sense of relief and love that came from Fëanor; he felt the Noldo's need to hold Thranduil. He wrapped his arms around his father's waist and collapsed into him as Thranduil held him tight.

**Just for a moment, Fëandro** he said silently to Fëanor, **hold him for just a moment, please.**

He closed his eyes and willed himself to a semi-unconscious state, allowing the Noldo to come to the fore.

"Thank the Valar you are unharmed, melinya."

It was Legolas' voice that uttered the words, but it was Fëanor who spoke them, and Thranduil knew it instantly. A tear traced down his cheek as he held the body of his son, and the spirit of his love. "Ai, Fëandro," he whispered. "What is to become of all of us, of you, of Legolas, and of me? How can we go on this way?"

"I know not, poicaquen, but go on we must. We have no other choice. Melanyel, Thranduil," Fëanor whispered, "Tennoio."

Thranduil turned Legolas' face up to his own, and gasped quietly as he looked into his eyes. They were the same stormy gray that he remembered Fëanor's being. "Melanyel, Fëandro, forever," he whispered in reply.

"My Lord?"

The sound of Thranduil's captain broke their moment, and he watched Legolas' eyes return to the bright sapphire blue that they had always been. He smiled gently and kissed the top of his son's head. He looked up at his captain and nodded. "We are unharmed, Agladir. Gather the others, we must get back within the border before sundown. There are likely to be more orcs about."

Agladir bowed his head. "Of course, my Lord. I have also come to tell you we came across two strangers in our pursuit of the orcs."

Legolas rose to his feet and helped his father up. "Two strangers?" The Prince replied.

Agladir turned to the Prince and nodded. "Yes, my Lord. A Ranger from the north and a small wretched creature he has captive."

Thranduil furrowed his brow and answered, "Bring them before me."

Agladir signaled to his guard, and two elves escorted a tall man and a scuffling, bent, horrid looking little creature that was bound by the wrists. The man dragged the whining and growling creature behind him.

As they stood before Thranduil and Legolas, the man bent his head and covered his heart with his free hand. "Mae Govannen, hîren. I am Strider, a Ranger from the North, sent on errand by Mithrandir. The wizard bid me find this creature and bring him to you for safe keeping in your realm."

Thranduil looked down at the wretched little creature and it cowered in fear. It shrieked as the King gazed at it, "No! Do not leave poor Gollum with these nasty elves! They will kill him!"

Thranduil looked back at the man, his right hand still rested upon his heart and there he saw the Ring of Barahir. Fëanor recognized the ring and told Legolas of it. Legolas leaned forward, whispering into his father's ear, "It is the heirloom of Finrod's house."

Thranduil nodded and whispered aside, "Aye, I know of it. This is Isildur's heir."

Thranduil turned his gaze back to Strider. "You know our language, Ranger?"

Strider answered, "I was raised in Imladris, by Master Elrond, after my father passed. I am learned in the ways of the elves."

Thranduil nodded and answered, "Very well, we will do as Mithrandir asks and keep this creature safe until someone returns for him. Tell me, Strider, where did you find it?"

Strider glanced down at the cowering Gollum and answered, "In the Dead Marshes."

Thranduil said nothing for a moment, looking from the ranger to the creature and back again. "You will accompany us to my fortress, we will take charge of the creature there."

Strider bowed his head and answered, "Very well, hîren, hannon chen."

Thranduil inclined his head and walked away. Legolas followed his father, looking over his shoulder at the tall man that had entered their midst.

**This is a sign of bad times to come, Greenleaf,** Fëanor warned. **I feel it.**

Legolas nodded inwardly, and turned his gaze back to his horse.

Melinya = my love (Quenya)
Poicaquen = pure one (Quenya)
Melanyel = I love you (Quenya)
Tennoio = forever (Quenya)
Mae Govannen = well met (Sindarin)
Hîren = my lord (Sindarin)
Hannon chen = thank you (Sindarin)

previous | Chapter Index | next

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Larien Elengasse